Before & After - Nazarea Andrews Page 0,8

us can act on the hunger that's running too hot between us.

Maybe I should have taken Lindsay to bed with Scotty. I probably wouldn't be so fucking desperate to get my hands on Peyton if I had.

"Nothing," I say, and force my tone to stay casual and even. "Anything. Nothing. We don't come looking for anything in particular, we just take what we find. That's the beauty of Keegan's; you never know what you'll come across, so you take what you find."

"When did you find this place?" she asks as I pull out a stack of records and begin flipping through them.

"When I turned sixteen. We grew up around here, and we both loved music. We had the freedom to roam then, so we'd meet here and flip through shit until it was time to go home. Keegan sold Scotty his first guitar—a broke ass piece of shit he picked up with a few dozen boxes of broken records. It was the only thing I've ever seen him give away, and I think it was mostly because Scotty offered to take the rest of the junk to the dump. We loved this place."

"You still do," she contributes, leaning over and snagging a bright purple record from me and examining it. She sips her coffee and shudders, before she sets it aside and studies the album artwork intently. I try to ignore her focusing on the stack in front of me. But it's hard, especially as she relaxes and more of her slight body weight leans into me, warming my side in the best possible way.

Her breath brushes against my neck as she leans across me and puts her selection in the keep pile.

"How did you get started on the drum?"

Keegan found a set of drums, a few weeks later. Looking back, we knew what he was doing. Keeping us together and off the streets. Out of the shit that was our reality. But at the time, it was just a weird coincidence that gave us another outlet. And as long as we weren't asking for money, no one really cared what we did.

It was one of the few bright spots of our life growing up.

"The drums showed up a little laterand the rest was history. We played all the time. I didn't really care; it was for Scott"

She examines me for a moment, and then, "You are very close to him."

I nod, not bothering to argue or justify it.

Most chicks don't really get my friendship with Scott. Most either like us because we're into sharing, or they get annoyed because we have no boundaries. I'm pretty sure Peyton isn't into kinky shit, but I don't know that she's sitting in the second category either. And that's something I'm not sure I know what to do with.

"You’re thinking again. Stay with me," she murmurs, squeezing my hand, and I flash her a smile before I drop a stack of records in her lap. She makes a little noise of surprise, and I grin.

"Help me."

Chapter 4: After

Quiet. The darkness

Presses against me, the

Distance yawns between us.

Quiet. And in the stillness,

space melts away. And

there you are.

(Rike’s poem to Peyton)

The shrink the hospital sends me to is a fucking joke.

She wants to try meditation and hypnosis. Because either of those will help. I’ve spent three days here and I know nothing about who I am or why the hell I’m here.

There’s a tap on my door and I stop punching the pillow to look up as the door swings open.

He’s back. He’s been gone for most of the past three days, and I’ve wondered. I shouldn’t have, but I’ve found myself pulled back to him despite my best intentions.

“What did the pillow do?”

I smooth it and flush. “Nothing. It didn’t do—where have you been?”

He arches an eyebrow and grins at me, and I look away. He doesn’t answer immediately, stalking deeper into the room and dropping into the chair next to my bed. He sprawls there, ridiculously comfortable, and I almost want to dislike him for it. There’s a confident air that wraps around him. He’s covered in tattoos—I can see them more with the tshirt he’s wearing—and he smiles as if the world is waiting for him to grace it with his presence. “Did you miss me, sweetheart?”

The term of endearment confirms what I’ve begun suspecting—he isn’t a nurse.

“I don’t know. I don’t know you so I don’t suppose I could miss you,” I answer honestly. His smile falters, and I feel like I