Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two) (6 page)

“Yeah.”

“
Well, that happened a year ago. And,
well...” It’s proving harder than I thought. The wound is still so
raw.
Fuck
it!

“So, you’ve read a lot more in the last
year.”

I nod, still not able to speak.

“
Look, Blaze, no need to get into that
stuff with me if it’s hard to think back to. It’s cool.”

I close my eyes, heave in three deep
breaths. “There’s a little more. Her boyfriend at the time—the dude
who made all these shelves for me— Oh, and the same dude who
painted those floating heads downstairs—”

“That’s some cool graffiti.”

I laugh. “Yeah. He did it on a dare. She
and I dared him.”

Savannah’s amber eyes stare at
me.

Her raven black hair caresses me.

Her smile washes over my thoughts like the
face of a corpse against a shattered windscreen.

I can’t. I just can’t.

I stop talking. I’m thrust deep into a
flashback and the world disappears.

When I pull out of
it, I notice my palms are soaking, and I’m
somehow standing, being held by Declan’s rock-solid arms. And I’m
crying.

I just can’t do it, can’t talk about her.
And I’m going to stop trying to, for now at least. I think Deck
understands. I’m strong otherwise. I can take her brother’s
insolent attitude, his coke-powdered hands on my wrists. I can take
barely making the rent (and sometimes not making it at
all.)

But I can’t talk about Savva. So I won’t.

I go to the bathroom and
w
hen I come back Deck
doesn’t even ask me about it. He doesn’t tell me it’s OK, and he
doesn’t tell me he’ll be there for me. He acts as if it never
happened. And that’s exactly what I need. Because being reminded
about how weak I am doesn’t make me any stronger when her face rams
itself into my mind like an
Amtrak
train.

Pretending I’m strong about it actually helps
me get through the day.

So, Declan says nothing. Except: “I can’t
fucking believe you have Danielle Steele and Stephen King on the
same bookshelf. You should be hanged by the Genre Police.”

“
They’re technically not on the same shelf.
They’re all on one big shelf that’s separated by a bunch of little
shelves.”

“
With labels. Don’t forget the
labels.
Romance. Horror.
I liked this one:
Weird.
”
He pulls out
American Gods
by
Neil Gaiman from the “Weird” shelf, then puts it back.

“I’m very organized when it comes to my
books.”

“
You know you can get Kindle and Nook books
on your phone there.” He points at my iPhone on the table. “For
free.”

“It’s not the same.”

“As what?”

“
As actually
holding
a book in your hands. There’s a certain felling to
it, like you really own something when you do that.”

“I’m just too stupid to read them without a
dictionary.”

“You want some coffee?”

“
I’ll make it,” he says. “It’s the least I
could do after crying all over your clothes yesterday.” He grabs
the French Press near the sink. Stops. Turns. “I really do wanna
thank you for that, Blaze. Like I told you yesterday, pops and I
weren’t close. But...” His eyes quiver briefly. Thinking of the
moment of impact, perhaps. “...that shit stays with you forever,
you know. And, you saw me last week. It’s not like I don’t drop or
anything. I mean, getting drunk is one thing. But...”

Taking drugs is so much more
effective when it comes to forgetting the past
. “I hear you. And...I’m glad...you didn’t
drop...because of it.”
Because my best friend and I dropped Es all the
time. And then that became H. And I can’t have that happen to
you.

He says nothing to that, probably sensing my
heart-gripping panic.

He comes around the kitchen
island
. “Blaze,
technically I’ve stopped dropping. And I can tell this is a heavy
subject for you. So, I’ll promise you something: So long as you and
I are together, I won’t drop.”

“Or smoke weed.”

He puts his hand up like a good Boy Scout. “I
will not inhale, drink, or swallow any illegal substances
whatsoever, so long as we are together.”

So long as we are
together
. It’s the first
time I consider that we might
not
be
together. Because the last six days have made me feel like Deck and
I simply
belong
. Like
we’re now a single unit. We’ve been together every day, spent
almost every night together since Sunday.

Not all romances have a happy
ending
, I said to him a
few days ago.

In such a short time he’s
gro
wn on me as much as
Savva grew on me over fifteen years.

“
I hope that’s a long time...that we’re
together.”
I
hope I don’t need to consider us
not
being together.

“Me too.” He smiles gently, moves down to
kiss me.

The kettle stops boiling and he eases back
to grab it. I hold him, still smiling internally from the kiss. I
look down at his brown Palladium boots. “Deck...”

He eases his hands over my own. “I know.”

“What? What do you know?”

“
I just
know
, OK? And I feel the same way about you. Don’t ask me why,
but I do. And by whatever luck of good fortune, we’ve catapulted
through six months of relationship bullshit in the period of six
days. And it thrills me...and scares me. Because, before you, it
was all just sex. Just bodies connecting like a damn RCA cable in
the back of your
Bowers & Wilkins
speakers. Male to female. I’m scared as well, Blaze. I
never planned for this. As I’m sure you didn’t. And I know you’re
broken. I know life has slammed you—again and again—”

“And you.”

“
Bastid
, I tell you. And we can’t stand in the way of
life. And he—or she—is one strong motherfucker. I’m at its mercy.
When shit happens in my life, as I can see in yours, it ain’t no
small shit. It’s like...a fucking train wreck times a billion. And
I can’t make that shit go away. But I can promise you this— No,
I
will
promise you this: You can count
on me, Blaze.” I look up at him, his azure eyes redolent with
passion. Quivering. And watery.

Intense.

“
I can’t change life. Life’s gonna come at
us, OK? It came at me on Thursday. You were there for me.” He puts
my hand to his heart, closes his eyes. A tear breaks
loose
—this one’s for his
father, I know that. “Thank you again, Blaze.”

I croak, “No sweat.”

He wipes the tear away, and focuses on me
once more: “So, all I’m saying is, life’s gonna come at us. And if
it ain’t something we did, damn, it could be any shit. Terrorism
or— Who knows. All I know about life is that it’s random. And all
you got when it slams you, is your friends. And those close to
you—those who get you through.”

“
The boys—they were there for you when your
mom passed, weren’t they?”

He nods.

“
Deck, I’m gonna say it all now as well:
This last week...
everything
changed. And it wasn’t only you. It was the gig at
House
Market
, the hopes of
making it all the way—
finally
! But it was mostly you. My priorities changed. And...” Now
it’s my own eyes that feel warm, and prickly. “...I ain’t gonna
bullshit you... I’m fucking scared, Deck—”

“
I know—”

“
No, you gotta get that. I am
scared
, dude.
I...I wasn’t a virgin when we fucked, baby. Oh, and I’m gonna call
you baby. Because that’s what you are.” I put my hand to his cheek.
“I’ve put all my trust in you—”

“You can, Blaze. I swear to you, you
can.”

“—
and let you in. And it just happened
and...now I’m scared. Because, like you say, it’s six months in six
days. I don’t think our brains were built to work with that
speed—”

“But we’re doing it!”

“
You’re far too enthusiastic. Didn’t nobody
ever tell you you shouldn’t drive too fast on the
highway?”

“
I got a lot of speeding tickets in my
life.”

“
Stop making jokes about this!” I hit his
chest, but the bastard’s making me laugh. I continue my analogy:
“When you drive fast, you get
hit
fast.”

To
that
comment, he says nothing at first. I’m hoping for some
reassurance. I’m hoping for him to tell me that we’re not going too
fast, that we have airbags installed. I’m hoping for him to tell me
there’s nothing to be afraid of.

Instead, he says, “I know.” And then he
hugs me. “But if I hit a wall, I want you right by my side with
me.”

That reminds me of Romeo and
Juliet.
And that scares
me even more. Because I feel the same.
Right by my side.

I hold him tighter, waiting for
the inevitable piano to fall on
our mutual heads.

He sets the kettle going again
because we forgot about the
coffee. When he looks around confusedly, I say, “Above your
head.”

He finds the red tub of
Folgers Classic
Roast
, looks at it for a
second. “This any good?”

“It’s cheap.”

He laughs. “Story of Bushwick. Any luck
finding a new place?”

It’s like a brick being thrown at my head.
“Oh, god, I haven’t even thought about it. But I got six months, or
five months and three weeks.”
What I don’t have, is a freaking steady
job
.

“
Well, I’m sure by that time you’ll be
rolling in the big dough, mixing at
Club
Pacha
.”

I say nothing.

He makes the coffee, b
ut picks up on the eerie quiet. He turns,
leans back. “You know, Blaze, I’ve been picking up a weird vibe
from you about your music since Thursday. If I’m
dreaming—”

“You’re not dreaming.” I answered before even
thinking. Then, again, realizing there’s no going back: “You’re not
dreaming.”

“
What’s the deal, then? It’s not those
haters online, is it? You know that shit—”

“
No, no. The online buzz is now completely
dead. It’s as if I never even mixed last Saturday.”

He pours me a cup.
“So what is it?”

I take a sip, steel myself.

And then I tell him about Xavier.

At first, his eyes express
rage. Then, when I detail how I
swung the mug in a wide arc, connecting with Xavier’s temple,
thereby cutting him so he bled all over his pink Pierre Cardin,
Declan starts to laugh.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just... I know
it’s serious. It’s just, the thought of you connecting with his
head is, well, too hilarious.”

It lightens my mood. “Tell me about it.”

“
You wanna play football? We could use a
secret weapon such as yourself. Someone to crack the opponent’s
head when the stakes are down.”

“That’s how you play? When the stakes are
down, you fight?”

He shrugs. “Keeps it interesting. Why do
you think Skate and I were so down when that
Brad dude—from right here in
Bushwick—left? He was a good player. But he was also one helluva
fighter. So, anyway, this doesn’t mean you’ve lost your gig. You
say that club owner— What’s his name?”

“
Gavin.”

“Yeah, him. He hasn’t called you?”

“
No. But that doesn’t mean shit. Xavier’s
been behind this whole thing from the start. He’s wanted—” I stop.
I just can’t tell him that Xavier is the slimeball who took my
virginity. “He was Savannah’s brother.” The fist to my throat when
I think of her hits fast and hard. But I ride over it.

“
Oh.” Deck’s eyes are wide.
“
Xavier
is the
brother? Shit. That changes shit. A lot.” He looks out the window,
at
her
apartment.

“
Tell me about it. So, he’s wanted to”—I
think of how best to word this—“
rekindle
the friendship. That’s why he got me this gig
at
House
Market
. And at
Sacrament
—Gavin’s club.”

Deck stares at me. “The ‘friendship’?
Blaze, guy to girl, let me just tell you that when a guy wants to
rekindle the ‘friendship’—”

I put my hand up to stop him. “I know.
Please, don’t remind me.” I’m looking down at my workbench-style
kitchen counter.

“Did you guys ever, uhm, hook up?”

I look up at him, say nothing.

His jaw clenches. “Right. No need to
answer.”

I wait awhile. “Deck...there
is
a need to answer. I was high.
But not
so
high. I mean,
I knew what I was doing when we did it. I’ve known him since I was
five. Only in the last year haven’t we spoken...” I hope he can
deduce the rest. Because Savva’s face looms dark and deadly, far in
the distance...