Tangled Up in Blue Read online

  “What did you parents say about it?” I ask. The question makes her stiffen under my hands.

  “My dad thought it was the coolest thing ever.”

  “And your mom?”

  “My mom died of ovarian cancer three years ago.” She says it in the same clipped, controlled tone I’d mastered when talking about my old man. My index finger trails down the soft skin on her neck.

  “Keegan, I’m so sorry.” She bends her head to the side so that it touches my finger.

  “Virginia actually said she was glad my mom hadn’t been around to witness the ‘family shame.’” She puts it in air quotes. “Can you imagine, saying you’re glad your own daughter is dead? I almost knocked her on her ass for that.”

  For a few moments, we’re silent. Max whines from the bathroom. “Poor Max.” She tilts her head all the way back to look at me. “So, Mr. Blue Danube, I've answered your question. Now I really want to hear that story.”

  “You got it.” I’m still working on her neck, which is really tight. Not surprising, given what she’s dealing with.

  In less than a week, Keegan Crenshaw has surprised me more than any girl I've ever known. And I thought I was beyond being surprised.

  I move my hands up to her scalp and begin to weave my fingers through her soft, shiny hair. She arches her back like a cat, clearly enjoying it.

  “Oh, you've found my sweet spot,” she says. I choke back a laugh, but it comes out anyway. She tries to turn her head, but I hold it in place. “What?”

  “Nothing. It's just that Sweet Spot is the name of our band, believe it or not.”

  “Really? Sounds like kind of a, I don't know, girly name for a band with four guys.”

  “Tell me about it. Bryson's making us use that name. He puts all the music students into bands, and he gets to name the bands. I think maybe he's trying to toughen us up. So anyway, the story.”

  She's closed her eyes and is smiling.

  “There once were two boys from Canada. Twins, actually, who considered themselves to be musical geniuses. And they decided they really wanted to go to Ikana, so they applied like everyone else, and lo and behold, they got turned down. So they did what any spoiled rotten sons of a very rich man would do. They begged Daddy to buy their way in. And lo and behold, Daddy made a very big donation to the college, and, suddenly, the boys were accepted.”

  Keegan opens her eyes and interrupts me. “Really? Somebody would bother to bribe their way into the music program here?”

  “Hey, the program is a big deal! Of course people try to bribe their way in.” She closes her eyes again. “Bryson was really steamed about it,” I go on, “but he gave the twins a fair shot. Their papa bought this house for them to live in, and they started throwing parties and running up big bills. Actually, Bryson got over being mad about having to let the twins into the program pretty quick 'cause they'd have kids from the program playing at all the parties. One night, one of the twins put up that Canadian flag and announced to everybody that this place would now be called The Canadian Embassy, and it has been ever since.”

  “But what happened to them?”

  “Once their Daddy found out they were failing all their classes, he cut them off. So they started selling pot.” I shake my head. “They were idiots.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But how did you end up living here?”

  “I met the twins in the program, and I needed a place to stay and they needed money, so I moved into what's now Kendra's room. Then the twins made some enemies—no big surprise there—and had to hightail it back to Canada or they were probably going to either be arrested or murdered. Who knows. Anyway, their dad decided to keep this house as a rental.” I don’t go into any further detail. No need to tell Keegan the seedy underbelly of that story. Max whines again and scratches the door.

  “And how did Max come into the picture?” she asks. I’m still massaging her scalp.

  “Max was taken as partial payment on a drug debt, believe it or not. One of the twins had this girlfriend who begged them to take him. He was a puppy then, all fuzzy and cute. But after a few days, they forgot he existed, could never remember to feed him or anything. Assholes. So anyway, Big Daddy up in Toronto lets me live here free in exchange for collecting the rent and keeping things up around here, although he never wants to cough up much money to actually fix anything. But it helps me make ends meet.”

  As if on cue, Max whines again. Keegan takes hold of one of my hands and looks up at me. “I really admire you, Blue. Growing up poor, serving your country, making it on your own. How old are you, anyway?”

  I smile and rub a strand of her hair between my fingers. I can’t resist raising it to my nose and inhaling the scent. Coconut and something else I can’t quite identify. “I’m 25, practically an old man. And who said I grew up poor?”

  “Oh.” She turns around to face me, sitting cross-legged on the bed, still holding my hand. “I just assumed. I mean. . . I didn't mean to assume but. . . .” She looks confused. She's probably seen a change in my expression. I am seeing my dad's plane in pieces in a hangar and the body bag they unzipped just long enough for me to identify his body so that Mama wouldn't have to. “I didn't grow up poor. But I'm on my own, and I'm definitely poor now.” I’m not going to mention the $5 million trust fund sitting out there in my name. I am never going to touch that blood money. “And we have something in common,” I go on, raising her hand and kissing her palm, her wrist and the satiny skin on her forearm. Then I cup her face. “My dad died almost five years ago in a plane crash. I know what it feels li—”

  And suddenly, before I can even finish, her lips are on mine. She kisses me frantically, greedily. She grabs my face and lays those lips against my mouth, my cheeks, my eyes. She kisses me as if she's been waiting a long time to do it. She kisses me like no other girl has ever kissed me. And I kiss her back, cradling her face in my hands as I drink in the taste of her lips, running my tongue over her teeth and into her mouth, placing soft kisses on her nose and eyes, nuzzling her neck. I tilt her face up into the light and kiss her on the top of her head, her chin, her cheeks, before returning to claim her lips again.

  I pull back just long enough to whip off my shirt, and she moans at the sight of my chest, pulling me toward her and running her hands down my arms. Then she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes and puts her tongue on my collarbone, leaving it there for a second, then slowly letting it glide down my chest toward my abs. It’s all I can do not to tear off all her clothes and take her right there and then. Easy. Go slow. I don't want to spook her and mess things up. But I've never wanted any woman like I want Keegan.

  “Blue.” She places her cheek against my chest. “I've been wanting to do that since the day I moved in. I can't believe I actually just did it, though.”

  I pull her to me. “What do you know about that?” I whisper. I swoop down on her mouth, trailing kisses down her throat. Then I lean her back against my arm and lift her shirt to expose her taut stomach, making circles on it with my tongue. She arches her back and sighs, and I swiftly pull the T-shirt over her head. She’s wearing a lacy black bra that I want to tear off with my teeth. The swell of her breasts leaves me weak and stupid with desire.

  Keegan is staring at me, her lips open slightly, her eyes blazing, her expression a strange mixture of lust and fear. “Blue.” She puts a finger on my chest, and something in her voice tells me what she’s going to say next. “I can't do this. Not yet. We barely know each other. It's just too quick.”

  “I think we know each other pretty well already. And I've got some really good suggestions for how we could get to know each other a lot better.” I give her a I'm kidding but I'd love to be serious grin, then raise her palms up and place my lips gently against them one at a time. Then I pull her hands above her head. “But I want you to be ready.” I’m still whispering. I slip the shirt back over her head, kissing her once more, feeling pretty damn heroic just for stopping
myself. She sits there, looking miserable.

  Max whines yet again. I get up and open the bathroom door, wishing I could take a cold shower right then. Max bounds out and jumps into the bed, and Keegan scratches his ears. “Aw, Max.” She looks at me, seeming unsure what to do next.

  I stretch out on the bed. “So you want to cuddle with me and Max for awhile? Nothing else, just cuddling?” Aw, yes, cuddling. Girls always go for that. She hesitates. She's going to say no.

  “Okay.” She grins and stretches out next to me.

  So we spend about an hour talking. It’s one of the best hours I've had in a long time. Almost better than sex. Okay, not really. But it’s pretty damn great.

  I finally have to get up to let Max out, and when I come back to the bed, Keegan is sitting up, looking sad and serious. “Blue,” she says slowly, “how'd you get those scars on your back?”

  And just like that, the skin on my back again feels seared and torn, an agonizing reminder of a choice I can never take back. I sit on the bed, facing away from Keegan, trying not to show how much her simple question gets to me. It feels like I've been punched in the gut. I am three years past that terrible day, but sometimes the slightest thing can bring it all roaring into the present. Keegan's hands touch me. “I'm sorry, Blue, I'm so sorry. Forget I asked. I'm sorry.”

  I turn toward her. “It's not your fault. It's a normal question to ask. But I can't tell you about it. I just can’t.”

  “I understand. Shit, I don’t know why I asked.” She pulls the sheets back. “Come on, lie down with me.”

  We get in, and I pull her to me and hold her as tightly as I can. We stay like that for a long time. After a while, she speaks again, her voice sleepy. “Blue? I'm sorry I’m not ready. I'm sorry if it seems like I am teasing you. I didn't mean to do that.”

  I kiss her forehead. Sleep’s tugging at me, too. “Don't be sorry. I don't feel like I was teased. I want you to be ready. I want you to be sure. I'll wait for you, Keegan. I'll always wait for you.”

  Too much, too soon, Danube. Way too much, way too fucking soon. Typical of me, going all in all at once, making big-ass statements like that. But God help me, I mean it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dreams

  Keegan

  For once, it’s a good dream. We’re floating down the river just like we used to do when we were kids. Buick’s ahead of me; the bottom of his pruny feet extend past the air mattress. Buick used to spend all summer outside, on the river or riding his horse, Okie, or just lying around on a bale in the barn, chewing on a piece of sweet hay like a character in a Western. The ranch hands sometimes allowed him to help out, and he'd turned out to be a pretty competent cowboy. But then we moved out of the ranch late one night after a screaming match with Virginia, and Buick had gone quite literally to pot.

  The sun in my dream sizzles on my skin, the air pulsing with an itchy mix of 100-degree heat and bugs that feel absolutely real. Mom’s on my left, struggling to get comfortable on the under-inflated air mattress. She always insisted on blowing up her own and never quite filled it up enough. She looks young and healthy; her long brown hair hasn't fallen out yet. Her high-pitched guffaw trails behind her. I remember that laugh every time I think of her. Dad is up ahead next to Buick. His teeth flash in the sun as he paddles with his arms. We are happy. We are so happy.

  But then it suddenly gets cold, and I look back to see a nest of water moccasins slithering behind, fangs gleaming, eyes venomous slits as they bear down on us. Some of the snakes have human faces, people I knew: Tyler, Megz, Hunter, Jason, Blue. Someone is screaming. I grab frantically with one hand at the water, trying to pull my mother toward me, trying to comfort her and silence the screams piercing my dream like punches to the head. But as my hand touches her air mattress and reaches for her face, I see that Mom’s still laughing, still happy. Not screaming.

  And then I wake up, abruptly; it feels like coming to a sudden stop on a moving roller coaster. Just lying there, I am breathing heavily, staring at the stained ceiling. Beams of sunlight stream around window blinds. Where am I? Then it hits me: Blue's ceiling, Blue's bed. And even though I’m awake, screams still fill my ears. Blue's screams. He sits up next to me, gasping, and crawls to the edge of the bed, then puts his feet on the floor and buries his face in his hands. He’s shaking. I watch him for a moment, then sit up and move toward him, placing my hand on the rough and puckered skin of his back.

  He flinches at my touch and shoots to his feet, then whirls around and stands there, his eyes wild, unfocused, crazed with pain and anger. He moves toward me, muttering something I can’t quite make out between his clenched teeth. Before I can react, he grabs my chin and tilts my face up, then starts to squeeze. It scares the crap out of me. And it hurts. “Blue! Blue! It's me!” I wrap my fingers around his hand. He grips my chin a little tighter. “Blue! It's Keegan.”

  His hand suddenly relaxes. I watch the madness slowly drain from those cobalt eyes. But the look of shame that fills them and spreads across his face is worse. He stands like that for several moments, clearly struggling to contain his emotions. We stare at each other, two people who in less than a week have become so exposed, so vulnerable, to each other. A part of me wants to take his face in my hands, to smother it with kisses, to soothe and comfort him. But another part of me wants to get out of that room. Blue's pain is too real, too raw, too scary for me to deal with.

  Maybe he senses my conflicting desires. Maybe they’re obvious on my face. Maybe he feels sorry for me. His agonized expression fades, and the warm, amused look he wore when we first met reappears, although it looks a little forced. “Well, I guess that'll teach you to fall asleep in my bed.” He says it lightly, trying to be nonchalant, but the ragged edge to his breath gives him away. He sits next to me, raises his index finger as if to stroke my cheek, then puts it back down without touching me.

  He raises the finger again, curves it and brings it close to my face. But just before he touches me, I flinch. Don’t mean to, but can't help it. I’m totally freaked out, by Blue’s intensity and rage, and by the way I’m reacting to him. I’m appalled at the way I’ve literally thrown myself at him, the way I’ve opened up to this guy I barely know. It’s all too much, too soon.

  Blue inhales sharply , and his eyes flood with pain. “Sorry if I scared you.” He says it so softly I barely hear him.

  I try to smile, try to answer with something reassuring. I want to hug him. But I’m scared and uncertain, and so I just sit there as Blue's eyes search my face. He slumps over a little. I can tell that I've hurt him.

  When someone knocks sharply on the door, I bolt off the bed, glad for an excuse to get some distance between us. At some point during the night, I took off my jeans to get more comfortable, and so, when I pull open the door, I’m standing there in front of Kendra wearing only a T-shirt and a thong. Kendra's eyes widen, and a swift rush of emotions—shock, fury, hate, pain—cross her face before it goes blank. She’s holding Blue's U.S. Army mug. There’s a folded piece of paper inside it.

  “I believe this is for you,” she snaps, thrusting the mug at me. When I take it, she turns and stalks away without another word.

  Somehow, I already know what’s written on the paper in Blue's mug. And I know who wrote it. Not his name, maybe, or his face. But I’m beginning to know the nature of this mystery person who seems to hate me beyond reason. So my hand shakes as I set the mug down on Blue's desk, and a single thought pulses in my ears: It's him. It's him. It's him.

  I pull the folded note out of the mug and stand there looking at it. Blue's eyes on me make my heart beat a little faster. He doesn’t say anything. I unfold the paper. It’s printed, in all caps, and swimming in exclamation marks.

  DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU COULD GET AWAY FROM ME YOU SOCIALIST BITCH?!?!?!!!!! DO YOU REALLY THINK I'M THAT STUPID?!!! I WILL TRACK YOU DOWN, NO MATTER WHERE YOU MOVE, NO MATTER WHO YOU'VE GOT HELPING YOU!!!!!. NO MATTER WHO YOUR FAMILY IS!!!! I WILL MAKE YOUR LIFE HELL UNTIL YOU LEAVE THIS
TOWN YOU LYING CUNT!!!!!! THAT'S ALL YOU'VE GOT TO DO WHORE. LEAVE!!!!!!!! WE DON'T WANT YOUR KIND HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  The paper slips out of my hand. I grab the desk to steady myself. How does the stalker know I moved? The room gets wobbly. My stomach’s churning, and tears blur my eyes. I blink, trying but failing, to hold them back. The guy wants to turn me into a scared, sobbing mess, and I am playing right into his hands. I turn my head slightly to see Blue standing right behind me, so close he could kiss the tears off my face. The heat from his body singes my over-active nerve endings.

  “Keegan.” His breath touches my neck, and I close my eyes. “Can I read it?”

  I nod, my eyes still closed. Blue’s brushes against me as he bends down to pick up the paper. It rustles slightly while he reads it, then makes a crinkly sound as he wads it up. Every sound seems magnified.

  “I should have kicked the shit out of that slimy little motherfucker while I had the chance. Is he a student here? You know where he lives, right?”

  I open my eyes in time to see Blue throw the note on the floor and begin pacing around the room. He’s still speaking through clenched teeth. That muscle in his jaw is working overtime.

  I shake my head. “Tyler's still living at home in Fort Peace, at least he was last I heard. He didn't actually graduate high school, even though his family pretended he did. Supposedly, he was going to have to repeat his senior year. Or maybe he's getting his GED. I don't know. The police told me they already went to talk to him and don't have any evidence that it's him.” My eyes linger on the tattoo on Blue’s chest. It’s moving up and down as he breathes.

  “He works weekends at the church where his dad is the pastor, doing janitorial stuff, I think.” I’m not sure he’s listening to me. “That's another thing that doesn't make sense. If it's Tyler, is he doing all this stalking from Fort Peace? And he's able to hide his phone number? Tyler's just not that smart.”