Page 27 of Rock and a Hard Place

“Hey, I’m ready for the big finish.” Peter posed, feet set wide apart, his fake mic replaced with a long walking stick. He gripped the mock mic stand firmly and leaned to the side, while his body kept the beat.

He looked up from his rocker pose. “What’s wrong?”

Libby covered her mouth with her hand.

Peter rushed over and squatted before her. “What’s the matter? Was I that bad?”

“That’s not funny.” She pushed out at him, as tears welled in her eyes.

“I’m sorry. Garrett can’t help playing so bad.”

His joke hit the mark, and she laughed, then took a deep breath. “I didn’t realize”—she shook her head—“that you’re so good.” She couldn’t help but feel devastated. Her life was so tiny and unimportant and his was over-the-top huge. Peter didn’t belong with her. He should be with a famous model or actress.

He knelt before her and took her hands in his. “What are you talking about?” He looked deep into her eyes. “I’m still me. Nothing’s changed. This is just another part of my life.” He gripped her hands firmly. “Heck, I wasn’t that great. The band isn’t very good today.” A grin curled his lips, and his eyes sparkled.

She laughed and he delivered another megawatt smile. Libby gazed at him, mulling her decision to open up ornot. The trust in his eyes made her decision.

“You don’t belong with me.” It hurt to say it, but she had to tell him the truth.

“What are you talking about?” He sat down, one leg on each side of her, creating a warm cocoon.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

He nodded in acceptance. “Yeah? There’s a lot you don’t know about me, too. That’s why it’s called dating. So we can spend every possible moment together on the phone or pining for each other.”

“Stop joking.” She sobered, ready to open up for the first time.

“Talk to me, Lib.”

“Peter, I’m not the person you think I am.” The weight of her confession grew heavier, and she took a deep breath. “I think I better say this all at once, and I’ll tell you when I’m done. Is that okay?”

“Lay it on me,” he said with sincerity.

Libby nodded. “I don’t live with my mom.” She watched him for a reaction and only saw mild confusion. “I live with my aunt. And I’m not from Wisconsin. I’m from Michigan.”

She took another deep, bracing breath.

“I have a dad, but I haven’t seen him in over a year. He’s kind of a mess right now because he lost his job and then our house.” She checked Peter again for his reaction; he seemed more confused.

“But he only lost the house because of the accident. Actually, it was way after the accident, after we lost my mom and sister. Did I tell you I had a sister?” She paused and looked into his eyes. He shook his head, his eyes wide and his body still.

“Well, she died with my mom in the accident. I guess I never really told you about that.” Libby spoke faster to get the toxic words out. She tugged on her pendant, as Peter listened.

“Well, there was this car accident. My dad was driving, and this semi pulled out, and the driver was tired and, anyway, he forced us off the road and our car flipped over and hit the pillars of an overpass.”

She peeked up at his shocked expression.

“There was glass everywhere, and the car was all twisted. It took a while for my dad to help me out of the back where I was stuck. Then he and the truck driver worked on getting my little sister, Sarah, out while I tried to reach my mom.”

Libby felt transported back in time to that terrifying summer night on the side of a highway. The night her life changed forever.

“The car was rolled onto the passenger side and was crunched in really bad. My dad was too big to crawl around the twisted metal, so I did.”

She remembered the thick metal crumpled like tin foil. It cut and scratched her hands, arms and legs as she fought to getthrough. She recalled the desperate need to reach her mom, who lay limp, still fastened in her seat, the remnants of the deployed airbag draped around her.

“Chunks of broken glass were everywhere, and I kept trying to pull it away.” The taste of panic returned as she recalled the glass spread over her mother like a sheet of deadly crystals. Libby opened her scarred hands to Peter in testament. “But it didn’t work.”

Peter held her hands in his. It felt good.

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