Rock My Heart (Luminescent Juliet #4) (3 page)

With a scowl growing on his face, he leans down.
“Why are you here?”

His tone has me wanting to shut the door on him. “In
the parking lot?”
My
tone is
sarcastic as I turn toward him as much as the steering wheel will allow.

His brows lower and his scowl grows. “No, in the
group.”

For several long seconds, I stare at his scowling,
contempt-filled expression—ignoring the lips that brought me so much
embarrassment. Until rapid, chaotic anger, like a tornado shoots inside me from
both his question and his demanding glare. My mortification about acting like a
drunk ditz is gone.

“Really?
Did
you just sit in there? I don’t own you any explanation,” I say without
thinking, without curbing my response, which is unusual for me. And although I
always try to see the best side of a person, Gabe is making that habit super
hard.

“What could someone like
you
need to come
here
for?” he asks through clenched teeth.

“Someone like me? Someone like me!” I repeat, before
a wild laugh escapes me. “You know nothing about me.”

He glances at the front of my car. “You drive an
Infiniti, and”—his gaze roams over my short sleeved sweater and khaki
pants—“and dress like a prep.”

Angry tornado gaining power. “The car is eleven years
old. It was my
step-father’s
.
And your reference to my clothes? Are you still in high school?” I
push myself up, and if I were as tall as him, we’d be nose to nose.
“Furthermore, if I were some rich…snob? I think that’s what you’re getting at.
Are you saying that rich people don’t have problems? Aren’t depressed or lose
loved ones or their rich fathers don’t beat them?” I’m getting angrier with
each word I speak. “Just what are you saying?”

His expression tightens to the point that his
cheekbones slash across his face, but his tone is level when he says, “I’m
saying that I
have
to go to this
shit, and you don’t. It’s weird enough, much less with Romeo’s ex-girlfriend
who tried to hit on me the other night, sitting across from me.”

The tornado goes wild in my head. “I. Did. Not. Hit.
On. You.” I draw in a deep breath. “I would never hit on you. I’m not like
that. I was drunk and giggly.” And though I’d love never to come to this group
again, it’s not an option. “And I’m not quitting,” I practically snarl, then
slip back in my car and face forward. “Let go of my door.”

Across the parking lot, Misha leans against the
building, waiting for a ride and watching us. Great.

Gabe bends down, his hair swaying forward, and says
in a pacifying tone, “There are tons of other groups, probably better groups
for you and
your
problems.”

“Right now, my problem is you. Let go of my door and
get away from my car.”

He doesn’t let go.

Misha shades her eyes with hand to get a better look
at us arguing.

“Now.” I jam the keys in the ignition. “Or I will
make a scene.”

He reluctantly steps back.

I slam the door shut and drive off, almost squealing
my tires on the way out of the parking lot.

My hands tightly grip the steering wheel yet shake.
Though I can’t control shock, I rarely get angry. More than Gabe demanding I
leave the group, more than his insinuation that I’m a rich snob, more than his
assertion that I hit on him, even more than
him being in the group, I’m shook up over the swift loss of my control.

I
do
need
to get out of that group and away from Gabe. I don’t like losing control like
that.

Ever.

Chapter 3

~April~

In over two short weeks
since the start of school, Wednesday afternoon lunch with Riley has become an
official tradition. Since we both have class in the morning—me,
Community Psychology
and her,
Probability and Statistics—we always meet at the
Market
,
a little shop in the university’s main building that serves sandwiches and
soups.

I didn’t warm up to Riley at first. Honestly, I was
jealous of her. Not of her budding romance with Romeo—though he and I dated, a
real romantic connection between us never materialized —instead, I was
terrified she would damage our friendship. Romeo had become one of my closest
friends, out of very few friends. Once I realized how much he truly liked her,
I let go of my jealousy, and overtime Riley and I became friends. Riley is hard
not to like. She’s upbeat, a bit quirky, and an incredibly genuine person.

“So you’re coming next Friday, right?” Riley asks as
she crumples her empty sandwich wrapper.

Recalling the upcoming party, and the fact that I
already agreed to go, I almost choke on a gulp of water. “Um…”

Dang.

I want to let out a number of expletives. I’m quite
sure Gabe will be there given that the reason for the party is the band signing
with a label. Besides the fact that his dislike is almost tangible, I don’t
want to be anywhere near him since my strange reaction to him twice, but I want
to go to the party for Romeo and show my support.

“April?” Riley asks, her forehead scrunched. “You’re
coming early to help me get ready, right?”

My mind is stuck. I can’t come up with a legitimate
excuse that won’t have me feeling guilty. “Yes, of course,” I say, forcing a
slight smile. I can do this. Gabe just caught me off guard in the parking lot,
and the time
previous to
that I wasn’t myself. I won’t
lose control again.

“It’s not going to be fancy or anything. And it will
be only our close friends. Romeo was irritated I even wanted to have a get together.”
She rolls her eyes. “But come on. They’re getting signed!”

“It’s very exciting,” I agree, then take another sip
of water, forcing myself to think of the conversation instead of being in close
proximity to Gabe. I want to get off the topic of the party. It’s making my
insides jittery. “Do you wish you were in the band now that they’ve signed with
a label?”

Not many people know about the label’s offer. Romeo
is keeping it under wraps. Even before they went on tour and opened for two
nationally known bands, they’d been celebrities on campus. If the label thing
got out, life on campus would totally suck for the members that go here—meaning
not Gabe.

Riley pauses lifting her bottle of tea, then slowly
sets it on the table, obviously collecting her thoughts. “I miss playing with
people who are at the top of their game. My band’s coming along, though it’s
obviously nowhere near Luminescent. But the touring? The possible fame? The
interviews?” She shakes her head. “No thank you. Seriously, I don’t think I could
deal with all that.”

Her response doesn’t surprise me. She’s wonderfully
in tune with herself. “It seems like Romeo would feel the same way about the
fame part.”

She tilts her head and taps her cap on the table.
“He wants…the full experience. He doesn’t let things go to his head, whether
it’s fame or stress. And yeah, one day he might step in the background and
become the producer or the manager or the songwriter, but for now he’s
learning. Romeo’s always learning.”

I smile genuinely for once. Riley understands Romeo
more than I ever could. How lovely it would be to have such a connection with
someone. Not that
I
ever could. I
glance at the clock. “I need to get going, need to get in three hours of filing
today. Do you need me to bring anything on Friday?”

“No, I’ve got everything. I’ll just need some help
pulling it together.”

“Okay, I’ll be there by five,” I say with a quick
wave, heading over to the psychology wing.

Inside the wing, I pass a few people I’ve had
classes with in the past, but only offer a slight wave. The whole Gabe in group
therapy, along with the addition of the party, has me feeling like I’m stuck
between a rock and a very hard place. I enter the department offices, greet the
secretaries, store my bag under the community desk, jot down my time, and begin
filing papers—my fifteen hours a week
job. When I started this job freshman year, there had been five of us. This
year I’m the sole paper filer. Other students work on computers, putting the
information in databases. After a half hour, I find myself in Dr. Medina’s
office, knocking on the open door.

She looks up from her desk and smiles. “Hello,
April. Do you need something?”

Dr. Medina is the department head of Psychology.
I’ve had her for three different classes in the past. Most importantly, Dr.
Medina refers students for the Clinical Counseling Graduate Program. Though my
GPA is a four point, she has been hesitant to refer me to the program. I’ve
never told her about my past, but the woman has psychological
x-ray vision because she can see right
into me. She believes I need to accept whatever is in my past before I can
counsel others. Thus the group therapy prior to the recommendation, and
although Jeff can’t tell her anything specific, he can tell her if I’m making
progress or not. What I
need
to do is
get my head out of my behind and open up about something soon or he’ll deem me
progress-less. What I
want
to do is
get out of that group.

I nearly bite my lip off before I blurt, “Do you
think it’s too late for me to find another group?”

In the mist of writing something, Dr. Medina’s pen
pauses hovering over the paper she is grading. “Why would you want to switch
groups?” she asks in a cautious tone.

Her tone has me wanting to take the question back.
“Well,” I say slowly. “I’m not sure the fit is…um, right.”

“Jeff tells me that the group is comprised of all
young adults, it should be a perfect fit. People at the same place in life tend
to see and understand things the same way.” She puts her pen down. “Plus, you
told me that it was going great a few weeks ago. Why this sudden change of
heart?” Her expression is thoughtful and a bit suspicious.

Crap!
I should have never opened my stupid mouth. “I…the last session felt extremely
uncomfortable,” I say, trying to be honest because I respect Dr. Medina very
much.

A soft smile curves her mouth. “Then that is exactly
where you belong. Your boundaries need to be pushed, April. A little discomfort
may do you good.”

Yup
,
a rock and a hard place.

I
have
to
get into the program. And Dr. Medina holds the key. I draw in a deep breath so
I can force out the words, “You’re probably right. I’m sure you’re right. I’m
just being a coward.”

Her head shakes. “Not a coward, just human.”

I force a smile. “Thanks for listening to me.”

She picks up her pen. “Anytime, April.”

I go back to filing papers. While I work, I try to
calm myself and tell myself I can handle Gabe.

But I’m worried.

I haven’t reacted to anyone like that in years.

Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever reacted that way
to anyone.

Chapter 4

~Gabe~

Riley watches me
playing the drums, foot tapping to the beat, forehead wrinkled in
concentration, and hands gripping the edges of the chair. She ignores Romeo,
her boyfriend, playing the guitar to the left of me. I used to find her intense
attention unnerving. After a while, it just became part of practicing. Also,
beyond finding her stare uncomfortable, my dislike for her used to border on
hate.

Though I’d never admit it, she intimidates the hell
out of me. She beat me out over a year ago for the drumming spot in Luminescent
Juliet. They offered me the job when she quit. Because drumming is my
addiction,
a calm
in the storm that is me, I swallowed
my pride and took the job. Without the release of playing, I probably would
have landed in jail or prison long ago.

I learned how to play the drums by ear and practice,
practice, practice. I didn’t know the proper lingo, how to read music, or even
the fractional way music is broke down. I simply learned how to copy to the
point of perfection.

Once Romeo had taught me all he could, I had to
swallow my pride again—which was shit ass hard, since there are times pride is
all I have—and take lessons from my nemesis. Though I cling to pride like a
motherfucker, I’m not stupid. So when he brought Riley in, I swallowed pride
like a heroin addict prostitute swallows in a back alley—without a blink of an
eye, even as their insides have to be retching like hell. Drumming is my heroin,
Romeo my pimp, and Riley my pusher.

I roll into a drum
fill,
adrenaline and anger pushing my energy, then bring down the energy as Romeo
strums out the ending riffs of the new song.

Riley smiles wide. “Perfect! You finally toned down
the intro and ending.”

Yeah, pounding lightly is a problem for me. Over the
last three rounds of the song, I’ve forced myself to ease up a bit more each
time through.

Romeo places his guitar on a waiting stand. “I’m
going to go get some food before practice. You two finish the sheet music.”

Romeo is a bossy dick, and if he weren’t the driving
force that keeps our band on track, along with the hours he has spent helping
me hone my skill, I would have beat his ass long ago. He could piss off a
saint, and I’m the furthest thing from a saint.

He murmurs something in Riley’s ear—that has her
smiling wider—then he takes off down the stairs that lead to this second floor
dungeon above an old antique shop.

Riley waves a clipboard at me. “Finish this up, so I
can head out.”

I tuck my sticks in a back pocket and go over to
her. Now that we have a label, every instrument needs to be composed on paper
before we head into the studio over the next couple of months. And though Riley
taught me how to read music, writing it is difficult. Therefore, she sets it
up, I finish it out, and she checks it over.

Swallow
fucking
swallow.

I am getting better at this shit though, even though
it’s only been a month since we got back from the tour. Plus, Riley helps me
swallow my pride by always being gone before the other members of the band come
for practice. I’m honest enough to admit I’d be humiliated if the other band
members knew how much she helps me.
 

Sitting next to her, I grab the sheets attached to
the clipboard and start working on the drum notation.

She waits and texts while I start filling in the
drum keys.

After a few minutes of silence, I nonchalantly say,
“Can I ask you something? If you don’t want to answer, feel free to tell me to
fuck off if you feel like it.”

She pauses texting to look at me like I’ve grown
another head, then she nervously presses her lips together before blurting, “I
don’t want to be in the band. I can’t work with Romeo on a regular basis like
that. It put a huge strain on our relationship. The idea of touring, living on
a bus for weeks, sounds like hell. You’re pretty much as good as me now and—”

“Whoa,” I say, raising my hand. “I wasn’t going to
ask that.”

She blinks at me.

I’m not surprised at her response. Working with her
at first, I probably was noticeably resentful, and yes, I used to agonize about
her coming back into the band and leaving me high and dry until I talked myself
into not giving a fuck, or at least trying not to give a fuck. Between her
starting her own band and Luminescent going on a major tour, I began to lose
that worry. With the worry mostly gone, I’m still all work and little
conversation. Talk is cheap. But her response isn’t unexpected. The question
she supposed I asked has been silently sitting between us every time we
practice.

I force a close lipped smirk. “I’m glad you’re not
planning on taking over my spot, and ah…thanks for the compliment, though
you’re a better player than—”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Not really. I do
have an edge as far as mechanics, but you have an edge because of your
intensity. Thus it all evens out in the end.”

This time I blink at her. I try not to compare
myself to this girl. She’s that good.

“So what were you going to ask?”

I let my shock over her evaluation of my skill go.
“I wanted to ask about April…” I don’t give a shit what Riley or anyone else
thinks about my mental state. It’s fucked up. End of story. I’m just not
comfortable sharing that April is in group therapy. I don’t snitch on people to
the cops
or
their friends. That shit
was pounded in
me
at the age of
thirteen during a two-month stint in juvie. Got caught stealing tennis shoes—my
second shop lifting offence—that I truly needed. I also learned how information
could prove to be the scale tipper while in juvie, and I need information on
April. Usually I don’t care enough to play games, yet I’ll do just about
anything at this point to get rid of her.

Riley’s face constricts in confusion. “April
Tanner?”

“Um, yeah, she’s your and Romeo’s friend, right?”

“You’re interested in April? I thought you were
dating…that one blonde girl,” she finally says, obviously not able to recall
the name of my last girlfriend.

“Ah, Kristy and I haven’t really connected since I
got back from tour.” I don’t have time for clingy Kristy’s drama between all my
probation demands, working at the garage, and writing a new album.

Riley’s eyes grow huge. “So you want to ask April
out?”

A harsh laugh escapes me. “Ah, no,” I say, thinking
people like April don’t date people like me, or vice versa. I’m on the other
side of several tracks from her. I’m on the real side of life. She’s on the
lucky side, with her nose stuck in the air so far I’m surprised it doesn’t have
wings. Sometimes her side slums on my side for some adventure, but that shit
never
lasts.

 
“I just
want…”
Her to quit group and never touch
me again
. I’ve been trying to quit or get myself moved into another group
for the last three days. My probation officer refused to move me. Since he’d
already spent a huge amount of time finding me the “right” group due to my new
semi-fame—his words not mine—he determined that I was trying to get out of
any
group therapy. But people rarely
recognize me, unless I’m with the band. Usually, I’m low key or working at my
job at the garage. Yet, even though I told him this, he refused to change my
group.

Riley’s expectant and confused stare has me looking
at the drum notation and mumbling, “I might be a little interested in her.” I
internally punch myself in the face. I hate lying, but nothing else to do. I
plaster a forlorn look on my face and meet Riley’s wide smile. “So what is she
like?”

“Well…” Riley tucks her phone in pocket. “She can
seem a bit standoffish. Justin used to refer to her as the ice queen. She’s
just very private and usually quiet. Kind of like you…” My brows rise in
unbelief. Yet she just draws a knee up and wraps her hands around it. “Anyway,
when Romeo and I were going through some problems, she pulled me aside and
bitched me out. So she’s not shy or anything, but she doesn’t date much,” Riley
says with a frown, slouching in thought before perking up. “She’ll be at the
get together Friday. You
could try
talking to her there.”

I nod like that’s the best idea ever. “Anything else
I should know about her?”

“Well, I’m not going to tell you anything super
personal. I can only tell you she’s very driven. She’s going to college to be a
counselor. She’ll be graduating this year, a semester early. College takes up
most of her life, which is probably why she doesn’t date much…”

Counselor? Maybe that’s why she’s in group, part of
her education, which makes her being there worse. Like I’m a caged animal to be
poked and prodded
and dissected.

The fucking cherry on top of this mess is that I
want therapy to help me. I never buy into hope, but when we got offers from
several labels, a different future than the shit I always anticipated flashed
in my imagination. Now I
need
therapy
to help me. Yet I’m beyond uncomfortable bearing all my shit to some chick I
see from time to time out of therapy, who used to screw Romeo, and who is still
friends with Romeo and Riley. Like I said to her, it’s just too weird. And
beyond the weirdness, I don’t think I can admit all my dirt with her sitting
across from me. The wannabe slut, the jean picker, and even the spoiled douche
bag I can handle, but the princess?

Nope.

She’s so calm, cool, and collected, gazing down her
nose at the rest of us. With her back stiff, her hands clasped, and her
expression smooth, she makes me feel dirty merely looking at her.

Yet, out in the parking lot she lost some of that
cool, her blue eyes flashing angrily, her mouth twisting in fury. She didn’t
look like the ice queen then. And my previous assumption, that her icy, cool
beauty was a turn off, changed in an instant. Cracking her cool, bringing out that
fire, became a hot, sexual fantasy in an instant.

And fuck that.

Fuck my dick and its fantasies. I will never go
there
. I force my features to smooth and
glance back at the music sheet. “Yeah, I’ll definitely have to talk to her at
the party.”