The Redemption(30)

Pulling up into my driveway, I say, “Can’t wait to see that in action, you big tease.”

“It’s not about seeing. It’s about feeling. And trust me, I’m struggling to wait too.” He looks past me, and says, “You’re home.”

I’m too stunned and now too turned on to think clearly, so I just sit there for a few seconds trying to collect myself from the puddle I turned into on the floorboard of his Challenger. The name of the car feels way too apropos right now. “Yeah, I should go… home, inside, the place I live,” I start rambling.

One more stunning smile in my direction, and he adds, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, um, right. Tomorrow.”

I get out and stumble a bit, left a little off balance from his words and a lot off balance by how much he affects me. And just like how the day started, I’m left impatiently waiting for Thursday to get here.





She’s become an addiction, and something I obsess over. Living the life I have, living it hard, I’ve become an expert at both addiction and obsession. I know the difference. Rochelle is the first person I’ve felt both over.

Now that she’s let me in, I never want to go. I’ve waited so long for this chance. I have to pretend to act normal, but I feel anything but that when I’m around her. I don’t want to scare her. I want… I want… I want so much with her, from her, that it scares me. But I play it cool, keeping my deepest thoughts to myself. I’m good like that, the quiet one. I’ve been called moody, but it’s not that. That’s an emotion someone wears for show. My moods aren’t for show, but to hide, to protect what I don’t want any of them to see. If they know how I really feel, rejection can follow and I’ve had too much of that in my life to survive a rejection from her.

I lie on the couch in the middle of my dark house, letting her invade my thoughts and crawl under my skin, becoming a part of me. She’s the sun when it sets and my moon when it rises. My day begins and ends with her on my mind. She asks about me but all I want to do is hear about her. Her days are mundane to her, but are envious to me. Routine. She has this amazing life, her routine as she calls it, and I just want to be there, be a staple, a part of her daily routine. Too much.

Obsessed.

I’m obsessed.

This girl, this light, walked into my life and I just had to follow it. At nineteen, she was beautiful. She had brown hair with that just come from the beach look—chin length, a little wild, a little off. Her big brown eyes reminded me of the sun tea that would sit in the window sill when I was a kid. Rochelle didn’t belong in that bar, but she owned it the minute she walked in, under-aged and full of confidence.

From behind the drumkit, I watched her, changing my beat to match the rhythm of her vibe. She was unique in the middle of a crowd of trite. As she put her straw to her mouth, my gaze wrapped around her wrist and followed the floral tattoo that had been started but not yet finished. When the band took a break, she climbed right up on stage and said, “You’re good. You ever consider playing rock?”

“We play some rock covers sometimes.”

“What about rock music that you help create? Original stuff.”

Leaning back on my stool, I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t own my drums. It’s me and the sticks for now.”

She shrugs. “That’s cool. It’s your talent that caught my ear. Anyway, the bassist has a set of drums you can use if you want to join our band.”

Suddenly, she had my undivided attention. Well, she had it before, but now she’s talking drums and a real band. “Why does a bassist have a drum kit?”

“He used to think he wanted to be a drummer, but his talent lies in the guitar.”

“And what do you play?” I ask, so damn curious by this tenacious girl.

“Guitar. I’m not in the band, but two of the best guitarists around are. They’re gonna be big. This is your chance.”

I stand and notice the height difference. She’s short and really f*cking cute. “Why aren’t you in the band if you play guitar?”

“If you wanna sit around here all night yapping, then I’ll let you get back to playing cover songs from the seventies that should have never been made in the first place. But if you want in on the next big thing, then come with me.”

“You want me to meet them tonight? Right now?”

With a smile, she says, “Yeah, right now. We have a gig in an hour and no drummer.”

“You want me to play a gig with them tonight?”

Nodding, she looks at me like I’m the crazy one. “Yep. I saw how you hit. You’re good. You’ve got natural skill. Not all drummers do.”

“You actually want me to leave before the end of this gig to go play your gig?”

“I sure do. Is that a yes?” She turns and looks around the club. “I mean, I understand how karaoke—”

“Covers.”

“I stand corrected. Covers. I totally get that playing covers can sometimes be cool and all, but I’m giving you the chance to be a part of something great.”

“Promise?” I smirk.

“Promise. C’mon. I hate being late.”

She hops off the stage and I follow right behind her, hoping that ‘something great’ will include hooking up with her later. Calling across the room to the old guys I was backing, I say, “Thanks guys. It’s been fun, but my work here is done.”