I Run to You (30 page)

They’d found some distraction, but after he’d
taken her home, he had driven back, lain on the quilt, under a soft
moon and breathed in the lingered scent of her—trying, to ease the
want, the coil in his stomach, muscles, and trying to cool his
blood. He’d cum, but the ease was temporary. Physical. It was so
much more with Brook. It was love. Until he could be making it with
her, nothing would quench the need.

By the last verse, Coy knew he had to get
up.

The lights went down, the crowd thunderous.
Coy got to his feet and strode past the illumination.

He fumbled in the shirt pocket for a smoke,
and lit it. His hands shook. Not looking where he was headed, Coy
just located a place where he was distant from the crowd—and leaned
against one of the trucks.

Smoking tensely. He was half through it, but
no less emotional, when Rafael appeared.

Silently, Rafe handed him a Corona, before
leaning against the car in front of him. He had his own drink.

Coy took a long pull, then a drag from the
cigarette, and wondered if he had been that obvious?

Rafe said after a moment, “What Brook and I
have is special. We’ll always, be close.”

The tendons in Coy’s neck tightened. Amber
eyes touched dark brown. Coy’s fingers tightened on the bottle.

“She’s not in love with me.”

Those quiet words hung there a moment...

Coy felt his heart slam behind his
ribcage.

“We’re not. But we love each other.” Rafe
formed a dry half grin

Letting him take a pull of his beer first,
Coy then muttered “And?”

“And nothing.” Rafe shrugged, his eyes
skimming over Coy’s face, before adding, “She doesn’t trust you. I
don’t know what she feels for you, or if she does at all, anymore.
You cannot play games with Brook. You can’t bull doze over her
either.”

“I didn’t assume so.”

Rafe’s brow rose. He took a drink and looked
around, then back at Coy. The band was finished their set. Music
from the stage now was from CD as they closed out the night.

“You’re on your own.”

“You two ain’t seeing each other?” Coy’s
whole body stilled.

“We’ll hang out. We talk a lot, on the phone.
As I said, we will always have a special relationship.” Rafe pushed
away from the car. He finished the beer and tossed the bottle in
the back of a truck before he stepped away.

Turned in profile, preparing to head back
toward the stage, he told Coy, “We could stand here and talk about
it. But that’s the only thing that you should care to know.”

“I do care.” Coy raked his free hand through
his hair roughly. “If I say I’m sorry, about the two of you, not
getting more serious, I’d be lying.”

“We’re not sorry.” Rafe shrugged. “Look, I’m
being honest. I hate what you did to her. Yet, if it had not
happened, she and I wouldn’t have gotten together. Not falling in
love with each other, does not mean we do not love each other. It
is a damn near perfect relationship. She taught me something about
that—relationships—probably without being aware of it. She’s taught
me some things, I didn’t know about myself.” Rafe started walking
off.

Coy murmured “Thanks. You didn’t have to tell
me.”

Turning a bit, hands in his pockets, Rafe
laughed quietly. “Yes. I did. You do not hide your feelings well
when she’s around. I won’t help you. That is your bridge to build.
I only want you to get what you want—if—it’s what she wants.”

Coy nodded.

Rafe added too. “She wouldn’t be happy right
now, knowing I told you. Brook and I do not lie, and go behind each
other’s backs. So don’t you make me regret this, cowboy.”

“I won’t.”

Coy watched him walk away. He finished the
beer and tossed the bottle. Slumped against the truck, he rubbed
his hands roughly over his face and then dropped them. Thank you,
God. He leaned his head back, looking up at the stars. Now help me
build that bridge.

“Hey, you all right?”

Lowering his chin, Coy eyed his dad. Jude was
in patched and ratty jeans, motorcycle boots, and no shirt.

“Yeah, fine.”

Jude looked him over. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Coy pulled away and walked over to
join him. “Rafe came to talk to me?”

“What did he say?” Jude glanced up at
him.

Coy looked to where Brook and the others were
walking down the stairs from back stage. She, now in jeans and
sneakers, a zip up light hoodie. “Brook is not in love with
him.”

“Coy,” Jude’s voice was gruff. “That doesn’t
mean—”

Reaching out, laying a hand on his shoulder,
Coy cut him off, “It means—everything, Dad.”

Jude sighed, loud and long. He slapped Coy
lightly on the back and they began walking. “Nothing I say would
matter a damn anyway.”

Coy shook his head. “I already know
everything you, and everyone else, would say. I have to try. I have
to make her see…. And if she feels nothing, if nothing makes a
difference, at least I can live with it then.”

“We want her happy, Coy. I love you.
But—”

“I want her happy, too, Dad,” Coy uttered
softly. “You know, I love her.”

Jude did, but just grunted and then headed
off to help pack up instruments.

~*~

All the adrenaline spent, Brook was drained.
She knew the other girls felt the same. Following all the hugs and
high fives from the family, she hefted her bass and began trudging
toward her car.

She had the evening shift next day.

Lights were up. The clean-up crews were
scattered out. People leaving, vendors closing down until the next
day.

“Let me get that.”

She glanced over. Coy put his hand over hers,
grasping the handle of the guitar case. Too numb to do a round of
senseless arguing, she complied and handed it over; she tucked her
hands in the pockets of the hoodie, walking beside him.

The larger street lamps Mitch had put up
around the perimeter showed the clean-up crew would be busy for
hours picking up trash. The mown grass was trampled, littered with
food, and left behind miscellaneous items.

When she reached her car, Brook didn’t notice
anything amiss until she heard Coy cuss explicitly, and felt his
hand on her shoulder, halting her.

She saw it then— under the lights. Keyed
scratches. Bitch. Cunt, spray painted over the body and
windshield.

“I cannot, believe this shit,” she muttered.
Furious at Karla, and her delinquent thugs.

Coy was already calling one of the officers
over.

Brook took her guitar case back and went over
to sit on the picnic table, under the awning. Laying the case atop,
she scrubbed her hands over her face. Coburns were coming because
they had scanners in their vehicles, and word of the vandalism
apparently spread like wildfire.

The high from her night dissipated into that
seething rage. Karla would not leave her the hell alone. It was not
just that her property was destroyed. She could replace (things.)
but her life was being unsettled and it wasn’t fair.

“Any Idea who could have done it?” One of the
young officers came over to where she sat.

“Karla Boggs Dodd, or one of her friends,”
Brook answered in flat tones. She gave the same information as
before, about the calls, and the night she had been on the road,
threats.

“We’ll have someone go by and check your
house,” was all he said before leaving.

“Are you okay?” Madeline came, and gave her a
hug.

“No.” Brook observed Coy and some of the
others talking to the police, around her car. “I’m fed up with it.
I can get a security system for the house, put up a fence with barb
wired, lock myself in it….”

“I know, honey.” Madeline sighed.

“My word against hers…” Brook muttered.

“They’ve sent someone to check on the house.
G.W. and Alvin are following.”

“I can’t catch her at it. I can’t prove
anything. It’s just going to go on and on.”

“Maybe not. She or one of those friends will
slip up. Why don’t you stay at our house tonight?”

“I’ve got the evening shift at the Tavern,”
Brook declined.

Mitch and a few others joined them. Brook did
not say much. There was not much to say—since everyone knew who
likely did it, or put someone up to it.

Jude offered, “I can fix the car in no time,
Brook.”

“Thanks.” She smiled lamely at him. “They’ll
just keep doing it.”

He looked around and then back at her. “One
of the officers is going to talk to Bill, too. There is a rumor
Bill is trying to divorce Karla. I think it has sunk in that the
good name he built all these years, and hardworking reputation he
had, has been replaced by mockery and pity. He is something of a
laughingstock. Anyone could have told him that, but the poor old
fool just let Karla blind him to it.”

“Well,” said Brook. “I don’t know that it
will make any difference. I don’t know what she wants, other, than
to make my life miserable.”

Jude squeezed her hand and then he and Mitch
stepped away talking. Brook saw Max, holding Jordan’s hand, by her
car too.

After the photos were taken, the area
searched for paint cans and anything with fingerprints, the officer
came over and told her that everything seemed okay at her house,
but they did not take the vandalism lightly.

“We’re going to get you a ride home,” Mitch
told her. “G.W. is bringing the tow truck and he’ll take the car to
Jude’s garage. You’re tired and you’re not going to feel like
spending half the night cleaning it.”

“All right. But I have to work—”

“We’ll have you something to drive,” he
assured her. “And Jason’s going to be at your house, before you
leave for work. He knows a security company owner who will get the
house wired, without it being too intrusive. It will be done before
you get home.”

Not having a choice, Brook simply nodded.

She scooted off the picnic table, accepting
hugs, one from Max, who whispered in her ear that the cops would be
tailing Karla now, watching her closer.

Brook was not especially surprised when Coy
turned out to be her ride home. He had probably insisted.

He took the guitar and put it behind the
truck seat.

Going down the road, toward Copper creek,
windows rolled down, she slumped and leaned her head back,
occasionally smelling the cigarette smoke from the one he lit.

Their past intertwined with Karla. His
separate one, with her over Levi, and her own ashes of friendship.
It all lay jarring and apparent between them at the moment.

Brook was relieved he did not stick a CD
in.

She looked over as he crushed the cigarette,
their gazes catching; holding a second, then she glanced away, back
out at the summer night.

Out of Copper Creek, heading to Diamond Back,
he drove well below the speed limit. There was traffic because of
the concert, and people were heading in to Motels and restaurants,
likely the Tavern too.

His cell ringing made them both jump.

Brook only half listened, as he was silent
some moments, then began to say quietly, “No Levi, she’s fine. I’m
going to tan Lisa’s hide for telling you that. That’s right,
someone just wrote on her car. She’s right here…”

Brook looked over and took the phone Coy
handed her.

“Hey, Levi.”

“Hey, Brook. Someone messed your car up,
huh?”

“Yes. But your grandpa Jude will fix it.”

“Yeah he’s good at that.”

“Thank you for calling to check on me.”

“Well um. Someone said Dad was driving you
home.”

“Yes. He is.”

After a moment Levi murmured, “Well, we’re
getting our sleeping bags ready.”

“Have fun, and thanks again.”

“I will. Um…Tell dad goodnight and I
love’em.”

He clicked off and Brook handed Coy the
phone. “He said to tell you goodnight, that he loves you.”

Coy grinned crookedly and slipped the phone
back in the hip case. At Brook’s, he pulled in the drive and cut
the engine, then got out. She was out too, when he took the case
and walked to the door with her.

“I can get it.”

“I’m staying. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Already turning the key, opening the door,
she said, “No. Coy. There is no sense in going that far. I’m
sure…”

Two steps into the living room, several low
lamps on so they could see fine, he insisted, “I told Madeline I
would.”

“God. What was Mom thinking?” She rolled her
eyes, hefting up the bass and taking it to set against the far
wall. “Go on home, Coy.”

He stood by the big sectional. “I’m staying,
Brook. I’ll crash right here on the sofa.”

Hands on hips, she stared at his argue all
you want; I am staying expression. “You can’t stay here.”

“Do you want me to call Rafe and
explain?”

“No. I don’t want you to call Rafe.” She
snapped, and then flung her arms up in frustration and left
him.

She went to her room, took off her street
clothing, and pulled on a tank T-shirt and drawstring pajamas.
Going to the bathroom, she washed her face, moisturized. She had
combed her hair straight back after showering at the Mill, but it
dried, settled in the choppy style.

Running her fingers through it, and then
mussing it, she finally stomped over and sat on the edge of the
tub, bare toes curled on the tile floor—while thinking, Karla—you
have spoiled everything in my life for years.

The bathroom was soundproof, so when she did
her “I’m fed up!” scream into the nearest rolled up towel, she was
sure Coy could not hear. Had the wall not been half tile, she would
have kicked it a couple of times too.

There was a knock on the door.

She jumped up, going over to jerk it open.
Her face must have showed her irritation at the intrusion, because
Coy looked down at it, and asked wryly, “Bad time to need a
piss?”

She grunted, but swung the door wide and let
him in, walking through it and pulling it closed behind her with,
“And don’t—sleep in your underwear.”