Rocking Kin (Lucy & Harris 3)

Thankfully, Lucy’s hand wasn’t broken, but like Jace had said it probably would have hurt worse if she had. She was in pain, but refused to take anything harder than the ibuprofen that the doctor had suggested she take. She was stubborn, but I knew her reasons. She’d told me what had happened when she was nine, so I understood why she didn’t like touching anything but over-the-counter pain relievers.

The next morning Lucy couldn’t find her phone, but her mother handed Lucy her own and we were out the door. For once the school day passed quickly when all I wanted it to do was drag. I wasn’t in a hurry to get home and face the consequences of skipping out on Georgia the night before. All too soon the last bell rang and while Lucy and I walked out to the student parking lot, I saw Georgia waiting impatiently in her little sports car with Carolina.

Awesome.

I would have rather just gone home with Lucy, but hiding from a difficult situation wasn’t my style. Besides, I needed some fresh clothes that were my own and not the borrowed ones I’d gotten from Lucy that morning.

I hugged my friend as she got into her Range Rover and clenched my jaw as I headed toward the step-bitches. I’d left my guitar at First Bass but Jace had put it up for me the night before. He’d texted me twice the night before and for the first time I hadn’t ignored his messages.

My heart had been heavy as I’d sent him a reply thanking him for taking care of the guitar for me. That guitar was special to me and he knew it. Carter had given it to me when I was ten and it was actually signed by DJ Ashba, my third favorite guitarist behind Drake Stevenson and Wroth Niall.

Goodnight, babe. Hope I see you at the show tomorrow night. Sweet dreams.

That had been Jace’s second text the night before and I’d been half asleep and my heart had been weak when I’d returned his message.

Night. See you then.

Up until then I hadn’t planned on going back to First Bass that week. Seeing him Wednesday nights was hard enough, but going on Thursdays was always harder and I hadn’t been back to see a Tainted Knights show since Jace had played tonsil hockey with a groupie. But now we were supposed to be friends, so I couldn’t let shit like that bother me.

Friends.

I’d asked for friendship.

I must have been high or some shit because I don’t even know why I’d said something so stupid. We’d just been sitting there in a crowded waiting room and the tension between us had been unbearable. I’d caved and told him I was sorry.

Me.

Sorry.

But as the words had left my lips, I’d realized that it was true. I was sorry for acting like a complete bitch to him. It was true that I was proud of him and the other guys. And it was true I was tired of fighting with him so much. Tired period. So, while it would hurt like a death blow to the chest every time I saw him with someone else, I had to move on. Hadn’t I said that I had so many times that I was blue in the face?

Well, now it was time I proved it.

It was actually kind of a relief, not having to worry about seeing him whenever I went to First Bass with Lucy. Maybe now I could add one more friend to my short list, and be able to confide in him like I’d once done a million years ago.

As I climbed into the back of Georgia and Carolina’s car, Georgia shot me a smirk in the review mirror. “Mother wants to talk to you.”

I barely refrained from rolling my eyes as I pulled my cellphone out of my messenger bag. “I bet she does,” I muttered as I swiped my finger over the screen and saw that I had ten text messages waiting on me from Jace.

My heart jumped in my chest but I quickly squelched the excitement. I’d turned my phone on silent that morning and hadn’t even looked at the damn thing all day. Pulling up the messages, I saw that he’d started out with a simple “good morning, beautiful,’ but as the day had gone by he’d gotten more impatient since I hadn’t replied to any of his texts. The last one was all caps, practically shouting at me.

ARE YOU STILL COMING TONIGHT??? I WANT TO SEE YOU! CALL ME!

I shook my head and started to type out a quick text ten seconds before Georgia nearly took out our neighbor’s mailbox—and the neighbor who was standing beside the mailbox going through his stack of mail. My heart still pounding and nausea making me actually taste bile in the back of my throat, I hit send.

Chill out. My phone was on mute. I’ll be there. See you then. Can’t call. Step-monster has to TALK to me.

I ended the message with the eye-rolling emoji and started to put my phone back into my messenger bag, but the screen lit up with a new message instantly.

Can we talk later? Really talk?

My palms grew sweaty and it wasn’t just because Georgia nearly sideswiped her mother’s expensive convertible when she pulled to a jarring stop in the driveway. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what he was asking. When a guy said he wanted to ‘talk,’ it normally meant one of two things: he either wanted to break up with you, or he wanted to put his tongue down your throat—and other places.

Georgia and Carolina got out of the car but I sat there for a few seconds before finally letting my fingers move over the phone’s screen.

Yeah.

That was all I wrote before closing the screen and stuffing the phone deep into the messenger bag. I didn’t know what he would send back.