Rock My Heart (Luminescent Juliet #4) (22 page)

“What?” I ask, surprised anyone could learn anything
from me.

“That the trying is what makes us better, even if
it’s twisted
fuckery
. It might not get you to the
finish line, but it gets you closer.”

“Huh. Well, you’ve taught me a lot too.”

“Like what?”

“Like how being brutally honest, especially with
yourself, strips all the…
fuckery
away.”

“Ha! How immature. I love it when you swear. It’s so
dirty coming from your pretty mouth. Don’t ever swear and play guitar in public
because I’ll be tearing your clothes off you in seconds.”

A snort of laughter escapes me. “I’ve been thinking
about that.”

“Me tearing off your clothes in public?”

“No, but maybe now. However, I’ve been thinking
about playing in public.”

There’s a slight pause of silence before he softly
says, “You should. You’re so talented. To play like you do after years of not
playing…”

“I’m not sure. I’m considering it.”

“You know punishing yourself by not playing isn’t
solving anything.”

“I know.”

“Okay, just wanted to make sure you weren’t
reverting to your fucked up ways.” The hand on my hip slides to my waist as he
sighs. “I may end up losing the chance of a lifetime here, my ticket out of the
shithole I was born in.”

He’s referring to Luminescent Juliet. And though all
of the band members would want to take him back, after two years another
drummer
would
become part of the
band.

“And at this point,” he adds. “I can’t berate Riley
for taking my spot.”

“Riley might fill in, but I’m pretty sure she’d
never rejoin. She doesn’t want that type of fame. They would have to find
someone else.”

Silence fills the room for too long a moment.

“Gabe,” I say, stalling before referring to the
worst possible outcome for tomorrow. “Two years would still leave you a
lifetime of chances. You’re more than talented. You have an edge to you when
you play, an intensity that is visible to the crowd. Maybe—maybe LJ won’t be an
option but trust me, I know a lot about the music business from my dad, other
doors and possibilities will be there. Things that you never imagined…”

He buries his head in my shoulder. “I want to stay
with the band. Oddly, after all the bickering and bullshit we’ve become close.
Yet, I can’t erase the things I’ve done or pretend I’m not guilty. I feel like
I’m slowly drowning sometimes, but then somehow you always seem to show me the
pinpoints of light in my tunnel of darkness.”

His words—along with the gratefulness on his
face—tug at me so hard, I can’t help it. I start crying. He holds me tight. I
hold him back just as tightly. And it’s okay, because I need this in order to
be strong for him.

Tomorrow might be far worse.

Chapter 33

~Gabe~

“I’ve been working with
Gabe for almost a year,” Joan, my psychologist, begins from her spot behind me
in the front row of the courtroom.

The prosecution has already spelled out their
recommendation, which is the two-year maximum prison sentence. And my lawyer
has pleaded on my behalf using the facts that I have a job and am in a
successful band to prove that I’m a productive member of society. Yet it seems
like Joan is my one hope out of a possible two-year sentence. I like and hate
Joan. During our sessions, she drags me through hell, but I always leave
feeling lighter. Dreading the shit that’s coming, I stay seated forward. My
face is made of emotionless stone. I don’t fucking want to go through this.

I think of April. And the band.

I have to go through this.

“And a picture of his life has clearly emerged from
our time together. It consists of a mother who abandoned the family when he was
six, a father in depression that turned to alcohol, and boy who not only was
neglected but also abused.”

Okay, not so bad. Just general information. I don’t
like the pity it induces, though it seems to be aimed at me as boy. It’s always
hard for me to separate my younger self from my adult self. And behind Joan,
sit April, the band, and even Riley. I don’t want their pity. I loathe people
pitying me. A huge part of me wishes none of them were here, but strangely,
another part is honored at their support.

The sound of a paper turning sounds and Joan
continues, “The abuse included such things as punches in the back if he forgot
to take out the trash. Slaps to the face because he wouldn’t finish a burnt
dinner. A kick in the stomach to send him to bed. And a vicious beating when a
teacher called home about his behavior at school.”

Though my expression remains like marble, my stomach
reels, threating vomit. Her words call the memories back. Flashes in my mind
that bring emotions that I hate: fear, helplessness, anger, and anguish. My
hands curl into fists under the table while I try to keep the emotional barrage
at bay.

“These few instances are a small percent of what
I’ve learned from Gabe during our time together. I could go on for quite some
time, but I don’t believe that is necessary. What is necessary is for the court
to understand that Gabe suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder after so
many years of abuse. His symptoms include but are not limited to: intense
distress when reminded of the trauma, intense physical reactions when
remembering the events, a feeling of disconnection from others, being emotionally
numb, a sense of a limited future, and
irritability or
outbursts of anger.”

Yeah, that sounds about how I feel at
this
moment.
 
Though I’m somehow keeping control of my
emotions, I’m starting to sweat and actually shake. Fuck this. Instead of screaming
that, I stare at the gavel on the judge’s podium.

“PTSD is different with every patient due to the
different factors of each case. An important factor in Gabe’s history is the
arrival of his father’s girlfriend around the age
thirteen. She gave Gabe attention and took care of him, which
created an emotional bond. And although the physical abuse hadn’t broken Gabe,
he had become a hard and sullen teenager. But Sharon became the one bright spot
in his life. When his father began physically abusing Sharon, it didn’t take
long for Gabe to retaliate.”

The memories of Sharon being hurt have me burying my
head in my hands because the stone is melting with remembrances that bring on
an acute anxiety. I had to keep Sharon safe. Still feel like I have to.

“After that, the abuse did lessen, but didn’t
entirely stop. Gabe had learned to live with the abuse, as long as his father
left Sharon alone. He was always ready to attack if his father hurt Sharon.”

My father’s fists stopped hurting anything but my
pride a long time ago.

“Similarly, all of Gabe’s physical assaults as an
adult have been preempted by a male hurting a female, a very similar situation
to his protecting of Sharon.”

The sound of papers shuffling sounds, but I stay
unmoving.

“Though I do believe in those instances Gabe is a
threat, I don’t believe that incarceration is the correct solution. He has been
responsive and improving in our sessions. However, faced with his father not
only assaulting Sharon again, but also Gabe’s girlfriend, was too much for his
current coping skills. His coping skills not only need to improve, he also
needs more time to come to terms with the abuse in his past. Incarceration is
not the solution to either of these. Furthermore, these assaults are the
one
criminal issue. As an adult, Gabe
does not have any other criminal history. Nor does he have any substance abuse
problems. Thus, my recommendation is a complete program in a rehab facility
where he can continue to heal and learn how to cope.”

Still shaking a bit, I drop my hands and stare at
the floor. At this point, I don’t care what they decide. The memories need to
stop.
 

“Judge Baylor,” the prosecutor says in an
exasperated tone. “How are we to know that the defendant’s second hand account
of his life to a psychologist he was court ordered to see is actual fact? This
young man has viciously beat three men and broken his father’s jaw. Not only is
he a threat to society, he needs to be held accountable for his actions.”

“It took months for Gabe to open up to me,” Joan
says in an unyieldingly tone. “And after, I continually had to prod him to
share. I never suspected that his accounts, or anguish, were fabricated.”

I hear Joan sit, and some whispering that I don’t
try to decipher.

The
sweating and shaking
and stomach reeling decrease as the prosecutor, then my lawyer make their final
arguments. Their statements don’t bring on flashbacks, but I continue to feel
out of it, as if I’ve gone through some sort of emotional wringer.

The judge calls for a break to deliberate. Like a
zombie not seeing anyone or anything, I go out into the hall and find a bench.
April finds me. She holds my hand and I gradually begin to feel like a human
again.

“This is it,” I sadly say.

Shaking her head, she smiles. “This is just a short
hiccup in the beginning.”

Though my head is still screwed on sideways, next to
April I find strength and stability, feel like I’ve landed on my feet. There
are many fears rushing across my head right now, but the biggest one is the
fear of being without her.
At first,
I was willing to accept whatever happened. Now I’m hoping for some sort of
leniency, something that won’t take me from her.

The band and Riley gather around. Conversation
floats around me. I have a hard time following it. I’m trying not to consider
all the possibilities that the judge will decide, but I do. Everything from two
years of prison to six months of jail to months of rehab. All of it will take
me from April.

After an hour, it’s time to go back in and face my
sentencing. Romeo and Sam offer fist bumps. They are obviously more than aware
I’m uncomfortable with the pity hanging in the air. Riley and Justin give me
hugs. It’s been a long road for rich boy Justin and me—there was a time, more
like many times, I seriously considered beating his conceited ass—but out of
all the band members, I sense he feels the most for my predicament, as if he’s
guilty he grew up with so much while I had so little.

April tightly hugs me outside the courtroom
entrance, whispering in my ear, “Just remember, there’s no limit to the time
I’ll wait for you.”

Then I’m walking back down the aisle and facing the
judge and my future.

The old man clears his throat before his attention
pins to me. His face is lined with tension. “This hasn’t been an easy decision.
Assault is a crime that has more than physical repercussions. Many of its
victims deal with emotional trauma just like you. And I tend to agree with the
prosecutor. You need to be held accountable for your actions.”

My spine becomes steel. True. I went into this
pleading guilty because I don’t back down from responsibility. I do not want to
go to prison. I do not want to be separated from April for two years. I do not
want to lose my spot in the band. But if that’s what I owe…

“Yet, I keep coming back to one thing. I’m having a
hard time giving the maximum sentence to a young man that our system was
completely blind to as a boy. If I could go back in time and find every person
that turned their head and ignored your plight—and I’m quite
sure
they existed—I would sentence every one of them to a lengthy stay. But I’m left
here today to sentence you. Your past has obviously impacted your present,
which leads me agree with the recommendation for rehab.”

An almost tangible relief fills the courtroom while
I try to understand his words.

“I’m hoping that you will take this last chance
seriously. You will be held in custody until the time that you can be released
to a facility. No more than thirty days. You will pay for your flight and the
stint in rehab. Consider this as society’s debt paid back to you. A return here
will not beget any more compassion.” He raises the gavel, drops it, and stalks
off.

I sit stunned for several long seconds. April chants
my name from behind and I finally stand and turn around. I go wrap my arms
around her and she buries her face in my neck. “I’m still getting locked up.”

“You’ll be getting help,” she says against my
skin.
 

“The band…”

“They’ll wait,” she says firmly.

“You…”

“Will miss you every day while
I
wait.”

Chapter 34

~April~

Over Three Months Later

I come around the bend
on the pretty country road blooming with spring and the airport comes into
view. Nervousness and excitement flow through me at the sight. I haven’t seen
Gabe in over three months. I was able to visit him once while he was in jail,
but he left for a clinic in Texas ten days after the sentencing. Though the
visit hadn’t been very private in a room full of people, we managed a few
kisses and a short talk about the future.

The band was more than willing to wait for Gabe
since they each had a semester left of college to graduate. Romeo had already
been contemplating pushing for a later release date. Gabe’s sentencing sealed
the deal. The recording company they signed with wasn’t happy, but really, what
is two months? Plus, the delayed release helped decrease Gabe’s anxiety about
going to the clinic for three months.

I find a parking spot, hurry across the lot, and
race up the escalator to the area where passengers come back through security.
Of course, I’m early. I sit and wait as anticipation builds.

After half an hour, people begin coming out. I stand
and shuffle closer to the exit. I inspect each person quickly, until finally I
see
him
. His hair is a tad shorter as
if he just had it cut, his skin tan from the Texas sun, and his eyes light up
as he spots me.

We fly toward each other. He drops his backpack to
catch me. My face buries into his hard chest. His buries in my hair. And we just
revel in the comfort of being in each other’s arms. Nothing else. Euphoria.

He breaks the spell drawing back to look at me.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he says hoarsely, then kisses me and the spell
re-weaves around us. My hands curl into his hair. His fingers dig into my
waist. It takes a few minutes for us to realize that we’re in the middle
airport surrounded by passing people.

Gabe grins at me.

“Guess we could go to luggage,” I say in a sullen
tone, unhappy about the break of our kiss.

Shaking his head, he picks up his backpack. “This is
it,” he says as he grabs my hand.

We move toward the escalator.

“What about your kit?” The clinic had agreed to
allow Gabe to practice daily because of the possibility that he could be
touring days or weeks after his completion of their program. It will actually
be a little more than a month before he starts touring, and I plan to be at
several of those shows.

“Shipped that ground. Cheaper and less hassle than
flying with it. It should be here by tomorrow.”

“Oh,” I say slowly, thinking I’d never be able to
ship my guitar. I’d worry too much.

We exit out of the airport and I almost trip several
times since all I can see is Gabe. I’ve been imagining this for months, three
in fact. And my eyes eat him up. His eyes do the same to me. At my car, he
kisses me long and hard before we get in.

“So,” I say, turning the ignition. “How was the
program? Worth it, I hope?”

He draws in a breath and crosses his arms. “It went
well. Mostly, I learned a lot about myself, how to distance myself from my past
but also accept it, and different ways how to control my temper. Tons of ways
to control myself.”

“That sounds good.” I back out of the parking spot.
“Tell me more,” I ask, wanting to know, especially since we haven’t talked in
three months. Gabe wasn’t allowed outside communication at the clinic.

While I drive, he tells me about his group, his
psychologist there, his skill lessons, and even the food. It sounds like a
great clinic.

After I’ve asked him every question possible and
then some, he says, “You were right.”

I glance at him and raise my brows.

“It’s never going to be over. My past is always
something I’ll have to deal with. I’m going to keep seeing Joan. We’ll just
have to skype like we did on the last tour.”

I nod. “I’ve been going to group…well, when I can.
I’ve been spending a lot of time in California.”

“How is everyone?”

“Pretty good. Jason has been going out and doing
more. He and I email a lot.
Misha’s
actually dating
someone and talking it slow, and Chad, well, he hasn’t grown up yet.”

I pull into the parking lot behind the tattoo shop.

His brows lower. “We’re not going to your place?”

I laugh. “I don’t have a place anymore.”

His head tilts in question.

I park and turn to him. “Like I said, I’ve been spending
a lot of time in California, and you’d already paid Allie six months of rent,
and …I liked sleeping in your bed. Was that okay?”

He grins at me. “Hell, yes. Wish I would have known.
I could have imagined you in my bed all this time. But what have you been doing
spending so much time in California?”

“I’ll tell you later, because in about three
minutes, you won’t have to imagine anything.”

His grin grows. We both jump out of the car and race
up the stairs. At the top, I put the key in the lock and he turns the handle.

“Welcome home, Gabe,” I softly say, pushing the door
open.

“April, I was home the minute you entered my arms at
the airport.”

His words have me rushing inside, tearing off my
clothes and his. Gabe is in on the disrobing too, well, mostly my clothes. But
as he tears off my jeans, he pauses at the sight of the tattoo on my hip. His
fingers brush the lines of the real life looking monarch that Allie created
before he crouches to inspect it.

“Why a butterfly?” he asks, probably thinking if I’d
do ink, it would be related to music.

“Rachel had a thing for them, even as a teenager.”

His gaze rises from the tattoo to mine.

“I’ve almost finished the list.” I draw in a deep
breath. “Slept under the stars on my father’s balcony. Well, I didn’t sleep
much. I laid there thinking of Rachel, something I’ve tried not to do for a
long time. I cried a lot too. Mostly though, I remembered her and missed her
and realized I don’t want to forget her, no matter how painful the end, no
matter how much sadness and guilt her memory brings me. I’ll always love her.”

He stands and buries his hands in my hair. “That was
brave.” He kisses me ear. “Very brave.”

A sad smile escapes me. “I’m trying.”

He kisses the skin behind my ear. “Of course, you
are. It’s what I love best about you, always wanting to be a better person.”
His hands slide down my back, sending shivers along my skin. “But there are
other things I love about you.”

“Oh, yeah?” I lean toward him, my melancholy
dissipating at the hot look in his eyes. “Why don’t you show me?”

His hands curve around my butt. “Oh, I plan to. All
night.”

I lean closer, until our lips almost touch. “You’ve
got about four hours.”

He rears back. “What?”

I slide my hands over his shoulders. “Dinner at
Riley’s.”

“Fuck that.”

“Everyone wants to see you.”

“Don’t care.”

“They care about you. A lot.”

“Fine.
Four and a half hours.
We’re going to be late. I’ve got three months to make up for here.”

I laugh. “Late is good with me.”