murmurs into my ear and it’s not a question.
I need to look at him for this, so I rise up from in between his legs and move to sit beside him. Resting my head on his shoulder, I stay silent a long while. I know he’s talking about the tour, but I feel helpless to assist him in any way. He made his decision and I don’t want to add any stress to the already– large emotional load he carries. Looking up at him, I stroke his cheek with my fingers and say the only thing I can. “I know, River, I know. Why don’t you just tell Xander? Explain to him how you feel.”
There’s a haunted look in his eyes. “I can’t do that. I promised I would do this and I’m not going to break my promise.”
I hesitate a minute then ask, “Who did you promise?”
His body tenses and he inhales deeply. “Dahlia. I’ve never really explained how my dad died. Not that I haven’t wanted to, but more because the memory isn’t one I ever want to relive.”
One look at his somber expression, and compassion and pain swirl inside me and I fight to keep my own face expressionless. Beyond sympathy for him, for losing his father, I also feel my own remorse. For never having pushed him to tell me how his father died, other than the fact that he died from a gunshot wound when River was sixteen. I’m not sure why I never did; I could just tell it was something he didn’t want to discuss—and that was a feeling I knew well. My eyes lock on his and I give him a look that lets him know it’s okay to go on. That I’m here for him.
Letting out a long cleansing breath he starts to open up. “Xander and I promised our dad that we would do everything we could to be successful.”
Cupping his cheeks I say, “Every parent wants that for their child, and, River, you are successful.”
Sighing, he shakes his head. “No Dahlia, he was always pretty specific. He wanted us to hit it big in the music industry. It was his dream for himself but no matter how hard he tried to achieve it, he never could. He teetered close twice. The first time he cut an album and toured, but low sales and low attendance had him starting at square one. When I was fourteen he got a second chance, but by then he was too far gone. After that he never performed again and our family life changed forever until the day he killed himself and willed his dream on us.”
A wall of silence forms between us for a moment as my eyes widen in disbelief. Tears sting my eyes and I want to hold him, to comfort him, but can tell he wants to continue so I refrain. “I’m so sorry, River, I never knew. But I’m here. You can talk to me about it.”
Sniffing and looking toward the water he says, “Like I said, my dad was a dreamer, he always wanted to hit it big, but never could catch a break. I never even knew how unhappy he was for the longest time. He made us his life. Taught us everything he could. He tried to provide for us as best he could by teaching guitar lessons out of our house during the day and performing on the weekends. When I was about ten he started playing local joints at night and not coming home until late. It was about that time Grandpa started showing up secretly to slide my mom an envelope full of cash to buy groceries and whatever we needed. She took the money so my dad wouldn’t feel like what he was providing wasn’t enough. Xander used to get so mad at her for that. He thought she should just tell him, make him stop, but she never would. She wanted to believe he’d see his dream come true.”
My heart breaks a little more with every word he says and I comfort him in the best way I can. “Well your mom loved him, she wanted to be supportive and didn’t want to hurt him. That’s understandable.”
“Dahlia, that’s just it. That’s the ironic part, he was hurting all of us and Xander was the only one who saw it. My dad didn’t live in the real world and my mom didn’t make him. He lived in his dream world, a world where he was a star and he had started drinking to forget the reality of his situation. His drinking had gotten so bad that once my mom went back to work, Xander and I would try to sober him up before she got home. One day we came home after school and found him drunk and in bed with another woman. We cleaned him up and got the woman out of the house before our mom came home. My mom loved him and that would have killed her. He always said how much he loved her, too. But that was a funny way of showing it. Xander hated him after that. I loved him, I hated him, but most of all I pitied him.”
I caress River’s cheek and push down my sadness. “What you felt was only natural. You love your mother and didn’t want to see her hurt.” Not sure I want to hear the answer, but knowing I have to ask the question, I whisper, “What happened to him?”
Framing my face with his gentle hands, he looks deeply into my eyes. “Promise me that after I tell you, we never have to talk about it again.
“River, I promise,” I tell him, turning my head to kiss his hand.
My heart sinks as I prepare to listen to the rest of his story. His eyes sadden and his voice cracks as he tells it. “One day, Xander and I came home from basketball practice and dad was completely tanked. He had picked Bell up from school instead of having her go to her after-school program because he thought she needed more practice on the guitar. As soon as we walked in we could hear him. He was yelling at her, telling her she wasn’t playing the right chords and to do it again. She was crying and her fingers were bleeding, actually bleeding. As soon as Xander saw that, he lost it. He attacked my dad, punching him over and over and my dad didn’t return a single one, but Xander didn’t stop. He yelled for me to get Bell out of there and I did. I brought her to the neighbors, called my grandpa, and by the time I went back, my dad was dead.”
There is so much pain in his voice already I don’t want to ask him to continue. Tears roll down my cheeks and my pulse is racing, but I know he wants to tell me the rest, I can see it in his eyes. So taking a deep breath, I take both his hands in mine and urge him to go on. “What happened?”
His voice hitches and he tells me something he has never openly talked about with anyone. “My mom had come home just after I left and pulled Xander off him. My dad told her what happened and she told him he had to leave, to get out. He went in the bedroom and she and Xander thought he was packing his stuff, until they heard the gunshot.”
Shivering, I hug him as tight as I can. “I’m so sorry, River. I’m so sorry.”
He straightens his shoulders and pulls away, taking my hands in his. His voice tightens in anger as he talks. “That’s not all. He left a note. It didn’t say he was sorry, or why he did it. Instead it said, ‘I love you all. Boys, take care of Mom, and, Bell, and don’t ever settle for not being at the top, because I know you can do what I couldn’t.’ Xander or Bell never sang or played again after that day. But I never stopped. I don’t know if I kept on for him or for me, but I loved it and was happy doing it until the day Xander came home from seeing my grandfather and told me he wanted to manage my career—to put me on top. I never asked why, but since then he’s been determined to make the band succeed. Dahlia, I can’t let him down.”
“You owe it to yourself to do what’s right for you now, River. Please think about that.”
“My father always told us that scars are the road maps to one’s soul. It took me forever to figure out what he meant, but I did when I met you.”
Touched by his words but heartbroken by what happened to him, and to his family, I tip his chin up so I meet his eyes when I speak. “I love you so much.”
He sags against me, touching his nose to mine. Then he buries his head in my neck and sighs. After a few minutes he brings his lips to mine and kisses me with a need I know I can fill. His kiss is deep, powerful, and unstrained. His strong frame hovers over me. The raw desperate need I feel from him makes me surrender to him and I let the conversation drop without further discussion even though I think we should talk about the upcoming tour. He wraps his arms around my back and dips my body down onto the rock.
We stay like that, devouring each other, until the sun slips through the sky. But once the sun has set on the horizon, it’s time for us to head home. We have dinner plans with River’s family and we’re going to be late. With his arm slung around me and my hand tucked in the waistband of his board shorts, he carries the bucket of shells we found along the shore and I carry my camera and our towels as we head back to the parking lot.
When we get to the car, he reaches to open my door and I grab his arm to stop him. I push myself up against his smooth bare chest so that our sunburns blend into one. “I had an amazing day,” I tell him as I softly brush against the lips I just spent an hour kissing and still didn’t get enough of. And then I feel the need to tell him something else. I’m not sure why. I run the back of my hand along his cheek, caressing it gently. “Everything you and I did today, Ben and I never did as adults. We never took the time to just enjoy the beach—so thank you for taking the time with me.” I notice him flinch at Ben’s name, but the tension quickly passes.
And even though we are both barely dressed and our bodies are pressed up against each other, he refrains from making a move. Instead he circles his arms around me and just holds me tight. Resting his mouth on my ear he whispers, “Thank you for that and everything else.”
Then he opens my door and ushers me into the car. We don’t discuss anything we talked about today on the
