Abandon (Shattered Hearts, 3.5) Read online

  The blonde looks at me and her top lip curls up. “We should take him to get ice cream. I need some ice cream.”

  Elaine glances at me then she goes back to digging through her purse. “Fine. We’ll get a fucking ice cream. At least it’s too fucking cold outside for it to melt. Last thing I need is for him to make a mess all over Sadie’s car.”

  “I don’t want ice cream,” I say as I scoot closer to Grandma.

  That’s when Molly starts to cry. She has a fever and Grandma has been fussing over her all night ever since Elaine brought us over here. Maybe I should pretend to have a fever.

  Grandma pats me on the back. “Go with your mom, Tristan. I have to take care of Molly.”

  “I can help you,” I insist, but Grandma’s already in the hallway on her way to her bedroom where she keeps Molly’s playpen that Elaine hauls around everywhere.

  Elaine rolls her eyes as she opens the front door for the blonde and me. “Hurry up,” she says.

  “I need to get a jacket.”

  “You don’t need a jacket. The ice cream parlor is indoors. Just get in the damn car.”

  A whoosh of cold December air blasts me in the face as I step toward the front door. As I make my way out the door, my eyes repeatedly flit over to Grandma’s purple sweater, which is draped over the arm of the sofa. I consider swiping it up and wrapping it over my shoulders, but purple is for girls. I’ll look stupid and Elaine will make fun of me.

  It’s freezing inside the car. I could tell by the emblem on the hood that this is a Cadillac. The inside of the car smells like smoke and perfume and the gray leather in the backseat is cold as ice against the backs of my arms. I try to lean forward a little so it doesn’t touch my skin, but I begin to get carsick from the way Elaine drives, so I just lean back and close my eyes.

  A few minutes later, the car stops and I open my eyes when the engine stops rumbling. The blonde girl is looking over her shoulder at me from the front seat as Elaine touches up her make-up in the rearview mirror.

  “What’s his name again?” the blonde asks.

  “Tristan. I named him after—” Elaine stops herself before she can finish this sentence. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s go get a fucking ice cream so I can take him home. I have shit to do.”

  The entire time we’re standing in line, Elaine is tapping her foot against the white tiled floor. When we make it to the front of the line, she doesn’t even ask me what I want, she just orders a scoop of vanilla on a sugar cone. I hate vanilla.

  I take my ice cream cone from the man behind the counter and he can see the disappointment in my face. “Is this not the flavor you want, kiddo?”

  “Yes, it is,” Elaine replies quickly as she grabs my shoulders to turn me away from the counter. “Come on, come on. Let’s go sit down. I don’t got all day.”

  I take a few licks of the ice cream cone once we’re seated in our plastic chairs at a small, round table. But then I think of a solution.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” I say as I stand from my chair.

  “You can’t go to the bathroom alone,” Elaine says as she pulls her cell phone out of her purse. “Just hold it till you get home.”

  The vanilla ice cream is starting to melt. I have to throw it away without her seeing. “I can go by myself. I’m nine years old.”

  “Charlene, take him to the bathroom,” she says as she begins dialing a number on her cell phone. “I’ll be outside.”

  Charlene stands up, not bothering to bring her bowl of orange sherbet with her. “Come on, kid.”

  She grabs my shoulder to lead me forward and I wriggle out of her grasp. “I can go to the bathroom by myself.”

  The corner of her red lips curls up and my heart thumps against my chest as we near the bathroom. She reaches for the doorknob and opens the door for me. It’s a private bathroom. No stalls, just a single toilet and a sink. It smells like cherry air freshener and it’s almost as cold in here as it was in the Cadillac.

  The lock clicks and she crosses her arms as she waits for me. “We ain’t got all day.”

  The toilet is on the same wall as the door. If I take a piss, she’ll see me from the side. All I wanted to do was throw away this damn ice cream, which is now dripping down my hand and wrist. She huffs as she takes the ice cream from my hand and tosses it into the garbage can next to the sink.

  “What a mess. Come here so I can wash your hands.”

  She pulls me toward the sink and turns on the water. It’s cold so she turns on the hot water and waits until it warms up before she sticks my hands under the water. Her chest is pressed against my shoulders as she gently scrubs my hands with the slick soap. She begins massaging my fingers and I pull my hand away.

  “Stop,” I mutter, trying to back away, but she’s pressed against me, locking me in place.

  “Your mom will kill me if you take your sticky fingers in the car. Just relax, Tristan.”

  I swallow hard and try not to breathe too loudly as I let her rub my hands with the slippery soap. I close my eyes, trying not to let what I think is happening inside my pants actually happen. Not now. Please not now.

  “Does that feel good?” she whispers and I shake my head fiercely. “It’s okay if it feels good.”

  She wraps her fingers around my thumb and moves her fist slowly up and down. I want to scream for her to stop, but there are people sitting in tables outside the door. What will Elaine do if I make a scene? I’m not at home where Grandma will keep me safe.

  “Do you have to use the potty?” the blonde asks as she reaches for the button on my jeans.

  “No,” I say firmly as I push her hand away. I can’t let her feel that thing growing in my pants. “Stop. Please stop. I just want to go home. Please.”

  “Tristan, your mommy said you have to do this or she won’t take you home.” She reaches for my button again, but this time she waits until I finally move my hand away. “That’s a good boy. You’ll like this. I promise.”

  Chapter Three

  “Get up.” The redhead in my bed – I think her name is Beth – rolls over and reaches for me. I slide out of bed and yank the comforter off in one swift motion. “I said, Get up. You have to leave. I have plans.”

  “What the fuck?” she squeals as she reaches for the sheet to cover up her naked body. I grab the sheet first and yank it off the bed. “You’re an asshole!”

  I chuckle. “Like you didn’t already know that.”

  She scrambles out of bed and quickly gets dressed. “One of these days your dick is gonna fall off or somebody’s gonna break your black heart. I’m just sorry I won’t be there to see it.”

  “Yeah, I’m really sorry for your loss.”

  I follow her downstairs, smiling as she continues to lob insults at me. I open the front door for her to leave and she looks as if she’s going to spit in my face. It wouldn’t be the first time a girl has done that. But she doesn’t spit; she just stares at me for a moment before she delivers her final blow. “You were talking in your sleep,” she says with a grin.

  I suppress the urge to stop her as she steps over the threshold and sets off down the gravel path to the roundabout where her Toyota is parked next to my Lightning. Despite the fact that she just pissed me off, I still stare at her ass until she’s inside her car, but I don’t bother watching her car drive away.

  So she heard me talking in my sleep? Big fucking deal. I’ve heard that same line from other chicks a dozen times. Not a single one of those girls sold her story. Chris Knight’s bassist isn’t a juicy enough target for the tabloids, even though I’ve given them plenty of material over the years. And what’s the worst thing she could have heard?

  My stomach churns with the thought of the worst thing I could have said.

  The shame morphs into anger and I punch the ins
ide of the door. “Fuck!” The pain shoots through my knuckles and the burn of broken skin is instantaneous.

  I am not broken.

  I close my eyes and repeat this mantra in my head a few times before I make my way into the kitchen. My cell phone buzzes on the granite countertop and I glance at the screen before I pick it up.

  “What?”

  “Xander said we have to be at Reverb in an hour.”

  Chris’s voice has an edge to it, like he’s in pain but he’s trying not to let it show. Typical Chris, putting Claire’s and the band’s needs before his own. Chris broke his leg a couple of months ago – a grotesque compound fracture – and since they cut off the cast a couple of weeks ago, the guy hasn’t stopped running around like a crazy person. He’s desperately trying to find a studio in the Triangle where we can record the new album. He even got the producer to agree to let us make this second album totally acoustic. All so he won’t have to go to Los Angeles to record and leave Claire behind for the second time.

  There are only two persons’ needs that come before mine and I promised Molly and Grandma Flo I’d be there this morning. So I’ll be there at the studio in an hour, but I’m going to see them first. If Chris and Jake have to wait a while then that’s Chris’s problem for calling me at the last minute.

  “I’ll be there,” I reply, then I end the call before Chris can ask me about my plans.

  He knows I visit Molly and Grandma on Sundays, but he doesn’t know that I’m visiting them today on a Monday. And I don’t want him to know. Chris isn’t the type to ask questions, but if he finds out why I’m visiting my grandmother today, he’ll give me that look – the I’m-not-going-to-say-anything-but-I’m-secretly-pitying-you look. And I really don’t want him to talk to Jake or Claire about this. I don’t need anyone’s sympathy.

  I take a five-minute shower and speed over to my grandmother’s house in Raleigh. It’s thirty minutes from my house in Cary. As soon as I had enough money, I moved the fuck out of Raleigh. That city and that house are ripe with bitter memories. Plus, being out here means I don’t have to get weekly visits from Elaine asking for money.

  I paid to have Grandma’s house renovated last January while we were on tour, so Molly wouldn’t have to change schools. I wanted her to come live with me in Cary when I bought this place in August, but she didn’t want to leave her friends behind. She’s thirteen; she doesn’t understand that leaving her friends behind in order to get away from Elaine is in her best interest. Unfortunately, this also means I haven’t had Molly or Grandma over to see my house yet. I can’t risk them giving Elaine my address. Like me, Elaine can be very convincing.

  I pull up in front of the yellow two-bedroom house I grew up in and take a deep breath to prepare myself for this visit. Throwing open the car door, I’m not surprised when I hear the squeak of the front door opening and Molly’s shoes slapping the pavement. As soon as I close my car door, she’s rounding the front of my car.

  “Gah! I missed you!” she squeals as she throws her arms around my waist.

  I chuckle as I wrap my arms around her shoulders and squeeze her tightly. “I missed you too, Moon.”

  I gave Molly the nickname “Moon” when she was three years old. She has a round, moon-like face that shines like moonbeams. And she used to beg me to read Goodnight Moon to her every night, until I turned twelve the next year and everything changed.

  It wasn’t until I met Chris in my seventh-grade math class that I realized I wasn’t doomed to follow in my mother’s footsteps. When he asked me if I wanted to start a band, he didn’t know he was offering me a key out of my self-made prison.

  As soon as I kiss her forehead, she starts to sob. “Why are you crying?” I ask, though I already know.

  Grandma Flo is sick. Since the day she took me away from Elaine when I was nine years old, she’s been stronger than the rock this house was built on. But it turns out she’s only human, after all. Three weeks ago, she was diagnosed with stage-four breast cancer after a routine mammogram showed a small lump the size of a grape. The tumor had nestled in at the base of her breast and attached itself to her chest wall where it began to spread to her left lung and lymph nodes around her neck and under her arm. Once the cancer reaches the lymph nodes, where the lymphatic fluid then carries the cancer cells to other places in the body, there’s not much that can be done. The doctor labeled Grandma as T2 N2 M1 – Stage IV. A bunch of gibberish that basically means she’s going to die.

  “I don’t want to be alone,” Molly whispers against my chest and I grit my teeth against all the anger that naturally follows moments like these.

  “You’re not going to be alone. People with stage-four cancer can live for several years.”

  She lets go of me and walks toward the house without replying.

  I only have ten minutes, so I bound toward the house and open the door for Molly. She walks in with her head down, unimpressed with this gesture. I follow her in and my stomach clenches at the sight of the living room. I had everything renovated to get rid of the memories, but you can’t hide pain that runs this deep under a coat of beige paint.

  Molly looks over her shoulder at me as she plods into the kitchen. “She’s in bed.”

  I trudge through the hallway and slowly push open the door to Grandma Flo’s room. She’s asleep, curled up on her side with the blanket clutched tightly beneath her chin. Her short grayish-brown hair falls over her face as her chest rises and falls slowly. I kneel down next to her bed and reach for her.

  Her eyebrows scrunch together as she tries not to cry. “I’m sorry,” she whispers and her face forms an expression of unimaginable anguish.

  I don’t have to ask her why she’s sorry. She’s apologizing because she thinks she’s not going to live long enough to take care of Molly until she’s an adult. That’s bullshit.

  “Don’t you apologize to me,” I reply, brushing her hair away from her soft cheek. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”

  “I’m so tired. I couldn’t sleep last night worrying about what’s going to happen.”

  “I’ll go so you can get your rest. I have to be at the studio in a few minutes. I just wanted to check on you.”

  In typical Grandma Flo style, she delivered the news of her diagnosis a couple of weeks ago as if she were merely remembering something she needed me to pick up from the grocery store. Don’t forget the eggs, and, by the way, I’m dying of cancer. I could hear from the weariness in her voice that she wasn’t feeling well when I called her yesterday to cancel my usual Sunday visit. But I had just finished taking five body shots of tequila off of Beth’s creamy white naked skin. I was in no condition to rush over here to check on her last night.

  I stand from Grandma’s bed and hand her the box of tissues from her nightstand. “Don’t worry about Molly.”

  “What about you?”

  I think back to the last time I lived with Elaine nine years ago. I swore I’d never let anyone control me the way she did the summer before seventh grade. I also swore I’d never take my grandmother’s love for granted.

  “You know I’ll be fine.”

  She doesn’t look convinced as she dabs a tissue at the corner of her blue eyes. Grandma Flo insists I need to settle down and let someone in. I almost did that with Ashley and I ended up getting my heart stomped on. No, not stomped on. Completely fucking extinguished. I’m not about to settle down any time soon. Besides, the only girls who want to settle down with me are the gold-diggers.

  I kiss her forehead before I head out to my car. I turn the key in the ignition and lower the stereo as I try to compose myself. Maybe I should settle down if it would give my grandmother peace of mind in her final days. Settling down with a girl to please your dying grandmother sounds like something that would happen in some tragic love story that surely ends with death and at least one sh
attered heart. But I can’t deny the appeal. I could pretend to be someone I’m not for a few months to make Grandma happy. Hell, I’ve been pretending to be someone I’m not for the past nine years. A few months will be a piece of cake.

  It’s settled. I’m going to get myself a girlfriend, maybe even a fiancée. This shouldn’t be too difficult, especially since I already have a prime candidate in mind.

  Chapter Four

  I leave the recording studio with Senia’s phone number, even though Chris refused to give it to me. He has a bad habit of leaving his phone unattended in the control room. It didn’t take long to find Senia’s phone number, and I swiped Claire’s number as insurance, in case Senia tries to ignore my calls.

  I’m not one to chase girls. But I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t been thinking about Senia since our tryst outside the yogurt shop. When I asked her who she had been talking to on the phone, she pushed me off of her then quickly got dressed and left. I drove home licking the taste of her and the yogurt from my lips. I kept thinking back to all the times we’d almost had sex. Then I began to remember all the times I’d tried to have sex with her and she rejected me because she was in a relationship.

  The worst memory I have of Senia has to be the time we almost had sex in the pub restroom in September. It was almost three months ago, but I still cringe when I think of the words I said to her. I actually said, “You’ll do,” as we were tearing at each other’s clothes, as if I were settling for her. That’s the kind of thing I’m used to doing: lashing out at someone who’s rejected or hurt me in the past. I have to be prepared to approach things differently with Senia this time. I have to prepare myself for the inevitable rejection and I have to resist my desire to hurt her when it comes.

  Pursuing Senia will also be complicated by her friendship with Claire and my friendship with Chris. It may also be the one shot I have at a normal, convincing relationship.