Summer of Supernovas (32 page)

“Well, then, you don’t know the girl I do.” Grant slides closer. In response, I move closer to the armrest. “Wil, stop trying to push me away, or trying to make me think you’re a bad person—you’re not.”

“Nice people don’t agree to dates and meeting parents and hot-air balloon rides because of the day someone was born. Seth has been nothing but sweet to me, and…and…”

Grant slides his arm over my shoulders. I give up fighting it. “And what?”

“I don’t love him,” I finish hopelessly. “I don’t. I never will, not the way I should.”

All the air rushes from his lungs as he pulls me tightly to his chest.

My eyes water, spilling their sorrow all over again. “God, what if I really
am
broken? What if all this loss…destroyed my ability to really love the way a person should?”

“I don’t buy that for one second, Wil. I
see
you,” he says fiercely. “I
see
the love you have for Irina and your gram.” He dabs my wet cheek with a napkin. “You’re bruised…not broken.”

My shoulders shake with another sob. “Gram’s my entire universe. Without her, I have nothing—
no one.
I can’t lose her, Grant. I just…
can’t.
”

“Shhh, shhh,”
he croons. His arms embrace me, holding me together, while the rest of me falls spectacularly apart. I slide deeper into my chasm of sadness. And he lets me. Lets me cry until I’m emptied of tears and quiet again.

I sniffle in his T-shirt. “Grant?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you climb the water tower when you’re afraid of heights?”

“What?” He stills the hand rubbing my back. “I told you, we thought you were going to jump.”

“But…there was something else”—I peer up—“wasn’t there? There had to be.”

“Wil, sweetheart—”

“Call me Mena.”

Grant tucks the hair behind my ear. “
Mena,
it’s not a story for tonight.”

I find his hand, drawing it into mine. “Would you tell me anyway?” And I can’t explain why it is so important for me to hear his story. Maybe it’s being here in his arms, soul stretched and bare before him, that now makes me desperate to know the parts he hides.

Indecision wars on his face.

I squeeze his hand. “Please?”

His hand instinctively moves over his tattoo. “It’s…it’s because of the friend I was telling you about earlier. Her name was Anna—Anna Rodriguez.” I startle at the last name. “Yeah, Manny’s cousin—my girlfriend sophomore and junior year. She was this totally incredible girl who wasn’t afraid of anything, and there was a line of guys dying to date her, but she picked me. Out of all of them, she picked me.” A sad smile lifts the corners of his mouth. “She taught me how to dance, how to speak Spanish.” He quiets for a moment. “She taught me a lot of things. For a while…it was great.

“But Anna had these dark moments, too. Her home life sucked. Manny tried like hell to get her to leave and come to his family’s house, but she wouldn’t. Wouldn’t dream of abandoning her mom—even at her own expense. Not that her mom was around much, since she worked two jobs just to make ends meet. Which
killed
me because we had more than enough.

“And then her stepdad”—Grant gives his head a disgusted shake—“he was a heavy drinker and pissed away any earnings on the bottle and gambling. She denied there was any abuse, but I think by the time I came into the picture the damage was already done. All her scars were on the inside. I wanted to fix it—make her better. I wanted the happy girl I fell for to be there all the time. But I saw her less and less. The past has a way of catching up to us, you know?”

I do. More than I’d like to. I draw a breath to speak, but Grant has already moved on.

“So we broke up. I broke up with her. I was sixteen and my overprivileged ass didn’t know how to deal with the way her past was eating at her. Anna got mixed up with a rough crowd of partyers and users. God, Manny and I did
everything
we could to get her out of that scene. But she kept migrating back—over and over.

“Then she called me one night—drunk, high, maybe both—begging to get back together. I said no.”

The sadness percolates from somewhere deep inside him before he continues. “I knew she was upset, but I also knew there’d be no reasoning with her when she was that messed up.” Grant’s fingers pass over the inked musical notes on his arm. “Anna died that night.”

“Oh, Grant.” I push back from his arms, seeing the pain cut across his face. “What happened?” I whisper.

“Sometimes they partied at construction sites. She, um…she climbed up some scaffolding to one of those metal beams, lost her footing, and…” His voice thickens with emotion. “It was pretty much instantaneous.”

I wrap my arms around his waist and lay my head to his chest. “
God.
I’m so,
so
sorry.”

“Me too. I played back the last time we spoke again and again and thought of a million different things I could’ve said, I could’ve done.”

“You know it wasn’t your fault.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t wish I had done more, tried harder, listened. I don’t know.”

I sigh into his chest. “That’s why you climbed the tower, isn’t it? You were rewriting history…by saving me.”

Grant nods and then continues. “After the funeral, I went into my own tailspin. Staying out late, drinking, finding excuses to get into fights.

“One night at a party, a guy got rough with this girl. I found her on her back, dazed, nose bloody, and I just…
snapped.
Ended up beating the guy so bad he spent several days in the ICU. He filed charges, and if it weren’t for my parents and the lawyers, I would’ve stood trial. So they saved me.”

He shifts uncomfortably in my arms. “But besides the drinking and fights, I was also sleeping around—
a lot.
Anything to make me forget about Anna and how I could’ve been the one who made the difference between her living and dying. You can’t imagine the weight of something like that.”

My hand finds his; our fingers lace together. I caress my thumb over his skin. “What brought you back?”

Grant lets out a sorrow-filled chuckle. “Manny. He knocked the self-loathing out of me—I mean that literally…he punched me in the face. Told me how pissed Anna would be at the way I was throwing my life away. So…I just immersed myself more and more in my music. It gave me an outlet for the grief, the anger, all the helplessness. It’s when I wrote ‘Anna’s Song’—the tattoo.” He lifts the inked arm, trembling when my finger runs over the musical notes. “It helped me get through.”

I understand loss. We are intimately acquainted. I understand the way it can hollow you if you let it. How something so simple can be so devastating. My mother going to get maple syrup, Anna’s single misstep—events that could’ve played out in countless, impermanent ways. But instead, they ripped away the people we loved.

He’s watching me, gauging my reaction. His jaw is tight and lines appear on his forehead. I think he worries he’s said too much. He hasn’t.

Grant’s watering eyes fill with more emotions than the English language is equipped to describe.

I take his arm, pulling it closer, kissing his tattoo, kissing away the hurt, the way Gram has done on so many skinned knees and elbows. I don’t want him to bear the burden alone anymore. Pain is something we can share.

I smooth the lines above his troubled brow. Just as I’d wanted to that night at Absinthe that now feels decades ago. My head tucks back against his chest. His breath is hot on my scalp, making me forget our hurts. Making me forget everything.

And, I know, the smallest movement would change everything. If I lift my chin, then our lips will almost be touching. Almost…

His heart beats faster as if he’s sensing my thoughts. The cotton of his T-shirt brushes softly on my cheek as I slowly, slowly lift my head. Half-lidded eyes gaze back, matching my longing.

I touch my mouth to his and hear the sharp intake of both our breaths. In that second that our lips meet, all the aches and pains of living…vanish. I know they aren’t gone forever, but for now…I don’t feel them. I only feel Grant.

We are still except for our breaths and our hearts. My hand, feeling the stubble on the side of his face, hasn’t moved, and neither has his arm that curls around me. I am surrounded by “Anna’s Song.” I’m sure it’s as beautiful as she was.

I pull back and we stare at each other in wonder. It shouldn’t be wondrous.

Because we are doomed.

But for tonight, for
one
night…I will imagine I can rearrange the stars.

I drop my hand, which carries the heat from his face.

“I can’t go back to pretending. I don’t ever want to pretend with you, Mena—
ever.
You’re all I want. All I’ve wanted since the moment we met.” Grant takes off my glasses, which clatter to the coffee table. He leans closer, eyeing my lips. “Tell me to stop.”

I say nothing. Grant may not want to pretend, but I do. I want to pretend there is nothing but us—no vows, or charts, or lives hanging in the balance. Because this ache I have for him is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. It’s all-consuming.

Suddenly Grant pulls me into his arms and kisses me.
Hard.

I gasp and we fall back into the couch cushions. His lips move frantically over mine, and I match his need with my own. All the emotion I’ve pent up, all the memories of that night in the gardens—it’s my undoing. The kiss deepens as our bodies recall the way we fit. The way our contours shape against one another—puzzle pieces waiting to be joined.

I tug the back of his T-shirt until it’s bunched at his upper back, scratching him with my haste. I murmur my apology against his mouth as his shirt is tossed to the living-room floor.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t
believe
what I’m doing. I’ve practically torn the shirt off his back and all I can think is…
please, oh please, don’t stop.

Once again, our lips collide like bits of heaven bursting through atmosphere. We gain speed with our fall just like heaven’s debris.

And I am in flames. Ignited by the way his lips and hands move over me.

I cross my arms at my torso, reaching for the bottom of my shirt. I don’t want anything between us. I want to feel his heart, his skin molded to mine. I want the physical connection to match the emotional one.

“Mena.” Grant pulls back, bracing himself above me. His bare chest rises and falls erratically, his hair even wilder than usual.

“Not sex,”
I breathe. But I can’t define what I want. Connection? Closeness? To feel something worth remembering?

“No, this wasn’t”—he stalls and licks his lips—“this wasn’t why I came to the hospital. Or why I came here tonight. You’re hurting. The last thing I want is to comp—”

I still his mouth with my fingers, and push down the grief that threatens to surface once more. “I’m not the only one hurting.”

He gently removes my fingers and sits up. “That’s different. Those are old scars.” He drops his head to his hands. “I haven’t been with anyone in a long time. I haven’t really wanted to. But then I met you, and…
everything changed.
”

Quietly I echo, “It changed for me, too, Grant.”

Now, sitting beside him, the taste of him on my lips, the scent of him on my skin—I realize why no one else has awakened me quite this way.

Because no one else…was Grant.

My hand trembles as I turn off the lamp. It’s easier to be bold in darkness. “I’ve never really wanted to be with anyone. At least, not the way…” But then my voice fades along with my nerve.

“Not the way?” he prompts. Grant cups my chin, turning my face toward him. “It’s me. Mena, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

He’s right. And the
rightness
of being with Grant is pounded out in every beat of my heart. My fear dissolves. “I’ve never wanted to be with anyone”—I gaze into his darkened eyes—“the way I want to be with you.”

Then I stand, the moon’s caress at my back. This time he doesn’t stop me as I peel off my T-shirt and toss it on top of his. The slamming inside my chest does little to mask the sound of his breath.

“You’re so beautiful, Mena.” Grant’s voice drops to a whisper, “You make it hard to breathe. But I need to say, you need to know how much I lo—”

“Please, Grant”—I shake my head—“no more words. Could you just…find another way to speak?”

I see the outline of his throat tighten and relax with his swallow. He stands facing me.

Blood rushes in my veins and in my ears and in every part of me, reminding me I am alive. I am so very alive. I wrap my arms around him, pressing my skin firmly to his. It is like holding fire, and looking into his eyes is like gazing at the sun.

When I finally let go, we collapse on the couch. I fall on top of him. His hands aren’t as rushed as they were before, and they don’t try to remove any more clothes than I have already.

Not sex.
He honors this, even as I move desperately against him and fumble with the button on his jeans. It’s a reckless move, and I haven’t really considered what I’ll do once the jeans are off. But I want to ease what he must be feeling. What
I
am feeling.

Suddenly I’m pulled beneath him. Grant’s breath is ragged, and his body is shaking, but he sways his head back and forth when I grapple with the button of his jeans again. He pins my hand against the couch cushion. Our fingers intertwine; he kisses them.

Grant hovers above me now, head outlined in silver light. His face has that same euphoric look as it did the first time I saw him play. Except now I’m the guitar. And those talented hands play me much as they did his beloved instrument. Touching me like no one ever has. Then his mouth is on mine, kissing me until I can’t form thoughts. And he tells me
everything
…without once uttering a word.

“Don’t,” he whispers when I start to roll away. He draws me back against him so we are chest to chest, hearts beating in time. “Stay with me.”