Touching Melody (A Forever First Novel) (17 page)

“Seriously. Uncle Ryan runs the best restaurant in Wyoming.”

I nod. Swallow, and focus on my plate. Talk of his family is making me uncomfortable.

“Do I hear my name being spoken in vain?” A man with dark hair, silver dusting his sideburns, and dark eyes walks up to the table. He’s an older version of Evan with a little paunch. His forehead is broad and his face is stern.

Kyle stands, clapping his uncle on the back. The man does the same to Kyle. I try to smile, but don’t quite make it. My heart starts to race. Something about him seems familiar.

Finally they stop embracing and his uncle turns to me. My breath catches in my throat. I’m not sure why. He sticks out his hand.

“You must be Maddie Martin. I’m Ryan Hadley. Nice to meet you.” He has an easy smile and a deep timber to his voice. I’ve heard his voice somewhere before, but I’m not sure where.

I rise, and take his outstretched hand. It’s warm. “Nice to meet you too.”

His smile falters slightly, and he drops my hand. “I’ll let the two of you get back to your dinner.”

“Thanks,” Kyle says
. “The food is delicious, as always.”

Kyle’s uncle
turns his gaze on me and I see a flicker of coldness in his eyes. “You didn’t like the escargot?”

I glance at Kyle for help. It wasn’t that I didn’t like it
; I didn’t even try it. My stomach roiled at the thought. Kyle steps in. “She didn’t know what it was. I should’ve told her. It’s my fault.”

His uncle
raises a dismissive hand. “Nonsense, boy. Think nothing of it.” He gives me a final glance before walking away.

I feel my head tilt in confusion and
I sit. Kyle does the same. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”

“Don’t worry. My uncle is a little on the odd side.” He shrugs and goes back to his food.

I try to do the same, but it tastes like powder.

“Why did you start playing the piano?” Kyle asks as though everything is normal.

I want it to be normal. I do. He’s asked a standard question. Lots of people have asked the same one over the years. None were Kyle though. The son of a murderer. The reason I no longer live with my parents. Never got a chance to have my father teach me to drive, or my mom talk to me about a first date—first anything.

My hands shake and my bottom lip trembles. I stand, knocking my chair over. “I-I-I
have to go.” I throw napkin on the table.

Kyle stands, shock on his face.

I can’t do this. Why did I think I could?

I push past waiters and patrons. Brush past
Kyle’s uncle and fall out the front door. The night air is cold and I bend over. Putting my hands on my knees, I inhale deep breaths, like a fish out of water.

And that’s what I am.

I don’t know how I thought dating Kyle, or kissing Kyle, or almost doing other things with Kyle, would be okay. It isn’t.

Kyle steps out, hands on his hips. “What the hell, Maddie?” I scan his
face, recognize the frustration in the lines and furrows. He reminds me vaguely of his uncle. When his eyes find mine his face relaxes, replaced by concern. “Hey, are you alright?”

I want to remain calm, but I’m not. “No, I’m not okay.” I walk away, but turn back, running into his outstretched arms.

“Why not? Did I do something?”

“Yes! No.” I sag in his arms. “You don’t understand.”

He kisses the side of my head. With those lips. Gorgeous lips. “Tell me, then.” I press my head against his chest and breathe him in. He smells like aftershave and clean laundry and garlic. “Maddie?”

“Ugh, it’s nothing.” I can’t tell him. I don’t want him to know I think his dad is a murderer. I don’t want him to feel bad. “I’m just tired.”

“Come on, let me take you home.”

“
’kay.”

He drives me to Irvine Hall. After he puts the Jeep in park, he runs around to my side and opens my door.

Then he kisses me. A quick but tender kiss. I can’t help but lean into him. Kiss him back. 

“You’re a quick study,” Kyle says, smiling.

I perk up. “Ya think?”

“I know.” He taps the tip of my nose with his finger. I get the implication behind his words. He knows because he’s made out with a lot of girls. I’m not sure whether to think he’s complimented or insulted me.  He kisses me again, this time longer, and I wrap my arms around his waist.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lover Girl. Should we meet in the practice room at five? Professor Jenkins gave us a standing reservation.”

I quickly scan through my day. “I’d like that.
But don’t call me Lover Girl. Please.”

“Fine
. I’ll stick with Freckles, even though they seem to have vanished.” He walks away, then turns back.

I try to think of a quick come back.
When we were young I called him Brace Face and Frizz Head. Neither of those apply any longer. Words like “hottie” and “gorgeous” enter my mind. But then, like he said, the small smattering of freckles that used to adorn my face are gone. Then I get a stroke of genius.

“I guess Freckles is better. See
ya, Pretty Boy.”

He busts out laughing.
“By the way, I have your music. From the other day. I’ll bring it.” He winks.

I’d completely forgotten a
bout the music. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Kyle

“She seems nice,” Evan says, closing his apartment door. He zips his jacket, pulls out a pack of cigarettes, flicks the lighter, and ignites one. The air is freezing, the sky clear, and millions of stars shine overhead. Even the Milky Way is visible. Evan inhales and exhales, walks over to the old balcony, and leans his elbows on it.

“She is.” I take up space
next to him, stealing the cigarette from his hand and taking a drag. There’s no need to clarify. I know he’s talking about Maddie. I take another drag and hand it back, enjoying the mellow buzz that steals over my body.

“But,”
Evan inhales, “she seems like a lot of drama.”

I let out an exasperated breath. “That she is.”

“So why the fuck are you putting up with it?” His eyes narrow and he searches my face. “You’ve got girls lining up to be with you. Hell, Baby and Beth ask me about you at least once a day.” He shakes his head. “I don’t get it.” He hands me the cigarette.

I
take a drag, blow it out. “She...” I close my eyes. Remember all the times she was there for me growing up. The way she took care of me. I never had a mother, and with Maddie around I didn’t miss her. At least not that much.

Now that we’re grown, it’s not about the way she took care of me. It’s about the hurt I see in her face. The way she tries to hide it, block it away, and I feel this undeniable need to be there for her. Like she’s the Earth, and I’m bound to her by gravity. Even if I
'd wanted to break away, I can’t. There’s something inside me, holding me to her.

“Dude.” He shoves his shoulder into mine.

I run my hands through my hair. Open my eyes, and stare out at nothing.

“The bitch didn’t return a phone call. Not a single letter.” He flicks the died-out cigarette from my fingers.

I watch it fall to the pavement below. “You know how, after my father died, I was kind of a wreck? Drugs. Drinking. Doing shit I shouldn’t.”

Evan nods. “Yeah, those were good times. My dad had to pull some serious strings to get you out of a couple of messes.”

We laugh. Punch each other a few times. The shit we do. Talking, not so much, but I feel like I need to explain the way I feel to him. I’m just not sure where to begin. Still, I try. “It was like ants were crawling around inside. I thought I would go crazy. The feeling wouldn’t go away, no matter what I did.”

Evan lights another cigarette. “Okay. What does that have to do
with… Maddie?”

I take another drag. “She calms all the
shit going on inside of me.”

He snorts. “I thought that’s what playing piano—music did.”

I nod. “Yeah, it helps. But with her here, I feel…” I rub my hands through my hair. “Whole.” I laugh. “It sounds stupid. Even I know that.”

Evan takes back his cigarette and sucks in. He’s staring at me like I’ve just grown three heads. “Sure, bro. Whatever.”

I slam my hands on the banister and straighten up. “Yeah, whatever. Want a beer?”

“Yeah, as long as it’s a chaser to something stronger.”

21

Maddie

What the Hell

The rest of the week goes by in a blur of classes, homework, practice—piano practice and kissing Kyle practice—more homework, and hanging out with Gina. Repeat. By Friday night I’m exhausted. All I want to do is fall asleep, but I’ve promised Gina I’ll go to a party tonight. Be her wing woman, which basically means I’ve got her back and will keep her out of trouble. I’m nervous about it. If she drinks too much, I don’t know that I’ll be able to stop her antics.

Kyle is going to meet us there. I’ve told him I need to focus on Gina, and he understands. He says he’ll keep an eye on her too.
Very thoughtful. Very un-chauvinistic. 

“Are you ready?” I ask, only a little impatient. Gina has changed her outfit for the sixth time. I’ve never seen her so undecided.

“Shit. I don’t know what’s wrong.” She kicks off a pair of boots and doesn’t put them back in their box.

I walk over. “Gina, what are you looking for?” I pat her knee.

She throws her hands in the air. “That’s the problem. I’m not sure.”

I walk to her closet and look through
it. There’s a pair of jeans. Tags are still on them. I pull them off the hanger. “What about these?”

“Gross. I won’t wear
...” She stops and grabs them. “Oh, what the hell.” She rips off the tags and her black leggings. Tosses them on the floor. Then pulls on the jeans. They fit like a second skin, tight all the way down to her ankles. The black shirt she’s wearing fits snugly. It doesn’t cover all of her stomach and exposes her belly button, her hipbones. She twirls in front of the mirror. “I like it.” She runs over to a shoebox, flings it open, and pulls out her ankle boots, the same ones she wore the first night we went to a party.

“You look gorgeous,” I say, and mean it. Her
choppy blond hair is spiked everywhere. Her eyes are lined and her lips are reddened.

I’m wearing dark jeans, a blue sweater, and my black ballet flats. My hair is pulled up in a high ponytail. I’ve put on some mascara and
lip-gloss.

She grabs her purse and my stomach churns. Now that I know what’s in there, what she’s going to do, I feel an unnatural hated for her stupid black purse. I want to make her stop, tell her she doesn’t need to do what I know she’s going to do, but I don’t.

“I’ll be back in a few. Party face. Put it on.” She points the edge of the purse at me.

I nod, and try to smile.

Then she’s gone, and I collapse on the bed. There’s a new ache in my veins. It’s my worry for Gina. I care about her. I like her. She’s a friend. But I’m not sure what to say, how to make her stop doing what I know she shouldn’t. It can’t be good for her. I mean, cocaine is illegal for a reason.

I hear her slide the card in the door and smile big. The door opens and she puts her fists in the air.

“Yay. Party face.”

“Yay,” I
respond with pretend enthusiasm and stand.

“K. Here’s the rules.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Rules?”

“No more than three drinks—the whole night.
Lots of water. If a boy seems interested in either one of us, we stick by each other. No matter what. Deal?” She sticks up a hand, like she wants me to high-five her. I do.

“Deal.”

We head to the door. Gina looks me up and down. “Hey, you need a necklace.”

“I don’t have one,” I answer, pulling the door open.
My mother always wore a silver locket. Inside was a picture of me and her and my dad. My aunt tried to recover it. Even talked to the police. But it was never found.