Madison
“What made you start volunteering at the shelter?” I asked as we walked through the damp grass.
“The judge,” he replied. “I got caught driving with a few too many beers in me. I was fine, no one got hurt either, before you ask. That cop just had it out for me. I still don’t know why he asked me to take the breathalyzer, but he did, and I failed it. I spent a night in jail until my parents bailed me out the next morning. My dad knows the judge, so he convinced him to go light on my sentence--he gave me time-served as long as I completed three months of community service.”
He paused, the silver moonlight glinting off the lip ring he was so furiously working back and forth with his teeth. Something in me wanted to press my lips to his just to get him to stop that relentless back and forth action.
“But after my three months was up I couldn't bear to leave--those dogs are just like me. Alone, with no one to turn to, I couldn’t walk away.”
I let his words hang heavy in the frigid air, my mind running wild with the implications of his words. What did he mean he was alone like the dogs? He had a family, a home, money, comfort. Those dogs had nothing and no one. His words felt like sharp stabs of self-pity from someone who was given too much.
“Do you want to hang at the pool house for a while?” His words interrupted my thoughts. I’d been so lost in my head I hadn’t realized we were home already. “We could watch a movie or listen to music? I think I have some leftover pizza in the fridge.”
“Boy, you’re really selling this now,” I teased, but he didn’t smile back. Only just twisted that lip ring between his teeth and glanced over my shoulder. I cleared my throat before replying, “Sure, I just have to let my mom know.”
I pulled my phone from my back pocket and shot her a text message that I was with friends and we were going to start a movie. My phone flashed when she replied instantly with a smiley face and positive have fun.
“Moms are great.” I tucked my phone back in my pocket.
“Good to know some of us were blessed with great ones.”
I chose to ignore the snark in his words as he pushed off ahead of me, stopping at the pool house door to unlock it before pushing it open and holding it wide to gesture me inside. I nodded, careful not to get too close to him as I passed--not because I didn’t want to touch him. On the contrary. I did. Too much. And for some reason he felt a little more on edge than he usually was and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I sure as hell knew I didn’t want to add to it. Kyler was a tightrope, things could run smoothly but one false move and I could land flat on my face.
“Ham and pineapple from Little Napoli is on the menu.” He pushed a box in my hands and dug deeper in the fridge for soda. “Ice?”
“The pizza’s cold enough.” My attempt at a bad joke bombed. He turned, eyes cutting across the room and sending a shiver of fear or anticipation, or a mix of both, down my spine. The energy had shifted since we’d entered his space. “I love pineapple pizza, this looks great.”
He didn’t reply, only went around the edge of the sofa before falling onto the wide leather and kicking his feet up on the table. He spoke into the ether and asked the sound system to play an alternative playlist. The beat kicked on a moment later and the house filled with a dark blend of house music tracks interlaced with fender riffs in the chorus.
“Pineapple pizza and Coldplay, sounds like a great night.” I was rambling now, I could feel it, but why was he all of a sudden holding back? Was he regretting revealing so much to me earlier about his past?
“It’s not Coldplay, but nice try. I’ll still cream you all over music, little mouse.”
I gulped at his use of the nickname. I wasn’t sure if I’d missed it or still hated it. We’d been through so much in the months since I’d moved here, I felt like a different person, but how did he feel?
I smiled, then announced loudly for the sound system to play Everyday People by Sly & the Family Stone. “Have you heard it?”
He rolled his eyes. “Who hasn’t heard it? What are you, from 1965, little mouse?”
I felt the contempt in his words, felt them like barbs through my skin, slicing directly to my heart. “My dad loved this song. Whenever my mom or I would have a bad day, he would play it and dance around the house with us. He would belt out the lyrics. He used to tell me that the song reminded him that we are all connected. I am no better than you and you’re no better than me. No matter what, we are all connected.” I smiled, memories of my dad flooding my heart and my mind. “He told me once to remember that people are the same deep down--they all want to be loved and love someone, because at the end of the day we will be remembered for how we treated our brothers and sisters.”
“Your childhood sounds like a Hallmark commercial.”
“It was,” I admitted. “Until it wasn’t.” I snagged a slice of pizza and began eating, watching him out of the corner of my eye. “What would be the soundtrack to your childhood?”
He glanced at me once before speaking aloud, “Play Black Orchid by Blue October.”
Haunting opening lines rang through the pool house. I stopped chewing as the lead male vocalist began singing about loneliness and dying. I suddenly felt like I might
