Wicked Reunion (Wicked White Series Book 2) (5 page)

We stand there in silence. No words need to be said for us each to know the other is hurting. I wish I could end his pain, but there’s no easy way to stop loving somebody.

“I’ve got to go,” I tell him as I place my hand on the handle of the car door.

He nods and takes a step back, allowing me space to open the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Okay.” It’s the last thing I tell him before I jump in my car and speed away, wondering if there’s even a way to fix something as broken as my smashed-up heart.

THEN

JARED

M
y fingers glide over the strings as I play the chorus of “Simple Man” on my Gibson. I love this old guitar. It was a high school graduation present from Dad, and I remember the note he wrote and wove through the strings when he gave it to me:
Now you have your own. Don’t bother asking if you can take mine to college in the fall.

I still laugh every time I think about that. There’s no way of counting how many hours I logged on his guitar, but I know it’s enough that I can play just about any song after hearing it one time. For my sixteenth birthday, Dad bought me some lessons, and he was proud when the instructor told him that I had a natural ear for music. Of course, though, Dad made it well known that playing the guitar was merely a hobby for me and not a career path that I could even consider.

Baseball was my destiny. Even as a junior in high school I captured the eye of college scouts. Dad was right. Baseball is my future. I’m good at it, and it looks as though I have an amazing career in front of me.

London lies on her side, watching me intently as I continue to play and begin to sing to her while we sit on a blanket in the grass just in front of my dorm. The rasp in my voice is on point, and soon a small crowd begins gathering around us.

It’s like this every time I sing, students stopping on their way to class to listen to me cover songs that I love.

I close my eyes and project my voice, making sure even the people behind the crowd can hear me.

I like being the center of attention. It makes me feel good, knowing that I’m entertaining people, whether that’s on the field or just me sitting here playing this guitar and singing.

When I finish playing the last chord, the horde of people around us begins clapping and cheering, shouting out for me to play another. I smile at all of them and do as requested. Like the last one, it’s another slow rock ballad. Those songs seem to fit my voice best, and I learned a lot of the classics from Dad.

When I finish the second one, once again the crowd cries for me to keep playing, but I simply shake my head and laugh.

I set my guitar back in the case and then wrap my arms around London. “Have to get some study time in with my girl here. I’ve distracted her long enough.”

A few of the girls sigh heavily before walking off. Some even tell London that she’s a lucky girl, which makes her smile proudly.

London sits up and then busies herself with pulling out a few textbooks from her bag and spreading them out on the blanket.

I reach out and grab one of the books and then glance up just in time to find a petite girl staring at me intently from about twenty feet away. Her short, jet-black hair has a bright pink stripe in the bangs while the rest of her clothes scream grunge, and I find it odd that she’s just staring at me so blatantly. Goth chicks aren’t usually so enamored of jocks like me.

I break eye contact with the girl, giving her a chance to look away too, but when I check again, she’s still staring at me. She takes a couple steps toward us and then plops down on the grass in front of London and me without any sort of invitation.

I raise my eyebrows as the girl tilts her head as if to get a better look at me.

“I can’t figure you out,” the girl says as she narrows one of her heavily made-up eyelids. “Are you a jock or are you a musician?”

My brow furrows instantly at her question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she says with a sigh, “musicians live and breathe their music, and it bleeds into every facet of their life. Most guys that look like Abercrombie models aren’t deep enough to be believable when they sing, but you, you’re different. I can feel your emotion when you sing, and that’s not something that can be faked.”

I laugh. “That’s a little stereotypical, don’t you think?”

She shrugs. “Maybe, but a true musician puts his craft in front of everything else. I just don’t think it’s fair to the rest of us who don’t look like you. You shouldn’t be allowed to be gifted in more than one thing.”

“Um . . .” I sit there stunned and glance over at London, who simply shrugs. This girl floors me. She’s so forward that she almost comes off as rude. I don’t think she means to be, but I don’t know how to react to her. “Thanks, I think?”

She shoves herself up to her feet. “Oh, that was definitely a compliment. Here.” She reaches into the back pocket of her jean shorts and pulls out a business card and then hands it to me. “I’m in a band called Lick Me and Split. If you ever want to gig with us, we can always use another guitar player. You should know I don’t make this offer to just anyone. Only people I think are truly amazing.”

I take the card, glancing down at the picture of a seductive tongue poking through a pair of ruby-red lips, and chuckle. “Nice.”

“Isn’t it? Guys seem to like it. Call us if you ever want to jam. Later.”

And just as fast as she appeared, the petite rocker chick is gone,
blending in with the crowds milling about on the lawn on this beautiful fall day.

“That was odd.” London’s voice pulls my attention back to her.

I laugh and couldn’t agree with her more, but I seize the opportunity to poke a little fun at the situation. “Yeah, but it’s nice to know that someone thinks I have some talent.”

London giggles, and her green eyes light up as she leans in to kiss my lips. “I can tell you for a fact that you’re talented in more areas than just baseball.”

I cradle her head in my hands and study the delicate contours of her features. Her slender nose fits perfectly on her heart-shaped face, and her cheeks are flushed from the kiss we just shared.

I trace my thumb over her plump bottom lip. “Thank you for
believing in me. It means the world to me that you do.”

She smiles. “I’ll always be by your side, no matter what—baseball, using your business degree at a nine-to-five job, or even trying to make
a living playing that guitar that you love so much. I’m not going
anywhere.”

I nip at her bottom lip. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Our relationship is easy and natural, like breathing. I can see a clear-cut future with her. A life that stays simple, just like it is now—no matter how my life turns out.

London and I study outside the rest of the afternoon without interruption. It’s not until I check the time that I notice it’s nearly four, and I begin to wonder what Dad had to say about the game yesterday. “I think I should call Mom.”

London looks up from her book. “Okay. Let me just pack my books up and we can take off.”

We walk hand in hand back to the dorm, chatting about classes and my upcoming game against the University of Kentucky.

When we step up onto the stoop of her building, I lean in and give her a quick peck before telling her I will call her after I speak with Mom so we can decide on a place to eat for dinner tonight.

Once I’m in my own room, I pick up the phone and dial Mom. The phone rings over and over without an answer, and then it hits me. She’s probably still at the shop, working on orders. That happens from time to time since she’s a one-woman show in the place. She takes all the orders, does all the baking, makes the candies, practically everything except for deliveries. An older gentleman named Bud does that just to have something to do because he’s retired. He insists he loves the job because he likes brightening other people’s days.

I dial the candy shop, and that phone too goes unanswered, which is odd because Mom is a creature of habit. She rarely strays from either of those two locations unless she needs to get groceries for the house or run an errand or two.

I open my book and attempt to pass the time, but I can’t focus. Another hour passes, and then I try Mom again, and I’m too anxious to wait much longer. I try both the home and the shop numbers, and again they both go unanswered.

An odd feeling comes over me, and my thoughts turn to a dark place. What if something happened to her? With both me and Wes away at school, she’s all alone since Dad’s out on deployment. She could have fallen down the stairs carrying a basket of laundry and gotten hurt, and there’s no one there to help her.

My heart races beneath my ribs, and the urge to drive out there and check on her overwhelms me, but before I get too crazy with worry, I need to make one more phone call.

Wes answers on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, man. Have you heard from Mom today?” I ask.

“No, but I was just thinking about calling her to find out what happened to Dad’s call yesterday. Did you talk to her?”

“I haven’t, and I tried to call her a couple times today but got no answer. I’m starting to worry about her. I’m thinking I may drive out to the house and check on her.”

“I’ll come with you. Pick me up in five?” he asks.

“Yeah, let me just grab London and we’ll be on our way.”

Once I call London and explain what’s going on, she agrees that we need to go check on Mom just to be safe. I can tell by the tone in her voice that she’s worried too, because it’s unlike Mom to be unreachable for so long.

London is already waiting for me on the stoop of her dorm when I get there. When I pull up in front of her, she hops into the passenger side and immediately slides over next to me on the bench seat. “Wes ready?”

I nod as I glance over at her beautiful face. Her eyes hold a million questions in them—questions I’m just as anxious as she is to discover the answers to. “We’ll pick him up and then be on our way.”

London places her hand on top of mine and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure everything will be okay. Maybe she’s just sick and sleeping and didn’t hear the phone ring.”

I sigh. “I hope you’re right.”

It doesn’t take long before we arrive at Wes’s apartment. My brother is sitting on the steps leading to his front door, and when he sees my truck, he pushes himself up and then dusts his hands off on the front of his jeans before he hops inside.

Wes’s attention immediately falls on London, and his gaze trails up and down her body as he checks her out in the jean shorts and red T-shirt she’s wearing. “Hey, London. How ya doin’?”

If I wasn’t already going out of my mind with worry, I might be tempted to call my brother out for looking at my girl the way he has been lately. He needs to stop that shit.

London gives him a tight-lipped smile as I hit the gas and set out for home. “Nervous. It’s unlike Julie to go MIA. I called Dad to go check on her, but he’s working, pulling a double shift patrolling some wrestling event that’s in town, and won’t be finished until late.”

“Brian has been working a lot lately, hasn’t he?” Wes asks, attempting to make small talk. It seems that he’s also trying to distract himself from thinking about what could be stopping Mom from answering her phone all day.

London sighs. “Yeah, but he says the extra money helps. I think he likes it for when he goes out on all these dates. He keeps telling me that he forgot how expensive women are.”

Wes laughs. “That’s why you don’t see me dating much. Being a poor college guy sucks.”

“You don’t date much because no one can put up with your crabby ass.” I laugh as I tease my brother over his lack of game. He’s never been a smooth talker with the ladies. It’s like he gets nervous and clams up around them, but when he does work up the courage to ask someone out, he always finds reasons to get rid of them pretty quickly. “You can’t keep a girl around longer than a week.”

He shrugs. “I haven’t found the right girl yet. Not everyone out there is as perfect as the one you’ve got.”

I grin and throw my arm around London’s shoulders, driving home the fact that she is indeed mine before I pull her in tighter against me while keeping the other hand on the steering wheel. “Well, you can’t have this one. This perfect woman is all mine.”

“Stop.” London pokes me in the ribs, and I laugh at how flushed her face is.

I stare down into her green eyes. “What? It’s true. I don’t share well, especially when it comes to you.”

I notice out of the corner of my eye that Wes is no longer looking at us but staring out the passenger-side window. It’s not like I purposefully try to hurt his feelings, but I want to make it clear that whatever little crush he’s harboring for my girl, he’s going to have to squash it quickly before it starts pissing me the fuck off. I know London is beautiful and damn near perfect, and I’m sure it’s hard to not be attracted to that, because, hell, I know I’m pretty damn addicted to her myself, but he can never have her. No matter how much he may want to.

We’re all quiet for the rest of the trip, all of us contemplating the things on our minds, like what held up Dad’s call yesterday and why Mom isn’t picking up her phone.

I press my foot down a little more on the gas, breaking all the speed limits as my mind begins to wander to that dark place again. I just pray to God that nothing has happened to her, because I’m not sure what I’d do if anything ever happened to my parents—either of them.