The Girl of Diamonds and Rust (The Half Shell Series Book 3) (20 page)

Nate starts to laugh, and I give him a hard smack in his chest.
How the hell do they always know everything? And why do they have to be so rude and let me know it?

“Asshole,” I exclaim.

“Don’t worry. Neil didn’t even hear me.”

He unscrews the top. He takes a long swallow, offers me the bottle, and when I shake my head, he takes another gulp. He sits there for a while, staring at me, searching my face.

“What was all that shit about last night?” he asks.

I flush. “Nothing. It’s private. No big deal.” Then frustration forces me to ask. “How do you guys know everything that happens with us the second it happens?”

He takes another drink. “Nicole. She was in her room last night. Heard every word. Said Neil was throwing things. Came to my room, pounded on my door. And trust me, I didn’t want to be interrupted last night. But she ordered me to go break it up before someone sent for the cops and if Neil put so much as a finger on you, that I had better kick his ass or Vincent would. And that I should be smart and not leave it to Delmo to take care of.”

I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Fuck. It’s so humiliating on the road. As if Neil would hit me. As if he’d hit anyone.”

He reclines on his side and arches a brow. “You mean other than Andy? That one still doesn’t make sense to me. Neil is a total pacifist and he fucked up Andy good. Anyway, you guys were quiet when I got to your room, so I didn’t knock—you’re welcome, by the way—and I figured Nicole got it wrong and everything was cool.”

I stare at him, hard. “Everything is cool. Nicole definitely got it wrong.”

“I didn’t think he would step out of line with you, but my boy was acting weird last night. Edgy. Going off on everyone.”

I don’t want to think about the events of last night, so I ignore that comment and resolve to focus on my journal. Nate watches me expectantly, takes a sip from the bottle and then starts reading my most personal thoughts again.

We lie together quietly for a while. Nate has been in an unusually talkative mood. I debate with myself whether to ask.

I look over at him. “Why does Josh dislike me so much? Is it just that guy loyalty thing because I broke up with Neil for a while? Or is it something else?”

“Something else.” He turns a page.

I stare at him, impatiently. “Well?”

“I don’t want to get in the middle of it.”

“Too late. You already put yourself in the middle of it with the
he doesn’t really hate you
comment. You shouldn’t have told me that if you didn’t want me to ask you to explain.”

“Shit. That’s totally fucked-up logic. I’m not in the middle of anything.”

I ease over to lie on my side and stare. Nate breathes in, he breathes out, and then he finally turns to face me.

“Don’t fucking repeat this,” he warns. “It will just cause shit. It will just blow up.”

My eyes widen. “I won’t. I promise.”

“He thinks you fuck up everything we’re trying to do by just you being here. You don’t serve a purpose. You’re not doing anything. You’re not working. You write fucking great words no one will ever hear. You don’t even know why the fuck you’re on the road with us. But everything is different because you’re here and it drives Josh up a wall. Get it?”

I frown. “No.”

He looks agitated. “Everything is different with you here.”

“What’s different?”

“For one thing our press. You get more press than everyone in the band combined, even Neil. You are fucking famous for being famous. It’s really starting to be a problem with Josh.”

I sit up, alarmed. “What are you talking about?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t play dumb, Chrissie. I know you don’t go to the meet and greets, and I know you haven’t been at the press ops, but you must read the press clipping files Neil gets every morning.”

Press clipping file?
“No. I don’t read them. Neil doesn’t read them. He doesn’t want either of us to read the press. He says reading your own press fucks with your head. I don’t look at the newspapers. Not ever.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he counters harshly.

“No. Not kidding you. Why do you say it that way?”

Nate frowns. “Neil hasn’t mentioned how the press ops go?”

I shake my head. “No. Why would he?”

“Because every fucking time we sit down with the press, the first question Neil gets is about you. They never ask the rest of the band anything. First question, you can fucking bet on it every time, is something about Chrissie.”

I’m stunned. Oh no, this can’t be true. He’s messing with me.
Good one, Nate. Ha, ha, ha
.

I settle back against my pillow. “You’re so full of crap. Why do all you guys like to mess with me? It’s not funny.”

“Fine. I’m full of crap, but that’s why Josh is always pissed off at you and working really hard to get Neil to boot you off the road. He’s fed up with the tabloid Chrissie frenzy. He thinks it interferes with what the band is about and what we’re trying to do.”

It is too absurd.
Chrissie frenzy
. I’m still not sure if I should believe him.

He studies my face for a moment. “It must suck. Being famous for being famous. That must really suck for you.”

“I’m not famous for being famous. I’m not anything. I’m not even a band chick. If I were I’d be screwing all of you.”

His fingers flutter on my stomach. “If you’re interested in becoming the official band girl we can fix that now. Neil’s going to be tied up for a while.”

I shove him hard, nearly knocking him off the bed. “Not a chance. Jeez, you’re obnoxious.”

Nate laughs and I smile.

He tosses my journal at Neil and it lands at his feet. “Why don’t you use those lyrics? They’re probably better than anything you’re thinking up.”

Josh glares at him, but Neil picks up the journal and starts to read.

Nate settles comfortably on the bed, and closes his eyes. “I’m going to sleep for a while, Chrissie.”

In a few minutes he’s sound asleep beside me. I stare out the back window at the passing scenery. I wonder where we are. It’s beautiful here. Who would have thought the United States was so large, so much of it unoccupied by people, and every state different and yet oddly the same at once?

I grab my journal and start to write, then Nate begins to snore.
Crap
. I crawl over him and leave the bed. I stop next to Neil and drop a kiss on his head.

“Do you know where we are?” I ask.

Neil opens his eyes and looks up. “Sorry. I haven’t been paying attention.”

I shift my questioning gaze to Josh. He ignores me. I move to the front of the bus and sink down until I’m sitting on the floor, my back against the dash console.

Markem glances down at me. “Did I say you could sit there, Miss Parker?”

“Nope, you didn’t but then I didn’t ask. Where are we?”

“South Carolina.”

“Do we have enough time to stop for a while? It’s pretty here and I could use some fresh air.”

He checks the clock. He nods. “For you we can stop. For them, no.”

I laugh. “You don’t really mean that. You like the guys. I can tell.”

He shakes his head and doesn’t say anything, but I can see he has something on his mind he’d like to say. It must be impolite. Markem is never impolite with me so that would be the only reason he’s not speaking what he’s thinking.

I pull myself up. Josh follows my movements with his gaze in a rude manner and, just to piss him off, I sink down on Neil’s lap.

Neil frowns. “You OK?”

I curl into his chest. “I’m good. But I’m tired of listening to Nate snore.”

Neil laughs.

“We’re stopping,” I whisper in his ear.

“Oh, thank you. I am very ready to stop.”

I blush and do an anxious peek at Josh, and I can tell by his expression he’s annoyed with me.

I feel Neil’s fingers move in my hair and close my eyes. His touches get more stirring and he starts kissing me on the neck. I wasn’t thinking about sex when I asked Markem to stop, but everything is suddenly lit inside me.

The bus screeches to a standstill on the side of the road, and everyone stumbles out, anxious for a bit of space from each other. 

We scatter in our customary pairings. Neil pulls me by the hand in one direction. Josh and Les take off in the opposite direction with their guitars, to get high and jam together. Pat and Nate hover near the bus, as if they’re worried it will leave without them, tossing a football. And Markem stands at the edge of the road just smoking and staring.

Halfway across the field, Neil lifts me up to carry me, and we are kissing and touching all the way through the meadow of tall grass and wild flowers. We are both impatient in our bodies, out of nowhere. The pulse in Neil’s neck beats fiercely against my lips as I kiss him there. I make a soft bite then run my tongue down his skin. He groans. My muscles clench
there
in anticipation of making love with Neil in the grass, feeling the wind touching my skin between the play of his fingers, feeling as if there is nothing on this earth but us. Lost in each other in a rural idyll where nothing can hurt either of us.

He continues into the trees at the edge, through thick green foliage and dense arching tree branches. The world is utterly tranquil and quiet here. And yet the vivid colors, so much richer than the colors in California, remind me of another meadow.

A whisper of sadness starts to move through me as my thoughts drift to another time, a time when I was not a girl who would fuck in the grass. Though I wanted to. I burned to. I burned for
him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

I look up to find Neil studying me.

I shake my head and smile. “Not a thing.”

We step out from beneath the trees into more field. He stops, setting me on my feet, and between kisses he undresses, spreads out his shirt as a makeshift blanket, and then removes my panties from beneath my dress, kissing his way down my legs until they are discarded.

He lies down and pulls me on top of him. Desire thick and pulsing dances through my flesh. He grabs my hips and fills me quickly. I groan and arch my back. Slowly he withdraws and then sinks into me. The tempo builds, harder and faster.

I open my eyes to find him watching my face. I watch him watch me and it makes my blood boil through my veins. But my passion-claimed senses haze my vision and the colors of him—deep tanned skin, chestnut hair with golden sun-flecks, lush green eyes—blur into the rich colors of the meadow. I close my eyes and behind my lids there is only black.

I savor the feel of callused fingertips touching my skin, my muscles tightening
there
around him, and I change the rhythm of our bodies until it is quick and rough and I can feel nothing beyond my own flesh.

We come apart together, and I explode around him, my whimpers the only sound on the air. I collapse into him until my head is cradled against his chest and we are both struggling to breathe.

“I love you,” Neil whispers.

“I love you, too.” I kiss his chest and then snuggle back into him.

Neil trails his fingers up and down my back. He is quiet for a long time.

“I want us to get married,” he says.

The languidness leaves my flesh in a jolt. 

I lift my face from his chest. “Neil, we just got back together again four months ago. I’m not ready to think about marrying you. I’m not ready to think about spending the rest of my life with anyone.”

“We’ve been together four years, Chrissie. We are already spending our life together.”

“I know. But I can’t say yes. Not today.”

I see something on his face, a fleeting emotion that is quickly lost behind the usual arrangement of his features.

“Then explain it to me, Chrissie. Because I don’t know why you’re saying no.”

I pull out of his arms, hunt in the grass for my panties, put them on, and then sit on my knees beside him.

“I’m not saying no,” I whisper. “I’m saying not yet. There is a difference.”

He’s angry now.

“That’s a bullshit line guys give girls, Chrissie, when they don’t want to marry them.”

I blink at him rapidly, my entire face burning. He moves away from me, stands, and starts to grab his clothing from the ground.

“Neil, don’t be pissed.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not pissed, Chrissie. I just don’t get you sometimes.”

I can feel him watching me.

“Can you answer me one question, Chrissie?”

I don’t look at him. I nod.

He sinks down in front of me, crouching at eye level, and lifts my face until I’m looking at him.

“Why do you not want to marry me?”

Shit. Why that question?
I don’t know how to answer that because I don’t know the answer myself. Neil is a great guy. He loves me and I love him. I don’t know why I panic every time he asks me to marry him, even back in Berkeley when I used to pretend I thought he was joking. I knew he wasn’t. His proposals made me internally messy.

I shake my head. “I don’t know, Neil.”

He studies my face for a long time, almost like he’s searching for something, doesn’t find it, and then the anger leaves his body.

I frown, not sure what to make of that. He kisses my forehead. “I love you.”

I nod. “I know.”

“We’re getting married. Someday. You’ll say yes.”

I nod, but I know that I shouldn’t, that it’s wrong, because I don’t have the slightest idea why I say
no
or if I’ll ever
yes.

He stands and offers me his hand. “Come on. We should get back.”

I let him guide me through the meadow, but my limbs suddenly feel too weak and heavy. We are quiet on the way back to the bus, and once everyone is loaded up, I move away from Neil to sit back on the bed.

I pull out a journal just for something to do. I grab my pen. My thoughts drifted back to The Farm. I start to write.

I wish I had made love with Alan in the grass during our spring. I wish I could let go of the past. I wish I could move forward. I wish I understood why I love Neil, and yet the thought of marrying him terrifies me.

I stare at the words on the paper, realizing I’d written my thoughts when I didn’t intend to. I tear out the sheet and rip it into tiny pieces. I scrunch it into a ball and shove it deep into my backpack.