Heart Shaped Rock (30 page)

My heart is set in stone, it’s set on you

I mined the quarry blue and what I found was you

True blue Cobalt Blue

We are unbreakable, we are unmovable

We’re indestructible just like a pinnacle

And now I know, know, know what I’ve gotta do

I mined the quarry blue

For a gem, a jewel so true

Now I’m saying I love you, you, you

What makes me so sure we’re right

My faith in you I hold on tight

No more losing sight of you

My Motorcycle Boy so true

My heart is set in stone, because it’s set on you

My heart is set in stone, it’s set on me and you

My heart is set in stone, it’s set on you

I mined the quarry blue

I found The One, and, boy, it’s you

I love you, yes I do

My true blue Cobalt Blue.

I love you, yes I do.”

The last strum of my guitar rings out into the silence.

The customers in the coffeehouse applaud, but I can’t see any of them. All I see is Dean. He’s looking at me like I’m oxygen and he’s drowning.

I put my guitar down and stand up on trembling legs.

I move to take a cautious step toward him—the smallest, teensiest, tiniest step toward him—and he springs at me like a leopard. I lurch toward him in reply, and we collide in the middle.
“Shaynee,”
he breathes, taking my face into his hands. I open my mouth to say something, anything at all to make him understand—something important, earnest, memorable, illuminating, and, preferably, sane—but, instead, I moan and lunge at his mouth. I press my lips against his, and he responds by kissing me, devouring me, and then, much to my surprise, scooping me up into his arms. He lifts me right up off the floor, causing me to gasp, and I fling my arms around his neck, smashing my body into his.

I want to stay in this moment forever with him, but almost immediately, he puts me down and pulls away from me, leaving me gaping like an open-mouth bass on a line. I open my eyes, not understanding his withdrawal, but when I see him glancing around the room, his cheeks blazing, it suddenly hits me that we’re standing in the middle of the coffeehouse—in the middle of his
mom’s
coffeehouse, for Pete’s sake—in front of God and everyone
.
I slowly, reluctantly, painfully, disengage from him, my skin on fire.

With a loud whoop, Dean grabs my hand and literally yanks me out the front door, and, before I can even rub two thoughts together in my head, we’re running, running, running, straight up Mission Boulevard to the nearest corner, our hands tightly clasped. “Come on!” he yells, tugging on me and laughing, and I follow.

My legs are pumping. My cheeks are flushed. And I’m laughing with Dean like I don’t have a care in the world. And that’s appropriate, actually, because I truly
don’t
have a care in the world at this moment. All I know is I’m following Dean. Wherever he’s headed.

We sprint across Mission Boulevard at the light, dodging slow pedestrians at the crosswalk, both of us screaming with laughter and huffing and puffing all the while. We streak down the opposite sidewalk and straight onto the bustling boardwalk. We’re running, dashing, darting toward the beach, weaving through a maze of joggers and bikers on beach cruisers and surfers ambling along the boardwalk with their boards under their arms. We’re like horses racing home to the barn—if those racing horses happened to be playing a giant game of Frogger.

Now, the sand squishes beneath our feet, making it harder to run. I kick off my flip-flops, letting them fly willy-nilly through the air, not caring if I retrieve them on the way back—if ever we come back. I could run all day long, as long as Dean is holding my hand. The weight of the world is off me. I’m his and he’s mine.

We splash into the water up to our shins. “
Shaynee!”
he yells over the sound of the ocean, and it’s like he’s shouting a prayer of gratitude right up to heaven. He kisses the bridge of my nose and peppers each and every one of my freckles with a string of soft kisses that leaves me panting.

“Shaynee,”
he says again.

I shudder. Dean’s skin is so warm, and the water’s so cold.

“Dean.”

He leans into me and kisses my mouth, and my nerve endings sizzle and pop and hiss like live wires. Without meaning to, I leap up and wrap my legs around him, and he responds by wrapping his arms around me and pressing his body flush against mine. For a frenzied moment, pleasure and elation and relief all mix together inside me like nothing I’ve ever felt before. My body can’t help but squirm and twitch and flop and smash against Dean’s torso like a fish out of water in his arms. My heart’s crashing and thumping inside my chest with such velocity, it’s almost painful. My skin’s zinging and zapping me with jolts of electricity; my head’s crashing and whirling.

And all of it’s delicious.

The word
euphoria
dances across my mind. Then
rapture.
Followed by
ecstasy.
Yes, ecstasy. That’s definitely the right word.

I want to stay in this moment forever.

But I can’t.

I physically can’t.

I can’t breathe.

I’m dizzy.

I’m going to faint.

I’m going to lose my mind.

This feeling inside of me is too intense. Even for me.

I have to pull back.

I unwrap my legs from Dean’s waist and slowly slide my feet back down to the ground and into the cold water, skimming the entire length of Dean’s body as I go. Suddenly, all I want to do is bury my face into his neck and beg his forgiveness.

But Dean beats me to the punch. “I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice straining. He’s stolen the words right off the tip of my tongue. “I should have been honest with you right from the start. I should have told you I already knew so much about you, but I just wanted to let you... ”

“No,” I stop him, leaning back to look him square in the face. “I understand why you didn’t tell me. You don’t have to apologize... ” I nuzzle into his neck again and hug him tight. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

I pause.

I lean back, considering.

A wave crashes into my knees.

Except, of course, I’d really like to know about one small thing.

Maybe I shouldn’t bring it up right now. Or ever. Maybe I should just let sleeping dogs lie. Or, more accurately, sleeping ho-bags lie. But, damn it, I can’t help it. Wondering about her has gnawed wormholes into my brain.

“But what about... that...
girl
?” My words come out in fits and starts. Even I can hear the crazy creeping into my voice. But I can’t stop myself.

He takes a step back.

“I was at your show last night,” I explain, trying desperately to make my tone sound smooth and rational.

His face flushes.

Is he flushing because he knows I saw him sing “Shaynee?” Or is it because he’s remembering what he did with Motorcycle Hoochie last night? Damn it! I know I have no right to question Dean about Little Miss Thigh Master—he’s already shown me through his every look and kiss and touch that, whatever happened with her last night, she meant nothing to him, the same way Jared meant nothing to me. But, still, I just need to hear him say it. “Who is she?”

“Who is
who
?” His eyes reflect sincere confusion.

“I came to talk to you at the back door, right after the show,” I continue, attempting to prompt his memory—or his confession.

Nothing.

“C-Bomb promised he’d bring you to the back door after the show so I could talk to you, and I saw you with that
girl.
” It takes every fiber of my self-control not to call her a hoochie or skank or ho-bag, or worse. Just the thought of Dean touching her milky thighs makes me want to throw up. And then rip the hair out of her scalp with my bare hands in large, bloody clumps. “The girl on the back of your bike?”

Dean’s face flashes into an angry scowl as understanding finally descends upon him. “Caleb, you asshole!” he shouts.

I jerk back, startled by his unexpected intensity.

He shakes his head to assure me his anger isn’t directed at me. He places his palms firmly on my cheeks. “Shaynee, I had no idea you were there. I was a mess last night. Well, actually, I’ve been a mess ever since... ” He trails off and looks away, his eyes flickering with the hurt I’ve caused him. His hands drop to my shoulders.

I nod, wordlessly acknowledging the agony I’ve put him through. Cold water slaps at my legs.

He looks back at me. “Shaynee, that girl on the back of my bike was C-Bomb’s
sister
. Right after the show, he totally freaked out all of a sudden, begging me to take Miranda home right then. He said it was an emergency. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of there anyway, so I didn’t ask any questions.”

All at once, I feel the weight of the world lift off my shoulders just as a ton of bricks falls onto my head. On the one hand, it’s a relief to find out Motorcycle Hoochie’s innocent identity, but, on the other hand, it makes my stomach twist to realize just how vehemently C-Bomb despises me. “I guess C-Bomb wanted to make sure I got an eyeful of his sister’s thighs around you,” I mutter.

Dean grunts and his eyes harden into cobalt-blue slits. “I’ll deal with Caleb
.”
He clenches his jaw. “Shaynee, I haven’t even
looked
at another girl since our night at Wang Palace. Man, that night—that was
it
for me.”

And there it is. Boom. That night should have been
it
for me, too.

And I blew it.

Clearly, this is my cue to talk about the elephant wearing a shark-tooth necklace that just galloped across the sand and bounded into the ocean. I shake my head and sigh. I
really
don’t want to ruin this amazing reunion with Dean by talking about my stupid detour through Jared-town, but, clearly, that’s exactly what Dean wants me to do. And I don’t blame him. I’m sure he needs to hear me say Jared means nothing to me, as much as I needed to hear him say the same about Thigh Girl.

A frigid wave slams into our knees, and we simultaneously leap back and stumble out of the cold water and onto the shore. We plop down together onto the sand, side by side, shivering and trying to catch our breath.

I steal a glance at him. He’s looking out at the ocean, his hands on his knees.

Oh, God, I want this boy with all my heart. And I want him to want me, too—but the real me, not a filtered, sanitized version of me. I want him to love me, totally and completely, faults and all, stupidity and all, mistakes and all. Sob story and all. Because I’m not normal. I’m distinctly abnormal. And mean. And scary. And maybe just a wee bit unbalanced, too. And I want him to love me anyway.

I look over at Dean again. Now he’s looking at me expectantly.

Damn. I’m not imagining this. He’s waiting for me to tell him.

I take a deep breath and then exhale. “I kissed Jared,” I blurt. I close my eyes, forcing myself to just spit it out. “And all I did was kiss him, no matter what Caleb might have told you.” I open my eyes and instantly regret it. Dean looks utterly disgusted, verging on enraged. “And the minute I kissed him,” I ramble quickly, “literally that very second, it just confirmed, without a doubt, that I only want
you
. I felt
nothing
for him and
everything
for you, and I knew it, right then and there.” I feel the urge to whimper, but I stifle it as best I can. “It made me realize I didn’t care if you already knew about my mom... that my mom... died... and that you didn’t tell me. Right then, I knew that, whatever your reasons for not telling me the truth when I was babbling on and on about my supposedly not-dead mom, your intentions were good. And kind.”

Tears have sprung into my eyes, despite my fierce wish to keep them at bay. I have no desire to manipulate Dean with damsel-in-distress tears. If he’s going to forgive me, and move forward with me, and love me in the real world and not just in a fairytale, it has to be with his whole heart, after informed consent, and not because of some knee-jerk reaction to a girl in need of saving. I wipe my eyes and do my best to look strong yet sincerely contrite. Because, God help me, I am, most definitely, both of those things. “And this thing about my mom, about my mom... dying.” I force down the lump in my throat. “I haven’t handled it well. Not well at all. In fact, I think I’ve become sort of...
unhinged
because of it. Maybe even severely damaged. But I’ve decided to start letting my feelings out from now on so they can’t poison me anymore. And I think that’s gonna help a lot.”

I’m out of breath.

I look at Dean’s face. I can’t read him.

I know I should wait for him to respond, but I can’t stop more words from gushing out of me. “I’m so sorry, Dean,” I continue. “Sometimes, I... I don’t think very clearly. And I panic. And bottle things up. And shut people out. And fly off the handle. Sometimes, I do really stupid things. I’m sorry.”

He assesses me, but still he doesn’t speak.

I’m dangerously close to breaking down and sobbing. “I’m sorry,” I squeak out again. I sound pitiful, even to myself.

He sighs. “I’m so sorry about your mom, Shaynee,” he says. And somehow, it doesn’t sound even remotely like a greeting card coming from him.

He pauses again.

I bite my lip, restraining myself from filling the silence.

“I kept thinking I’d abused your trust, the very thing I never wanted to do,” he says quietly, “and pushed you right into the arms of that douchebag. Watching you drive off with
Jared
, and then hearing Caleb going on an on about how you were ‘macking down’ on him... ” He grunts and runs his fingers through his hair. “It was
painful
, Shaynee. I’m not gonna lie.” His voice cracks. He takes a deep breath and looks down at the sand. When he looks back up, his eyes glint with resolve. Clearly, he’s made some kind of decision.