“How are you related to me?” she muttered at me in disdain. I responded with a cheerful greeting. Mom was not a morning person, and I was.
I had to be cheerful. I couldn’t exactly tell Mom the reason for my unhappiness, which in turn made me even more unhappy for keeping secrets from her. She then nearly murdered me when she found out I’d thrown out all of our coffee. She refused to speak to me and marched out of the house wearing a mismatched outfit, declaring she’d exorcise me if I continued to torture her by giving up caffeine.
Luckily, I’d been forgiven when I apologized by text and promised to give her a villa in Tuscany when I was rich and famous. She rewarded me with a latte for my trouble. I was kidding myself if I thought I could live without caffeine.
I had multiple texts from the boys all morning asking to hang out. I blew them all off, feigning homework and sequestering myself in my room. I didn’t even open a textbook. Instead, I shoved my headphones on, listened to Bob Dylan, and wrote songs.
I only left my sanctuary when Mom popped her head in.
“Pizza and Ryan Gosling?” she suggested with a grin.
I nodded. “Sounds perfect.” I did my best to smile convincingly.
She didn’t seem to notice my performance. Her eyes cut to my desk and the various screwed up bits of paper.
“You finally short-circuited one of the wires up there, Jimmy Neutron?” she asked, nodding to the paper. “I wouldn’t worry, kid. It’s inevitable for a teenager to have some sort of physical reaction to doing homework on a Saturday,” she said in distaste. “Even the Rain Man.”
I jumped up, hoping she didn’t look too closely at the offending bits of paper. “Just calculus, you know how much I hate it,” I said quickly, walking to the door and out into the kitchen. Mom followed me.
“Why such a subject is taught at school is beyond me,” she said. “If they wanted to torture the youth of today, waterboarding is much less painful.” She winked at me and picked up the phone. “One or two?” she asked, referring to the pizzas.
I raised my eyebrows.
She nodded somberly. “You’re right. What was I thinking? Three.”
“And garlic bread,” I added, needing to drown my sorrows in cheese and carbs.
“This isn’t my first rodeo, sister,” she replied, phone to her ear.
I smiled at Mom, happy that I had her to distract me. Movie nights and pizzas might not help the insistent thoughts buzzing through my mind, but it might silence them just a smidgeon.
****
I lay in bed that night, full of pizza and Ben and Jerry’s, unable to sleep. I should have been exhausted, considering the lack of sleep I’d gotten the night before, but my mind wasn’t giving me that. I had the exquisite torture of dissecting every moment Killian and I had two days previous, looking for where I went wrong. It was miserable.
My phone buzzed and lit up my dark room in the midst of some of my darker thoughts. I stared at it with a scrunched up nose, knowing it would be Sam or Wyatt arguing over band names, as they had been all day.
I sighed and reached over to it, preparing to try to play peacemaker. My heart leaped into my throat at the name and accompanying message.
Killian: You awake, Freckles?
I typed back frantically and sent my one-word response.
Me: Yes
I stared at the screen and bit my lip. Shoot. I shouldn’t have responded that quickly. It was almost midnight on a Saturday night; if I was awake, I should have led Killian to think I was doing something interesting and fun that made immediate reply impossible and less tragic.
Killian: Backyard.
The moment my eyes read the word, I scrambled out of bed so quickly I caught my feet in the sheets and tripped over, smashing my hip on my side table.
“Ouch,” I half yelled as pain blossomed in my hip. “Ouch, ouch, ouch,” I repeated, hopping around the room.
I wasn’t worried about making noise, considering I’d heard Mom leave about half an hour ago. I had smiled as the door closed. I knew exactly where she was going. To Zane. The only thing that quelled my happiness was the fact she was sneaking. That she was keeping it a secret. She knew how much I liked Zane. I couldn’t for the life of me understand the cloak and daggers act. Then again, I was performing an eerily similar act and couldn’t even understand why I was doing it.
The pain in my hip subsided enough for me to yank on pink Ugg boots and a dusty pink, chunky sweater over my gray leggings. I made myself take a quick look in the mirror to run a hand through my wayward curls and leave them down.
I paused with my hand on the doorknob, taking a deep breath.
Do not act eager or desperate. Demand an explanation for radio silence, I told myself.
I stepped soundlessly down the steps leading to the backyard, squinting into the darkness.
“Freckles,” a voice greeted from beside me as a figure seemed to materialize at my side.
I jumped and placed my hand on my pounding heart. “Jeepers creepers,” I whispered in shock.
Killian stepped even closer, his hand in his pockets. I could see his half grin illuminated by the kitchen lights I had left on. “Did you just say ‘jeepers creepers’?” he asked in a light tone.
My cheeks reddened. “No,” I replied in embarrassment.
Killian stepped even closer to me, though he didn’t touch me; his hands stayed in his pockets. “Yes, you did. My little Lexie says ‘jeepers creepers,'” he murmured.
I lost my breath momentarily at the “my little Lexie part” of that sentence. “It’s instinct,” I protested. “Mom doesn’t curse. I’ve picked up some of her... replacement words.”
Killian was so close I could feel the heat of his body. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, voice turning husky. “It’s adorable.” He paused. “I like that for you. Your mom protects you from cursing.” There was an edge to his tone and my heart sunk a little, realizing that his mom didn’t protect him from anything, definitely not something as trivial as cursing.
His hand came up to brush my jaw lightly. I held my breath in some sort of attempt to prolong the touch, to get the most out of it. “Someone as pretty as you doesn’t need ugly words around them, coming out of their mouth,” he decided.
I pursed my lips. I had always felt self-conscious over the fact I didn’t swear. Yet it was another thing that Killian seemed to accept. To like.
“Well, if I want to protect myself from the dangers of curse words, I’d have to find a new band, considering their vocabulary, but that’s not likely to happen anytime soon.”
There was a long silence, one that made me anxious to fill it up and also keep empty at the same time. I was itching to ask Killian as to why I hadn’t heard from him, why he turned up at my house in the middle of the night. But I didn’t.
“Yeah, Freckles, after Friday night, I don’t think you’ll be getting rid of those guys anytime soon,” he said finally. “They need their superstar if they want to go anywhere.”
My heart skipped a beat. “You were there?” I deduced.
“Of course I was there,” Killian said, his hand trailing down my arm to engulf my hand. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
I tried to think with his thumb rubbing against the back of my hand. “I didn’t see you. Why didn’t you come and say hello?” I asked finally.
“Didn’t want to draw attention to myself, considering Clay knows me and knows that I’m a couple years shy of being allowed in his bar,” Killian explained. “It was your night. To have with your friends, your family,” he added.
I frowned at him in the darkness. “And you,” I corrected. “You’re my... we’re friends, aren’t we?”
Killian’s hand tightened on mine. “We’re more than that, Freckles.”
I ignored the flip my belly did at this. “Good. Well, that means at our next gig, I expect you front and center,” I commanded.
Killian chuckled softly. “Your wish is my command.”
I pa
used. “If you were there, how come…” I paused, not wanting to sound like the crazy kind of girlfriend, if that was what I was.
Killian’s hand went to my chin. “How come what?”
I stared at him. “How come I haven’t heard from you?” I asked in a small voice, really hoping I didn’t sound tragic.
Killian’s hand cupped my cheek and he sighed. “Sorry, babe. I’ve had some shit going on with my mom.” He put a finger on my half-open lips, predicting my question. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. This time’s too precious to pollute with her.”
I stayed frozen as his hand lingered at my lip for a split second, his thumb brushing along it.
“Long story short, I’ve been busy. Ordinarily, I’m never too busy for you. This was an exception. The only one there’ll be,” he promised.
I swallowed. “You could’ve used that thing that was invented to inform people that they’re busy,” I said softly. “You know, a modification on Alexander Graham Bell’s invention?” I teased lightly, mostly to disguise the hurt I felt, despite his beautiful words.
Killian paused, then sighed again. He rested his head on mine for one glorious moment before responding. “I’m not used to this,” he murmured. “Having to check in, to want to check in. To think about someone every second I’m awake. I’m not exactly good at it.”
“I think you’re doing pretty well,” I whispered.
“When it comes to you, ‘pretty well’ ain’t gonna cut it.”
We were silent once more as I bathed in his words. Something clicked in my head. “Tomorrow,” I said suddenly. “You said we’d talk about your mom tomorrow. What’s tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Killian said, brushing my cheek, “is our first date. Our first proper date.”
My heart skipped about a million beats at this. “That’s pretty short notice,” I said finally. “What if I was busy?”
I saw half of Killian’s attractive face smile. “You busy tomorrow night, babe?”
I was silent for a moment. “No,” I said finally.
He full-on chuckled, bringing me into his arms. His lips pressed on my head and I sank into his arms. He smelled amazing, musky with a faint lingering of cigarette smoke. Even though I hated the things, I liked the residual smell on Killian.
Too soon, he pulled me out of his arms. “Your mom gonna be all good with this, Freckles?” he asked, his voice a little flat, cautious.
My stomach dropped at the fact I hadn’t told her. I wouldn’t be telling Killian this; I was mindful of our conversation on the quad. He felt unworthy because of his upbringing, no matter how much he tried to disguise that fact. Me not telling Mom about us would strike a personal chord with him. It would hurt him. I was not doing that. I felt a little sick at the thought.
“She’s fine, ecstatic actually,” I lied.
I almost felt Killian’s disbelieving look. “Your mom is ‘fine’ with you dating for the first time? Dating a boy with a motorcycle?”
“Considering she’s dating someone with a motorcycle, she can’t pass too much judgment,” I replied, going for evasion instead of a straight-up lie.
Killian’s body stilled. “She’s dating someone with a motorcycle?” he repeated slowly.
I nodded. “Although she’s trying to keep it on the down low. She didn’t count on my keen skills of observation.” I paused. “Or my insomnia, meaning I caught her sneaking across the street,” I corrected myself.
There was a weird energy to the following silence. “Insomnia?” he repeated in concern. There was a pause. “Across the street?” Killian repeated my words in a clipped tone.
“Yep.”
“To Bull’s?” he clarified.
“One in the same.”
“Shit,” he muttered, disbelief evident in his tone.
“Why is that so surprising?” I asked. “Granted, he and Mom aren’t exactly the most compatible, considering he is almost mute, and I’m surprised her vocal chords haven’t given out by how much she talks. Still, he’s a man and my mom’s a catch,” I said a little defensively.
Killian rubbed my arms. “It’s not your mom,” he reassured me. “It’s Bull and, well, any woman,” he said vaguely.
“What? Is he gay or something?” I asked, not believing that for a second. Apart from the little fact of Mom’s midnight visit where they were not likely to be playing checkers, there was the way Zane looked at her. Granted, I didn’t have much experience in that area, or any, prior to arriving in Amber, but I knew that was not how a gay man looked at a woman. That was how a very straight man looked at a woman. Kind of how Killian looked at me.
Killian barked out a laugh before he quickly silenced it. “No, it’s not that. It’s....” He trailed off.
I perked up. “It’s just what?”
Killian shook his head and kissed my nose lightly. “Nothing, Freckles.”
I frowned, sensing there was more to this particular story, but the nose kiss did a lot to distract me.
“Tomorrow night,” he murmured, his mouth close to mine.
“Yeah, tomorrow night,” I breathed.
The moment was held in some kind of beautiful limbo that seemed to last forever and for no time at all at the same time.
Killian pressed his mouth to mine, his lips moving gently as he kissed me lazily, gently, as if I was made of glass.
“Get some sleep,” he commanded softly.
Yeah, like that was going to happen. I was going to inspect my entire wardrobe for date attire then most likely have a nervous breakdown over the fact I’d never been on a date before and the prospect of telling my mom.
“Okay,” I whispered.
Killian kissed my forehead and he stayed in that spot, and I realized he was waiting for me to go into the house. I regretfully extracted myself from his warm presence and wandered to the house. I stole a glance over my shoulder.
“Night,” I called softly.
“Sweet dreams, Freckles.”
My prediction leaving Killian last night proved correct. I stayed awake another couple of hours after he left. First, it was because it seemed like my body had been zapped with electricity and I needed to find an outlet—excuse the pun. So I had scribbled into my notebook, tried to read, then did some yoga. I had done all this floating on a wave of happiness with a small edge of dread at finally telling my mom. I wasn’t nervous about what she’d say. She was my mom; she was cool. Although she may not like me dating, she’d never forbid it. I was absolutely terrified that she’d immediately hate Killian for what she thought he was. What he projected to the world. The smoking, motorcycle-riding, devil-may-care attitude that came with this persona he’d built to keep the world out. He may have seemed like your quintessential—disgustingly attractive—bad boy on the surface, but he was so much more than that. I needed Mom to see beyond the surface. See what I saw. Her approval meant everything to me.
So sleep was lost until the early hours when my mind had quieted enough to drift off with music playing in my ears.
My adrenaline roller coaster had obviously taken its toll on me when I woke up near noon the next day. I managed to yank myself out of bed and dreams of Killian to stumble to the coffee pot, then the living room.
“Hey there, sleepyhead,” Mom greeted, glancing up from the TV, smiling.
Still half asleep, I didn’t respond. I snuggled up to her on the sofa, just needing to hug my mom. Her arm went around me and we both watched the TV, content in silence. My sleep-addled mind realized these moments would become few and far between. I was growing up. Hugs with my mom weren’t the only kind of affection I was coming to know. I was discovering a different kind, the kind that turned you into a woman. It was a melancholy thought, the final farewell to the last of my childhood.
“Your body finally realized that it’s a teenager and can’t get up at 6:00 a.m. after a night on stage,” Mom observed.
I sipped my coffee, out of necessity and to stall while my thoughts settled. The last morning hugs with Mom w
asn’t the only things that signified the passageway into womanhood. It was the secrets. The fact Mom was oblivious to the reasons for my lack of sleep, for my late rising.
“I’m not planning on commencing said lifestyle until I learn how to function without eight hours of sleep,” I said finally, moving my mind away from such serious thoughts on such little amounts of caffeine.
“As long as coffee is the only substance you abuse to get you through lack of sleep, that’s fine with me,” Mom said, running her fingers through my hair.
“Okay, should I throw out the cocaine that I scored on Friday night?” I asked seriously.
Mom pretended to ponder. “Just leave it on the nightstand,” she said finally.
I sipped my coffee, smiling. We might be saying good-bye to some things, but our sarcastic banter was something we’d have forever, regardless of our ages.
Mom’s hands continued running through my curls. “Got something to talk to you about, kid,” she said, her voice lacking any previous humor.
I glanced up at her. She was serious, her face slightly nervous. I knew exactly what this subject was going to be. “Does it start with a Z and end with an ‘ane?” I asked.
Surprise flickered over Mom’s face. “You’ve got more brains than I give you credit for, doll face,” she teased.
I tapped my head. “Not just a hat rack.” That and I caught her in the act. I reasoned I would’ve had a less concrete instinct on the subject of the two of them, but I still would’ve noticed. “Mom, it’s like totally obvious. Even the guys in the band saw it,” I explained. “I saw it way before that.”
Mom’s eyebrows raised and she chewed her lip uncertainly. Nice to know where I got that particular habit from. “And you’re not mad? Don’t have questions?”
The uncertainty in her voice had me sitting up and placing my coffee down so I could give her my full attention. “Mad?” I repeated in disbelief. “No way, I’m ecstatic! You deserve someone, Mom. You’ve had years of bringing me up, working your butt off to give us this.” I gestured around our eclectically designed living room. I glanced back at her. “I was always worried you didn’t have someone. Now I get it. You were waiting for the right person. Zane’s your person,” I told her with confidence. Maybe I felt confidence because I had an inkling of what it was like to find your person. As crazy as it was, my age, our limited amount of time together, none of it mattered. Killian was my person.