Show Me How (8 page)

No, but I envy them. I think it's a beautiful thing to be a lover.

Stranger:
You and your words . . .

Stranger:
So you're a romantic then?

Obviously, as if you expected me to be anything less.

And I will say I'm kind of disappointed in your lack of belief in love.

Stranger:
Sorry, Words. No white knight waiting to sweep you off your feet here.

Ha ha. Shame.

I fought off a yawn as I tapped out my response, and glanced up when something caught my eye out of one of the large windows of the warehouse. I blinked quickly, squinted, then smiled at the pinkish gray sky.

Good morning, Stranger.

Stranger:
Christ. Already? Morning, Words.

I don't know why you always sound so surprised when you won't ever let me go to sleep.

Stranger:
I'm sorry.

Stranger:
I like your words, what can I say?

My chest moved with my silent laugh, and my lips pulled into a smile.

Yeah, but I think ­people at work are starting to worry about why I can't function.

There was such a long pause before the little dots popped up, indicating he was typing, that I'd thought he'd finally fallen asleep.

Stranger:
I'm really struggling not to ask where you work. Or who you are . . .

I wouldn't tell you even if you did.

Stranger:
Ever?

My thumbs stilled above my screen as I thought. What we'd had with my notebook last week, and now with texting all night every night, was safe because we knew nothing about each other. And yet, in the past week and a half, I'd told him everything about myself.

He didn't know my name, my family, the specifics of my past with Ben, or about Keith . . . but he knew more about me than anyone else ever had. And I knew that was because there was this sense that he wasn't actually real. Like he was fictional. It was as if I was falling for the hero of a book, except he was real.

Something told me that if we were ever put in front of each other, what we'd had would end, and I wasn't ready for it to. I'd never had this, and I didn't know if I ever would again . . . so I wanted it for as long as it could last.

I'm not sure.

Stranger:
Right . . . probably best, yeah?

Yeah . . .

Stranger:
Before I let you go, can you tell me something?

Of course :)

Stranger:
What ever happened to that not-­so-­suicide note that started all of this?

Ha . . . the song?

Stranger:
It was a song?

The beginning of one, yes.

Stranger:
. . . were those all songs?

My cheeks burned with heat as I quickly tapped on the screen.

Songs and poems, yes . . .

Stranger:
So did you finish it?

I blinked slowly as I realized I couldn't even think of anything to say about my nights with Ben other than what I'd already said. I'd been thinking about those nights for years before I finally allowed myself to write about them, and then my Stranger came and made me wonder why I was still waiting for a guy who wasn't even alive to love me.

Actually, no. I'd forgotten about it with our notes and everything.

Stranger:
Are you saying my words can make you forget? ;)

Stranger:
Are you going to?

Yes. That's exactly what I was saying. I chewed on my bottom lip as I thought, then finally responded.

Ha ha. I'm not sure. I thought I had an entire song about what I was for him, and what he never was for me—­but now I'm not so sure.

I flew up to a sitting position on the couch, and glanced back up at the window. The sky now a mixture of pinks, purples, and oranges.

Stranger:
He didn't deserve a song anyway

Hold on. I'll be back with something, but then I really need to get ready for work.

I ran through the warehouse and tiptoed into my room, and snatched my notebook up before running back out to the couch. I flipped to the first clean page since our notes had taken up so much of the others, quickly wrote out what had been Ben's song, and then added a little bit below. Once it was done, I took a picture and sent it to Stranger.

Who listens to your sad songs

The shoulder that you cry on

Out on that ledge you walk on

When you're sinking

Who keeps your secrets locked up

When there's no one you can trust

I know it's much more than just wishful thinking

Just say the words and you know I'll be there

You can't believe it's daylight

We stayed up again all night

Just ta
Talking just cause you like the way I make the words sound

I waited for what seemed like hours but was really only a minute before those little dots popped up. My heart raced and I bit at my lip as I worried about what he would say.

Stranger:
That's not about him, is it?

No . . .

Stranger:
Will there be more?

I guess that depends.

Stranger:
On?

Our conversations, and if they continue.

Stranger:
Words . . . you're not getting rid of me.

My cheeks burned as my lips stretched into a smile.

Then eventually.

Stranger:
Good. Go get ready for work. I'll talk to you later.

Have a good day, Stranger.

I stood from the couch and started walking back toward the bedroom when my phone vibrated in my hand again.

Stranger:
Hey, Words? Having what you wrote about him at the beginning makes it seem like that's what is happening now. He's your past . . . I think he should come after us.

Us
. I stared at that word for the longest time as those stupid, stupid butterflies took up residence in my stomach again, then I tapped out a response.

Okay then.

 

Chapter Nine

Deacon

June 11, 2016

I
GLANCED AT
Charlie's car as Graham and I walked up to the warehouse, and shifted the bags in my hands when he knocked on the door. After knocking again and not getting an answer, Graham tried the door, and sent me an annoyed look when it opened.

This was Thatch, but Jagger and Grey really needed to start locking their door.

Loud music was blasting through the warehouse, and from experience, we knew that meant Jagger was drawing in the back.

“Jagger,” we mumbled at the same time.

“I'll go let him know we're here,” he said, and set off in that direction, but I didn't bother to respond as a flash of blond caught my attention.

I hurried to set the bags of food on the table before quietly walking toward the couches, where Charlie was curled into a ball on her side; her finger still holding her place in a book even though she was asleep.

My mouth curled into an amused grin as I squatted next to her. ­“People actually fall asleep like this?” I said under my breath, and carefully took the book from her.

Once I had it set down, I looked back down at her, and was struck again with the intense urge to touch her. To feel her body against mine again.

Before I could do something as stupid as either of those things, her eyes shot open and she jerked away from me. Her hand went to her chest, and she exhaled roughly.

“Oh my God, Deacon,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

“Charlie Girl.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks, and though she opened her mouth, it took her a few seconds to get the words out. “Why are you staring at me while I sleep? It's creepy when Keith does it, and I actually expect him to be there when I wake up.”

“I . . .” I blew out a slow breath, and sat back on my heels when I faltered for a reason that I could give her. “I was going to wake you up. You beat me to it.”

“Room.”

My brow furrowed. “What?”

She placed her hand against my chest, and pushed. “Give me room so I can sit up.” Once she was upright, she ran a hand through her long hair and looked around the large room as she blinked slowly, like she was trying to orient herself.

“How did you sleep through Jagger's music?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I don't know. Years of getting used to it, I guess.”

Jesus Christ. Why the hell did this tired, rumpled version of Charlie make me want her more?

This was Charlie.
Charlie Girl
. Jagger's shy little sister. Shy, sweet Charlie who had always been in the background my entire life. No man could deny that she was gorgeous, but she wanted to be invisible, and she usually succeeded in it.

I'd never once thought of her in any way like I had the past ­couple weeks. I'd never wanted to touch her. I'd never wanted to push her back down and cover her body with mine. I'd never wanted to know what she felt like beneath me.

This had to be what it felt like to lose your damn mind. Because this was fucking
Charlie
.

It had never been that she was untouchable; it was just that there was no thinking of her at all. I didn't know what to do now that I couldn't stop. Ever since that night, that damn night outside these very walls had changed something. And I wanted to change it right back.

“Why are you here?” she asked softly.

I glanced up to find her studying the ground with her arms wrapped securely around her waist.

There she went, trying to be invisible again . . . but I'd never seen anyone so clearly.

“Graham and I brought breakfast from Mama's,” I said as I nodded toward the kitchen area, even though she still wasn't looking at me. “Speaking of, I figured I would've seen you there.”

“I switched with someone, so I'm going in later today.” She looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen, and said, “But I should get ready because I have to walk to work.”

“Walk?” I asked as she stood.

Charlie gave me an odd look just as Keith came running in.

“Deaton, Deaton, Deaton! Guess who I am!”

I huffed when he slammed into me, then held him away from me to look at his face. Across his forehead was a large
A
.

“Uh . . . Ant-­Man?”

Keith sighed. “No, I'm Captain America.”

I laughed. “Of course you are. Where's your shield?” But Keith was already running away, and my attention went to the girl backing away from me. “Why are you walking to work?”

Again, that odd look. “My car doesn't work. You didn't finish fixing it.”

“Yes, I did,” I said, disagreeing with her. “I stayed up—­” I cut off quickly before I could tell her that I'd stayed up talking to some girl, and instead said, “I didn't sleep at all after the wedding, so I came here and finished working on it. There's no real fix for your car unless you want to spend thousands of dollars, and honestly, your car isn't worth it. No offense, but it would just break down again in a year if you're lucky, probably six months. So there are temporary fixes that
might
help it run for a ­couple days at a time. I did what I could.”

She stood there for a few seconds without saying anything or looking at me, and finally, her blue eyes flickered up. “Really?”

“Yeah. If I can get it into the shop, I might be able to get it to run for longer periods at a time, but I think you should look into getting a new car.”

Charlie sighed, and mumbled, “Now you sound like—­”

“At least someone agrees with me,” Jagger said as he came into the main room from the back halls.

I hadn't even realized his music had turned off.

“Deacon,” he said in a low tone. His gaze went from me to his sister, then back again.

“Jag.” I dipped my head in his direction, and tried not to follow Charlie's movements as she left the room.

“Deaton, Deaton! Guess who I am!”

I pulled my attention away from the entrance to the halls, and watched Keith as he raced toward me with a piece of a cinnamon roll in his hand.

“Uh,” I sucked in a quick breath as I glanced as his forehead. The
A
had been wiped away, leaving only black smudges. “Definitely
not
Captain America. Let's see . . . Loki!”

“No! I'm Darf Vaber!”

My head jerked back. “What? Darth Vader isn't a superhero. He isn't even with Marvel, kid!”

Keith sighed like he was getting annoyed that I wasn't keeping up with him. “Supaheroes can't defeat the ladybugs 'cause they take away the supapowers, memember?”

“So you need to be Darth Vader in order to get rid of ladybugs?”

Another long, drawn-­out sigh. “Yes, Deaton,” he said as he went to go sit at the table. “One day you'll undastand.”

“You're right, kid. Maybe one day.” I caught Graham smiling impishly at me, and my smile abruptly faded. “What?” I demanded.

He gestured from Keith to me. “Thousand bucks, man.”

I flipped him off, but held back any verbal retort as I slipped quietly from the room while Jagger's eyes were off of me.

I set off toward the hallway to try to find Charlie, but as soon as I turned the corner, I nearly knocked her over.

“What—­” Charlie began as she danced out of my way, and hurried to finish pulling her hair on top of her head. “Deacon, what are you doing back here?”

“Looking for you.”

She bit down on her full bottom lip, and her cheeks turned pink. “Uh . . . I have to get to the café.”

“Right, about that. I was wondering if I could take you.”

Her steps abruptly halted, and she turned slowly to look up at me. “Why would you want to?”

If only she knew it was the least of the things I wanted to do with her at that moment. Pushing her up against the wall and tasting that lip she kept biting on came close to the top. “I can take you, and then I'll take your car into the shop—­try to figure out something else to do with it.”

Surprise settled over her features. “You're really going to do that?”

“Charlie Girl,” I said with a laugh. “Yeah. But I was serious; it's
really
temporary. It's just something that will have to continue being fixed. You need to look for a new car.”

Her surprise faded into defeat. “I know, I just . . . I know.” With a sad sigh, she began walking again, her voice trailing behind her. “I will.”

I followed her back out to the main room, and tried to ignore Jagger's warning glare when he found out I was taking Charlie to work. Graham's assessing gaze that kept bouncing back and forth between Charlie and me was harder to miss. Each time he made the pass back to her, the mixture of confusion and worry in his eyes grew.

I was already struggling with trying to understand why I couldn't stop thinking about the girl standing just a handful of feet from me. I didn't want to spend time trying to understand the way Graham was looking at her, or why it was bothering me.

But I thought about that damn look the entire drive to Mama's.

Fucking Graham. Whatever was going on between them, I knew it hadn't been like that before, and it was pissing me off more each time I saw them together.

“Hey, Charlie, what time do you get off today?” I asked before she could get out of her car once I pulled up in front of the café.

“Oh, it's a weird shift, I get off at three thirty. But don't worry about it if you're not finished with my car, I can walk back.”

“No, I'll be here no matter what; my car or yours. Since you get off early enough, do you want to go to some dealerships in Richland after?”

“With you?” she asked, clarifying.

“Yeah.”

For long moments she studied me as her head slowly shook. “Why do you keep doing this? Why do you—­I don't understand why you've been talking to me the way you have been, or trying help me. And now—­”

“Would it really be so hard for you to believe that I just want to spend time with you?”

Her cheeks turned red as my question hung in the air. “Yes,” she finally replied.

“Why?”

“Because you're Deacon Carver, and the minute I believe that you
do
want to is the minute I find out this is one huge joke to you.”

An agitated huff left me. “And you can say that because—­”

“I know you.”

“Do you?” I challenged. “I've already proved that you were all wrong about me the night of the wedding, didn't I?”

Whatever response she'd had waiting for me died, and her lips pressed firmly together. After a few seconds, she nodded distractedly, and whispered, “Why, Deacon?”

“Why? I told you, I just want to spend time—­”

“No. Why
now
?”

The silence in the car felt like a living thing as I searched for an answer, but I'd been searching for an answer for over a week now, and I still hadn't found one.

“I don't know, Charlie Girl,” I said honestly.

For some reason, my answer seemed to surprise her. After a second's hesitation, she nodded, and said, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“If you want to take me, let's go. Jagger and Grey are leaving for Seattle for a little over a week, so Grey's supposed to drop Keith off at the babysitter. I'll just ask her to keep him longer.”

I tilted my head slightly at the mention of Jagger. “Your brother's going to kill me.”

“For taking me to look at cars?” she asked, her tone both curious and testing.

My eyes slid down her body, and before I could stop myself, I said, “Let's just say he has every reason to tell me to stay away from you, Charlie Girl.”

By the time I was looking at her face again, her eyes were wide and her cheeks were the brightest red, and it looked like she was fighting a smile. “Um, okay. I'll, uh, I'll see you then. After work. When I get off,” she stammered as she opened the passenger door of her car.

“If I'm not here to pick you up, then I'm still at the garage working on your car. I'll get your number from Grey and text you so you have mine in case I'm not here.”

Charlie still looked like I was speaking some foreign language to her, like she didn't believe this was happening as she turned and walked into Mama's. I didn't blame her. I was still trying to make sense of it myself.

It wasn't until Grey sent me Charlie's number twenty minutes later, and I automatically sent Charlie a message from my regular phone, that it clicked.

I hadn't once thought about adding Charlie's number to Candy. I hadn't even used Candy other than to talk to Words since the wedding. Actually, I hadn't used it for its designated purpose for almost a week before that.

From the day I'd walked into Mama's Café and found that journal, I'd been so consumed with Words that I hadn't had sex in nearly two weeks. On top of that I'd been trying to apologize to Charlie for how I'd treated her, and somehow . . . somehow those two things had started affecting how I now saw her.

Charlie—­
Charlie
of all ­people. A girl I'd never looked twice at, I now couldn't stop thinking about, and I now had no doubt that it was because I'd gone from having sex nearly every day to not at all. Because I was addicted to a girl who was real, but would never be real to me. And now I knew I needed to put an end to this before I did something that ruined fucking everything.