Page 2 of Forever Ours (Shattered Hearts 1)

“I don’t care about the wallpaper. I just want to go to sleep.”

His lip quirks up in confusion. “It’s three o’clock.”

“I haven’t slept. I got kicked out last night and I spent the night at the police station. I refuse to sleep in the presence of strangers.” It was no surprise to me when the cops took me back to the Walkers’ house and they didn’t want anything to do with me.

“Afraid someone will shank you in your sleep?” He smiles, so amused with himself, and I notice another piercing in his tongue. This guy thinks he’s so fucking cool.

“I’m not having sex with you,” I declare, crossing my arms over my chest—not that there’s much to hide.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I see the way you’re looking at me.”

“Yeah, all right. I guess I’ll let you sleep and maybe when you wake up you’ll chill the fuck out and realize that just because someone’s nice to you it doesn’t mean they want to fuck you.”

My eyes widen at these words. I want to tell him to get the fuck out, but I’m dumbfounded.

He sees my shock and his face softens. “Or you can come downstairs and hang out and maybe I’ll play you a song.”

Forever Practicing

She doesn’t saying anything, but I can see that she’s interested. She’s probably never had anyone offer to play a song for her. Something about her is strange. As I step aside for her to leave the room ahead of me, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen her somewhere. Maybe we went to the same school at some point.

“Do you go to ADHS?” I ask as she descends the stairs.

“I went there for a couple months last year until I got moved to a home in Durham.”

Her voice sounds a little scratchy, like she’s been screaming at a concert or sporting event all day long. She’s probably just thirsty, or hungry judging by the way her T-shirt and jeans hang loosely.

“You want something to drink. We’ve got orange juice, Capri-Sun, milk, and water. And coffee, if you’re into that.” She steps down into the foyer and Tristan is back with a six-pack of Bud Light. “Put that away. My mom’s outside.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, tucking the six-pack behind one of the throw pillows on the blue sofa. “Who’s this?”

“Hey, everyone, this is Claire.” I look to her and she looks so uncomfortable. She’s looking everywhere but at my friends. “We should probably finish up tomorrow. My mom will be here in a minute.”

“Are you kicking us out?” Tristan says, the left side of his mouth turning up. He probably thinks I’m telling them to leave so I can try to hook up with Claire.

“Yeah, get the fuck out. We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow. But Rachel will be here, so don’t get any ideas.”

Tristan rolls his eyes and I lead Claire into the kitchen while they pack up their shit.

“You can grab anything you want. There’s nothing off limits.” She stands next to the breakfast bar staring at the fruit bowl on the counter. “My mom will probably ask you to make a list of stuff you need from the store; food, shampoo, all that girl stuff.”

She looks almost as surprised as she did when I told her I didn’t want to get in her panties.

“Anything I want?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I don’t think you can put ponies on layaway at Walmart, but I’m sure she’d try if you put that on your list.” This gets a faint smile out of her. “My mom will be in here soon and she’ll probably want to cook something for you.”

Something about this makes her hang her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Look, no offense, but you look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

“No offense?” She looks up at me. “Telling someone they look like they’re starving probably doesn’t sound that offensive, but it is.”

“Sorry. I just…. Well, you don’t have to eat, but my mom makes dinner every day whether you want to eat it or not.”

“Just a typical American family, huh?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what that means.” I open up the refrigerator and reach into the box of Capri-Sun to pull out a pouch for her. Shit. It’s the last one. “Here.” I place the drink on the breakfast bar in front of her. “We can hang out in the living room while my mom cooks. Unless you want to go to bed.”

“I thought you were going to play your guitar or something.”

I smile even though she looks dead serious. “Yeah, we’ll wait until these assholes leave.”

Jake is waiting just inside the front door as Tristan and Freddy haul their equipment across the living room. “See you later, man,” Jake says with a nod. “I’ll give Rachel that sheet music.”

“And the notes,” I reply and he nods. “See you tomorrow.”

“Peace out,” Freddy says and I nod at him and Tristan as they all leave.

I grab my guitar off the carpet and nod toward the sofa. “You can sit down. My mom will be in here soon.” I feel the need to keep reminding her of this so she doesn’t think I’m going to try anything. As much as my friends suggest this to me, I’m sure she’s encountered enough creeps in the foster homes she’s been in before this one.

She sits on the side of the sofa where Tristan tucked the six-pack of beer behind the pillow. I hope he took it in one of his cases. I don’t want to have to sneak that shit into the garbage.

I take a seat on the recliner and lay the guitar in my lap. “What do you want to hear?”

She shrugs. “I don’t care.”

“Do you mind if I play something I’ve been trying to practice? It will probably sound like shit.”

“By all means, play your shitty song.”

I laugh and she smiles; a tight-lipped smile, like she’s trying not to. “Now I don’t want to play it because it’s definitely not a shitty song. I just haven’t learned to play it well yet.”

“Just play the song.”

The way she says this makes my heart race, and suddenly I’m nervous. I’m never nervous about performing a song unless it’s an audition, which I’ve only been on two of those. Crap. I’m going to fuck up this song. I know it.

I draw in a deep breath and position the guitar in my lap. Curling my fingers around the fret board, I decide to play this one without a guitar pick.

As soon as I begin plucking the strings, the nerves subside and I give myself up to the song. I’ve been practicing “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel since last week. Every time I’ve played it up to now, I’ve messed up on the bridge. I’m notorious for messing up the bridge of every new song I play. But this time I don’t mess up and I find myself grinning uncontrollably as I sing the last line.

I hold my hand down on the strings to stop the lingering reverberation and I finally look up from the guitar. My mom is standing next to the sofa where Claire is seated and they’re both staring at me, unblinking. I wait a moment for one of them to say something and I’m not surprised when it’s my mom who speaks first.

“Didn’t you just start playing that last week?”

I nod and look back down at my guitar as that nervous feeling returns. I sense an embarrassing comment coming from my mom about how proud she is of me or how talented I am. I don’t want to look up and see Claire’s reaction to this comment.

“That was beautiful,” my mom continues, and I sigh with relief. “What do you two want for dinner?”

I look at Claire and I’m surprised to find she’s crying. “Are you okay?”

My mom looks down at her and covers her mouth. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask you how you’re feeling.”

Claire shakes her head as she hides her face. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re just tired. That’s all. You can have dinner with us or you can go straight to bed. Whatever you want to do. The bedroom’s all ready for you.” She turns to me with a severe look. “It’s ready, isn’t it, Chris?”

I nod as I

get up from the recliner and set down the guitar. “I got it ready this morning as soon as you called.”

My mom kneels down next to the sofa and gently lays her hand on Claire’s knee. “Sweetie. You don’t have to stay down here if you feel more comfortable upstairs. I can bring your dinner up there later.”

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