Ten Days of Perfect (23 page)

After a brief pause, Carrie broke in to laughter. “Ha! That’s . . . well, good luck with . . . all of that, Ember. David Bryson and I have worked out the itinerary for the trip, I’ll email it to you this afternoon.  Take care, hun.” And just like that, she hung up the phone.

Relief flooded through my body and oozed out of my pores.
You’re free to be with him, nothing is holding you down.
I looked up at Bo and he smiled a knowing smile.

“She’s fine with it,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Yes. As long as your people are OK with it,” I teased.

In a flash, Bo had me pinned beneath him on the couch, my head cradled in his hands.

“I think I can talk them into it,” he said with sexy authority, burying his face in my neck.

“I really do love you, Bo.” It felt so good to say it without the pang of guilt by way of ethics.

“You have no idea, November . . .” Was all he could breathe out before we lost ourselves in the riptide.

* * *

“Play that song again,” Bo whispered into my ear as we lay together on my couch.

“Why?” I rolled my eyes at the thought. Singing in front of people was one thing; the fact that he accidentally heard me play the guitar was another.

“It was beautiful, and you were beautiful playing it. Do you have it written down anywhere?”
He’s serious.

“Uh, no. It’s the first song I learned, and that was before I knew how to read music; I never thought to transcribe the notes.” I sat up, put
on my robe,
and lazily reached for the guitar.

“Hand me your music comp. notebook and I’ll transcribe it for you as you play.” Genuine excitement laced his face as he pulled his shirt down over his head.

“Um, I don’t have a comp. notebook. What part of
I don’t play
missed your ears,” I said with mocking eyes.

“You’re killing me! Wait here, I’ll get mine from my car.” He grabbed my chin and gave me a butterfly-inducing kiss before he dashed to his car.

When he returned, he sat on the couch and handed me the guitar I’d left sitting in its case. My breath rattled through the room as I inhaled.

“Why are you so nervous?” Bo asked in complete seriousness.

“Well, this is a little intimate. I’ve seriously
never
played for anyone besides my family. You sneaking up on me at the beach doesn’t count.” My face heated beneath his smile.

“Babe, we’ve covered intimate quite well already. Play.” He slapped the notebook off of my knee and sat back, pencil in hand.

Babe? I like it.

With one more cleansing breath, I shifted so I was sitting cross-legged, facing him. I threw the strap over my head and rolled my shoulders to help relax, which didn’t really help. I closed my eyes and started strumming the lullaby my parents taught me when I was little. It is a slow, swelling song that hangs mainly in the lower register; it sounds like the guitar is putting itself to sleep. It flows wonderfully and could cause lovers to dance and cry at the same time.

Once I let go of apprehension enough to feel the song through my soul, I lifted my head to look at Bo. He was studying my fingers, scribbling notes an
d rhythms as fast as he could.
When he caught my eye, he nodded in encouragement, and returned to work. His hands were beautiful.  His long fingers sat artfully in his masculine hands; it looked like he could break the pencil any minute, but his hand glided gracefully across the page.

When I strummed the last cord, Bo asked me to play it again so he could fill in the parts he’d missed. I had no sarcastic comment for him - I wanted to do it. I could play this song for
this
man all day. When I finished the second time, he looked at his notebook and gave me an accomplished smile.

“Gorgeous. Hand me your guitar so I can see if I got it right.” I surrendered it without hesitation.

He set the notebook on my coffee table and began to play. They were the same notes, and the same beat, but it sounded so much more beautiful coming from his fingers. He studied the notes closely the first time through. When he finished, he immediately started again.  This time his eyes were closed, but his forehead disclosed his concentration. He was trying to feel the notes as they should come, and he didn’t miss a single one. His body swayed slightly as he rode the wave of notes coming out of his guitar. I grabbed my cell phone and recorded him playing. He cracked a smile when he opened his eyes and saw the phone, but looked to the page and kept playing. When he finished, I pressed stop and impulsively sent the video to my mom.

Me:
This is Bo. He’s using my guitar. He wrote the notes to that lullaby as I played them – this is
him testing his transcription.

Within two minutes my phone dinged a response.

Mom:
I see you chose reckle
ss abandon. Excellent. Love you :)

My heart swelled anew when I saw my mom’s message.

“Who’d you send that to?” Bo asked.

“Raven - uh - my mom,” I shrugged and smiled.

My phone dinged again, but this time all sensation left my face and my stomach threw itself out the window.

“What’s wrong?” Bo set the guitar down.

“It’s Monica. She says that Josh is there, and he’s drunk - she’s freaked. It’s ten a.m.! Shit!” My heart raced into my throat
.

“I’ll drive.” Bo shut the door behind him as I was already halfway down the stairs.

The two mile drive to Monica’s house felt inordinately long; I counted the feet with each heartbeat. Bo reached across the car and put his hand on mine.

“Has this happened before?”
h
e asked.

“Not that I’m aware of,” I shrugged, “but they’ve never broken up before.”

“So, we don’t know if he’s aggressive or anything?” Bo’s dark tone refreshed my anxiety.

“I guess not, but Monica didn’t indicate anything . . .” A sob choked my throat. If Josh was drunk now, he was still drunk from the night before - when I verbally assaulted him.

“Maybe I should go up first and check it out - make sure everyone’s
OK
.” Bo said as he pulled in front of Monica’s building.

“Thanks, but screw that. She’s my best friend and he’s being a
n asshole. We’ll go together.”

I sent Monica a text to let her know we were downstairs, rather than ringing her bell, so she could buzz us in. As the buzzer rang and the door unlocked, I looked at Bo and grabbed his hand for a split second before sprinting up the stairs.

“Jesus, hold on!” He flew after me.

As I reached the top of the stairs I heard voices and  paused a second to listen.

“Josh, just drink the water.” Monica sounded annoyed, which was a good sign. On that note, I decided to knock and enter.

“Mon?” I entered cautiously and tried to keep the anxiety out of my voice.

“Hey Ember, Bo, come in.” Monica held the door open and mouthed “Thank you.” I squeezed her arm in response.

“What the
hell
are you two doing here?” Josh sputtered venomously through his teeth.

“Shut up, Josh. I couldn’t get you to leave, so I
asked
them to come,” Monica spat angrily. She stood cross-armed by her still-open door.

“I told you, I’m not leaving until
you hear me out!” Josh yelled.

My wide eyes were still assessing the scene as Bo crossed in front of me and sat on the coffee table across from Josh.

“Have you been home at all since last night, man?” Bo reached for the glass of water.

“You mean since
that bitch
told me off?” Josh gestured in my direction. Bo’s free hand clenched into a fist against the table. Fury and hurt punched my gut and pricked at my eyes.

“Fuck off Josh,” I started. Bo tried to silence me
by putting up
his hand
,
but I didn’t follow. “It’s hardly my fault that you broke up with Monica. How
dare
you call me a bitch after you tried to take her home last night. Now you show up here like a drunken scumbag and demand that she
listen to you?
You’re better than this. Get the hell out of here and come back when you sober up.” My voice was angry and strained as I successfully fought off tears. Bo’s eyebrows shot up at my retort.

Josh stood and walked over to me until we were almost toe-to-toe. The venom and pain in his eyes commanded the hairs on the back of my neck to attention, one-by-one. I could smell the booze on his breath. I met his stare dead-on with a racing heart. A vacuum of suspense sucked all the air from the room; no one spoke, and no on
e moved.

“Josh, come, take a seat.” Bo slowly approached Josh, putting his hand on his shoulder.

Seeming to snap out of it, Josh looked at Bo and took the water, raking his hands through his hair. “Man, you have no id
ea how fucked up this is . . .”

I took Monica by the hand and walked with her to the bedroom while Josh rambled to Bo.

“Holy shit, wha
t the fuck was that all about?
Monica, what the hell happened?” I whispered.

Monica’s anger boiled over; tears steamed off her hot cheeks.
“He just showed up here, all wobbly and slurring, telling me how sorry he was, and maybe we were at the beginning of our thousand lifetimes of knowing each other.” Tears turned into sobs as I pulled her in to a hug.

“God. What did you say to him?”

“Nothing, I don’t want to have this conversation with him drunk. I texted you and tried to get him to drink some water. I don’t want him to leave right now because he’s too drunk to dri
ve - which is how he got here.”

A soft knock on the door sent my pulse racing again.

“It’s Bo,
can we use your shower?”

Monica and I stared at each other quizzically and shrugged.

“Uh, yeah, go ahead,” Monica said suspiciously; a fresh grin toweled her tear-stained face.

We heard the shower start, followed by garbled noises of protest coming from Josh. Monica and I peered down the hallway just in time to see Bo toss a fully clothed Josh into the shower.

“Shit that’s freezing!” Josh exclaimed as he sat slumped on the shower floor.

“Don’t come out until you get your act together.” Bo walked toward us. “Are you
OK
Monica?” He asked empathetically as he put his arm around her.

“Much better now, thank you. I’ve got some of his clothes here. He can change into them.” She turned back to her room.

“Are
you
ok?” Bo turned his question to me.

“Yea, why? Oh, the bitch thing?” I shrugged impassively. It really didn’t bother me.

“I almost decked him. Are you always that confrontational?” Bo asked, annoyance punctuated his question.

“Only when people are being asshats. Please don’t waste a punch on Josh, I like your hands.” I took them into mine, kissing the anger out of his knuckles.

Monica returned with dry clothes for Josh and we all looked at each other, silently discussing who would deliver them. Bo grabbed the clothes, opened the bathroom door, turned off the water, and tossed the clothes on the floor.

“Dry off and put these on.” He slammed the door shut, his remaining anger streak
ed
through the door frame.

The three of us waited in the living room for Josh. I wondered how Bo knew a cold shower would help sober Josh up, but I pictured his sister and thought better of the question. Within a few minutes, Josh was back in
the living room. He sank into
the recliner on my side of the couch and reached for his glass of water, which inadvertently caused me to flinch.

“Ember-” he started, but I raised my hand to stop him.

“I just want you to drink that damn water so we can get you home.” I couldn’t make eye contact with him.

I wasn’t mad about him calling me a bitch; I was still mad at him for breaking up with Monica in the first place and then showing up
at Monica’s
like a total degenerate. He’d honestly panicked when Bo told him that he felt like he’s known me for a thousand lifetimes. Who does that?

“You don’t have to take me home, I’ve got my car,” Josh said seriously.

“Dude, I didn’t cave your face in when you called Ember a bitch, but I
will
if you try to get into your car. Let’s go. Em, I’ll come back for you OK?” Bo said as he headed toward the door, one arm behind Josh.

As soon as the door closed, Monica collapsed on the couch in tears.

“Monica, I’m really sorry about yelling at Josh last night, and about him coming here.” I sat next to her and put my arm around her.

“Em, it’s not that. I am
so
sorry for trying to get in your head about Adrian.” She wiped her eyes.