Shy (8 page)

I look away and shake my head, blushing again, but a grin spreads over my face like rising sunshine.

“If you'd like to give it to me, I'd love to have your cell phone number,” he says. “We could talk a bit, do some texting. Would you like that? Maybe we'll want to get together somewhere other than a practice room one of these days.”

I nod and feel my grin widening.

“And we'll keep up our morning meetings. What do you say?”

“Yes,” I say, giggling. “I mean, I like our meetings.” How silly I sound! But I don't want to be hard on myself for getting flustered and saying goofy things. Granville isn't hard on me for it, so maybe I should give myself a break.

Hey, I actually did it. I sang in front of someone else, and I did okay. It's a step in the right direction. I have never felt like this, not ever before in my life. I feel powerful. Like a person who is capable of great things.

Perhaps there's hope for me yet.

I'm so fucking jealous. But who am I kidding? I have only myself to blame. Did I really think Wildflower would go along forever without a boyfriend, then somehow wind up back with me? I know she's still attracted to me, just like I am to her, but she doesn't know why I broke up with her. Now, she could be lost to me forever, lost to that Granville Watts guy who comes in to listen to her play piano every morning.

I used to feel intimidated listening to her play the piano. Her classical training really is formidable, and next to her chops, I felt like a redneck hick. Exactly what her mom thinks I am, of course. But I can pick, to be sure; I can pick a banjo, a mandolin, a guitar, all three of them, and I'm totally self-taught, raw talent without a lick of formal training. Wildflower tells me that's stupendously amazing.

I guess it
is
pretty cool.

For the last year, I've been doing a good job with Kelsey and Ty. We're the Hickory Hollow Boys, and we're starting to get a name around here. All around the region, in fact. Wildflower has been so proud. Going to our gigs, watching us play with stars in her eyes.

Now, though, she's with this super brainy science major who also plays music, and from what I understand, he's really good at piano and keyboards, like she is. He's in college, too, which means he's surely going to be a lot more acceptable to her mother than I am. A college guy. Probably going to be a scientist of some sort while his band makes a million dollars on the side.

God damn it. Just god damn it.

If he's better for her, then who am I to try to mess things up?

Except it hurts. Because damn it, I still love her.

If her mom hadn't interfered, we'd probably still be together. But maybe not. I don't know. Her mom has always made me feel like I'm not good enough for her, but it isn't just her mom that makes me feel that way.
I
make me feel that way. My upbringing makes me feel that way. Wildflower and I are from two very different backgrounds. I worry about the part of me that's like my father, angry and resentful of people who have money, privilege, and more ease in life. I can't lie; there's some of the same resentment in me, too. And what if Wildflower and I got back together, married and had kids, then I wound up making her as anxious and unhappy as my dad makes my mom?

That's the last thing I want. She's a gentle spirit like Mom. Strong in her way, but gentle, too. She needs someone who won't make her anxious and unhappy.

Have I ever made her anxious and unhappy? I don't think so. I hope not. I've never done anything like that on purpose. But if I have enough of my dad in me, then how could I keep things from turning out that way?

I don't see how I could.

Still, I need to talk to her. I want to see her.

I worry I'm not good enough for her. But I also can't stand the thought of her taking up with this Granville Watts guy and being lost to me forever.

I get in my truck and drive to her dorm. She's got to be there. She's probably studying. I won't keep her long. I just want to see how I feel when I'm with her. The love will still be there, the attraction will still be there. What I need, though, is to see if I can let her go.

I don't know if I can.

Maybe, just maybe, she doesn't want to let go, either.

If I see evidence that the other guy is better for her, then I'll have to let her go. It makes no sense for me to hurt either her or myself by hanging on.

I'm studying Monday evening—thank goodness Andrea is out of the room; she's studying down the hall with Tabby—when my cell phone plays Mozart. I reach over to grab it off my desk. Maybe it's Granville. I've been wondering when he might call. But no, it's Jake. A battalion of butterflies takes flight in my stomach. Jake had sounded weird this morning. I would swear he was jealous. But why did he break up with me a year ago, if he has such strong feelings for me in that way?

Maybe he's just calling me to touch base.

“Hi, Jake.”

“Wildflower.” His voice sounds gruff, as though he's stressed.

“What's up?”

“Can you come out and take a drive for a while?”

I have a report to write and a quiz to study for, but I've gotten a lot of other things done, and I could use the break. Besides, I want to see Jake. Regardless of anything else, I love seeing him. “Yes. When will you be by?”

“I'm outside your dorm right now.”

Oh, wow. “Okay. I'll be right out, then.”

I run outside and hop into Jake's old seventies model truck. He uses it for his gigs, so lately we've been calling it the Hickory Hollow Mobile, though he's been driving it since he was a junior in high school.

He looks at me, his eyes seeming darker than usual, and they're already quite dark brown. He looks like he's got a lot on his mind.

“Jake, what's wrong?”

He doesn't answer, just pulls away from the dorm building, drives off campus, and heads for the highway heading out of town.

“Where are we going?”

“I thought we'd go to the lake for a while.”

“Sounds good to me.” I see that Jake has his guitar with him. Maybe I'll be brave enough to sing with him today, if he sings. I don't know if he'll sing, though. He seems far away from a singing mood.

We're silent as we drive to the lake. When we get there, we park away from the main parking lot. Jake doesn't get out of his truck. He just sits there. We both sit for several long moments before I finally say, “What's on your mind? You seem like something's really bugging you.”

He looks at me, and his expression seems almost tortured. “How did today go?”

“What?”

“I was just wondering how your day went.”

“Just a day like every other day. Classes, studying. That's pretty much it, except...” An image of Granville from this morning flashes into my mind, along with my feeling of triumph from having sung for him, with him in the room watching, and his wonderful kiss that had made me tingle and feel so warm, appreciated, and alive. From head to toe.

One corner of his mouth turns down. “So something happened between you.”

“What?” I say. But I know what he's talking about. He's jealous. Why he broke up with me last year, I can't understand. He's so jealous, he's sizzling in it.

“Oh, Jake.” I want so much to cuddle up in his arms, the way I used to do the year we dated. “What is it? What's the matter?”

He turns away from me, his jaw tightening. “Nothing.” His big hands clench on the steering wheel as though he'd like nothing more than to crush it into dust.

“We're best friends. We can talk. No matter what. Please tell me what's the matter.”

He looks at me then, and his eyes appear as dark fire. Whatever this is, it's really getting to him. But he still says nothing.

“Yes, something happened with me and Granville today,” I say, deciding to spit it all out. He needs to know the whole deal. “We kissed in the practice room. He's interested in me. And I like him, too. And something else happened. He's really been encouraging me with my singing and playing. He's gotten me to play my songs and sing for him while he stands in the hall, because he figured out how shy I am, but he doesn't give me a hard time about it. And today, for the first time, I sang while he was in the room. I did okay. And he asked me to go to karaoke with him Friday.”

He looks away from me then, but not before I see hurt suffuse his expression like a bloody wound. He's silent for a long moment.

“Wildflower,” he finally says. “Do you know how many times I've tried to get you to sing with me? All the years I've tried to help you with it? But you never would sing with me. Or for me. And you've already done it for that guy. Well, I guess it just proves what I've thought all along.”

“What are you talking about? What have you thought all along?”

He shakes his head, refusing me an answer.

I don't know what he's talking about, but everything I say seems to hurt him more and more, though I'm trying to be as honest as I can be about what's going on in my life and in my heart. I want to be completely honest and tell him I still love him and that I wish we hadn't broken up. But I also want to tell him that if we can't be together, for whatever reason, I need to feel free to explore possibilities with Granville.

“I've hurt you,” I say. “I'm sorry. But if I can't talk to you, who can I talk to? You're the only person I'm close to.”

“Except for him,” Jake bites out. “Granville Watts.”

He's really angry. But he isn't angry at me. Whenever he looks at me, his eyes are fierce, yes, but his anger is directed elsewhere. At himself? Maybe. But that doesn't make sense, either. My mind whirls with confusion, and yes, desire. Because I still desire Jake, too.

I have feelings for both of them, Jake and Granville.

“Yes, Granville's my friend,” I say. “He's a new friend. But you and I have known each other for years. I don't want to lose you as a friend just because I might date someone else.” And I might as well say it. “If you're bothered by it, then why on earth did you tell me we needed space last year? If you hadn't broken up with me, we might still be–”

He holds up a hand. “You deserve better than me, Wildflower.”

“I... what?”

He looks at me as though he's trying to decide what to say. Then he shakes his head again. “Just be careful, okay? He's an older guy, isn't he? Like in his mid-twenties? Why can't he find somebody his own age?”

“It isn't like he's forty years old, for Pete's sake,” I say. “He's twenty-three. And he's nice. Very spiffy...” But seeing the look that spreads over Jake's face, I immediately regret describing Granville as
spiffy
.

“Is he rich?”

“I don't know...” I trail off, feeling guilty. I'm lying. Granville definitely comes from a wealthy family. Though he hasn't told me that in so many words, it rolls off him in the way he talks and dresses, his mannerisms, and the easy way he goes about his days.

That ease is polar opposite of Jake's attitude. Jake is rough and tumble, expects life to be tough, and plows through anyway like a bull in a china shop. He has taught himself all kinds of practical skills. He can fix any kind of vehicle from a car to a truck to a motorcycle. He can do electrical work, plumbing, mechanical work of any kind; you name it, he can do it. His dad is the same way. But they have never had much money, and Jake's mother works odd jobs to help them make ends meet. Jake has three younger brothers, one of whom is in high school, the second in junior high, and the third in elementary school. His family lives in a trailer in Solway next to his dad's garage. Jake moved to an apartment in downtown Knoxville, where he lives with the other two Hickory Hollow Boys, Ty and Kelsey.

He scowls. “Yeah, I bet he's rich.” He opens his mouth to say more, but then closes it again. He turns the key to start up his truck and take me back to my dorm. I can't stand seeing him like this. Why won't he open his heart to me?

“Jake.” I lean over and put my hands on his big shoulders. “Please.”

He looks at me, his eyes narrowing, but I see more pain in their depths than anger.

“I'm afraid,” I say. “I want to know we'll stay friends.” I squeeze his shoulder, feel its solidity, the heavy muscle there. Jake's a big guy. He makes me feel so safe with his groundedness and solidity, his common sense, and yes, his rough-and-tumble, can-do attitude. But there's a part of him I don't understand, that I'll never understand. Mom calls him a common redneck, but that isn't remotely true. He's deeper, more complex than she can know. I wish he'd share more of himself with me, but it's been this way to one degree or another ever since we broke up, though up until now, he's seemed determined to stay friends with me.

I can't lose him. I must get him to open up.

I rub his shoulder gently and a shiver goes through him. He abruptly takes hold of me, pulls me to him, and buries his big hand in the hair at the base of my neck. My body seems to lose all its bones. His eyes are thunderclouds.

Before I can see more, his lips are on mine, probing deeply. My lips part and he kisses me fiercely, as though he's trying to drink from me. My blood rampages throughout me from my head to my toes, washing me with sensation. I remember how we kissed like this a year ago. We came very close to making love, but we never did it. We did other things, though. Just about everything but the act itself. I don't know why we didn't go for it. I wanted it. God, how I wanted it! Just like I want it now.

Granville who? Jake is kissing me senseless, my head's spinning, my mind's spinning, my heart is ablaze. Our mouths are wide open now, as though each of us seeks to devour the other. I gasp. “Oh, Jake. I want...”

He lets me go just as abruptly as he took hold of me in the first place. “I'm sorry, Wildflower. I shouldn't have done that.”

“Well, I started it.” I'm hurt at how he pushed me away. I can't imagine why he seems nearly out of his mind in love with me on one hand but rejects me without any apparent reason on the other. What's wrong with me that he can't just let himself love me?

Instead of starting the engine, he gets out of the the Hickory Hollow Mobile, taking his guitar case with him. It doesn't surprise me. Music calms and centers him, just as it does for me. I wish I had my piano here, though a piano isn't exactly a portable instrument like a guitar. Oh, well. I'll listen to him play, which is almost as good as playing an instrument myself.