Lyrics that Burn, page 8
Large hands land on my hips, and the unforgiving pressure of drumsticks dig into my side. He stops me from taking another step, and before I can glance over my shoulder, Keaton is spinning me in place to face him. “Hold,” he commands, handing over his sticks, then he lifts me by the hips and deposits me on the island counter.
I’m not sure what takes over me, but she seems as shocked as I am with myself. I’m antisocial on the best of days. On the worst... well, you simply don’t want to be around me. Not unless you’re someone I feel comfortable with.
And here I am, scooping up a woman who’s a complete stranger. I only met her yesterday, and yet, for some reason, there’s a sense of calmness that surrounds me when I’m next to her. She was accepting of me not saying anything. Didn’t demand I speak to her, or hurtle insults at me when I didn’t. I’ve been around plenty of people who’ve had that reaction, and it’s refreshing to be accepted.
When she turned to leave, my heart lurched, not wanting her out of my sight. It’s like my body was taken over momentarily and I had to stop her. Had to keep her close for a little longer.
It probably goes against what I promised Tristan—what we all promised him—but I don’t see the harm. Especially if I don’t plan on saying anything to her. I’m only using her for the peace it gives my anxiety. I hate being around people, but I hate being alone just as much. It’s a fucking conundrum. I don’t understand it, nor do I try. It’s simply a fact of life.
Her gorgeous blue eyes go wide when I set her on the counter, and I realize it’s probably freezing cold. She’s not wearing any pants, something that caught me off guard when I stumbled into the kitchen. The moment I saw her firm cheeks peeking out of those lace panties when she stretched for that mug... I was a fucking goner. The peaches on that woman… I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her if you paid me. At least, not if she said she didn’t want me to.
Raina stares at me with her mouth parted, and I’m surprised she doesn’t say anything. Pleasantly so.
My mind races. I’ve got her here. Stopped her from leaving. But now what?
A purple phone case catches my eye with a rhinestone butterfly on the back. Perfect. Snatching it up, I press it into her hands and give a second look at my drumsticks in her hold. Normally, I throw the biggest fit when someone touches them, and yet I told her to hold them without a second thought. I kinda like knowing they’re pressed safely in her tiny hand. Now to find out if she cherishes them like I would, or sets them down like they’re nothing.
Is it fair to test her without her knowing?
I’m not afraid to admit to myself that I don’t give two shits. I’m not someone who can open up easily, and there are a fuck ton of hurdles you have to jump over to get me to consider it. This is step one for her. Or perhaps it’s step two. The first one being when she didn’t force me to answer her.
She blinks as I step away and glances at the items filling her hands. I try not to make it obvious that I’m carefully watching her, but I am. What will you do, Peaches? What will you do?
A happy sigh slips past her lips as she sips her coffee. Her toes point up and down in lue of swinging her feet back and forth. After a moment, she sets the mug down and takes her phone in the now empty hand. The sound of it unlocking clues me into her decision to settle in as I continue my search for a cutting board. It takes me three cabinets before I find several stacked upright in a holder and choose a wooden one. As I make my way back to the counter, I snag a knife from the block holding them and take up the spot next to Raina.
I get to work cutting the vegetables for omelets and wonder what she’s looking at so intently on her phone. She seems to be reading something as she barely touches the screen. I’ve been keeping a close watch from the corner of my eye, tracking every movement she makes with my drumsticks. I’m actually more worried that I’m not anxious than I would be if I was. It’s a strange phenomenon.
We remain in companionable silence; the only soundtrack to our morning is her soft hum of contentment when she sips her coffee and the knife slicing through peppers, onions, and ham.
When I’m done, I get to work cracking the eggs and mixing it all together. There’s a sharp sizzle as I pour it in the pan, and I know it’s only a matter of time before the guys come down for their breakfast. I’m not sure if the smell will wake them up or not, but they seem to have a routine of when they get out of bed.
Raina brings my sticks to her lips, resting them against the plumpness that drives me to the point of distraction. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up burning the omelets. I can’t stop myself from picturing something else brushing against her mouth, the way her breath will feel and the touch of her hand.
“Hey there, roomie,” Nash greets her. I glance over my shoulder and find him leaning against the counter, edging into her space. “Don’t tell me you let someone else take my spot in your bed.” His gaze tracks over her, and his fingertips trace circles into the skin of her thigh. I can barely make out the resulting goosebumps and notice she doesn’t swat him away. The asshole is a total flirt. If it walks and breathes, he’ll hit on it.
“Wha’?” She spares a quick peek at him before returning to her phone. He seems totally amused by her lack of attention. It’s only spurring him on more. He rests his head on her shoulder and gazes at her adoringly. Figures he’d latch onto her, even if Tristan forbade it. She seems to be the sun we all want to revolve around. Tristan’s been in love with her ever since I’ve known him. The only person I haven’t seen mooning over her is Blake. We’ll see if he can hold out.
“You have the hottest sex hair,” Nash muses.
Raina almost pokes her eye out as her hands rush to her head. Her gaze goes wide, and I turn around to plate the last of the omelets. “Keaton! How could you not say anything?” she admonishes. I can’t help but smirk. It’s the second thing that caught my attention this morning after the perfect shape of her ass.
With the heat of her gaze on the back of my neck, I turn around. The only reaction I give her is a shrug of my shoulder. She rolls her eyes and works on feathering her fingers through her hair, but with my drumsticks in her hold, she only seems to make it worse.
“Mmm, yes,” Nash moans. “Make it worse. Damn, hotness, can I carry you back to our bed now?” She rolls her eyes, but when he moves in to help her, she lets him.
Flirting comes so easily for him. For all of them compared to me, really.
A pang of jealousy sparks through my chest watching him.
Maybe I should’ve offered. If I did, would she have let me run my fingers through her silky strands?
Too late now.
Blake stumbles into the room rubbing at his eyes before putting on his glasses and checks on my progress with a tired nod. He then lifts my coffee cup only to find I’ve drained it. The asshole has a penchant for jacking your coffee. Perhaps I should warn Raina. She seems to be the type to be protective over every drop.
The thought gets pushed to the back of my mind. I can’t do it now. Not with so many people in the room. They’ll all know something’s going on if I talk to her in front of them. They know more than anyone how much I don’t speak to people. Only when it’s absolutely necessary. Even with them on most days.
With how closely I’ve been watching her, I can tell she becomes more and more uncomfortable with each addition of someone new walking into the room. I totally understand it. She doesn’t seem to enjoy crowds either. And we’re fucking strangers living in her house. People she didn’t even invite to stay here, invading her personal space. She seems to be acting like she’s the outsider here instead of us, and it makes me want to figure out a way to make her comfortable.
With a grunt, I gain Blake’s attention, and he gathers the plates with the omelets and brings them to the kitchen table. We have breakfast together every morning, something we started doing without even talking about it, and it’s become a habit. One we fell into naturally but wouldn’t give up. Ever. Somehow, it’s the most normal thing we do. It feels like we’ve always been a family when eating around a table.
Blake raises an eyebrow and glances pointedly at a plate in his hand, then to Raina. I didn’t even think about it, but I made her breakfast too. Does she even eat in the mornings? I have no idea, and I obviously didn’t ask her. I wonder if she’ll eat with us, and if she’s not hungry, maybe she’ll still sit with us.
Fuck, my thoughts are becoming chaotic. They do that. Run around in circles like they’re on a perpetual spin cycle, all because I can’t purge them from my mind.
Suddenly, everything goes quiet. Tristan walks into the room, and somehow it feels as if he’s sucked every ounce of lighthearted happiness that was brimming moments ago. He’s already scowling, and he’s yet to lay eyes on Raina. My two other band mates sit at the table waiting for us to join them, trying to remain out of the line of fire. Tristan is primed for an explosion; the air is thick with it.
Every time he gets like this, it always seems to be centered around Raina. Some memory from their past. A news article about her. An ad with her in it. Her song on the radio... It shouldn’t surprise us that he’s pissed off and ready for a fight, but somehow I didn’t expect it. Not with how serene my morning has been.
He rounds the island and stands in front of her. Before I can stop him, he rips my drumsticks from her hold. I can’t believe she’s held onto them this whole time. It’s like she’s been gripping my hand instead. It’s honestly the most intimate I’ve been with someone in the longest time.
“What the fuck are you doing with these?” he yells in her face as I close the distance between us. I snatch my sticks from him, much like he did to her and crowd over his shoulder, getting in his face. Raina hasn’t even had enough time to do anything other than drop her jaw open in surprise.
“Don’t. Fucking. Touch,” I seethe, pushing him out of the way. I don’t like the idea of Raina being trapped on the counter with nowhere to go when he’s acting this way. She holds onto my arms as I lift her by the hips, setting her gently on the ground. I don’t even get to enjoy the softness of her skin or gently graze my touch over her in an innocent way that she might not even realize was on purpose. I’ve been fucking imagining it over and over.
She gives me a wobbly smile that threatens to break my heart. I want to support my best friend, to help him get the closure he needs. But fuck me, I didn’t realize it would be this hard. I didn’t think something in her would speak to me the way it does. My fingers twitch like I want to reach out and touch her, but I can’t. Not right now. Not in front of Tristan when he’s in such a foul mood.
Facing him once more, I get so close, he has to blink to focus. Hurt flashes through his eyes. I know what he’s thinking. Why did I snap at him for touching my things and not her? He probably thought he was protecting what’s mine. Thought he’d have me on his side when I realized she had something that I never let anyone else touch. Never in a million years would he think I’d hand them to her willingly.
There are questions in his gaze, but I don’t have the answers he seeks.
The only thing I can do is get his attention on me instead. I shoulder check him as I walk past, moving to the kitchen table where I pull out a seat and point at his while I’m staring at him. He knows exactly what I’m telling him, and yet he ignores me. He tastes blood in the water and won’t be steered off his path.
I should’ve known better.
He turns to Raina with a sneer on his face, which only becomes more infuriated when he finds she’s turned around and is leaving the room. In a whip-like movement, he snatches her wrist and yanks her back to him. My heart pounds erratically with her yelp of distress, and I almost dash across the room to help her when she stumbles over her feet. It would only make matters worse if I did.
“Ow, Tristan. What the hell?” she snaps, and something calms with her sharp response. I still find myself gripping my drumsticks tightly, seconds away from nervously tapping out a beat. Nash seems similarly on edge, but Blake ignores what’s happening entirely. His back is to them, and he forks a bite and shovels it in like it’s any other morning.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” he rumbles, his gaze tracing over her from head to toe. I assume he’s talking about her lack of clothing, but what he says next has me utterly confused. “Where did you get that?”
She seems as confused as me. Her brow furrows, and she glances down at herself. “What?”
“Where. Did you get. My shirt?” he snarls, taking another step toward her. She crosses her arms in front of herself, like she’s trying to hold herself together, but by the way her eyes flick back and forth, she seems a moment away from breaking.
Tristan stands in front of me, his hand tightly wrapped around my wrist, anger threatening to make him explode. I’m not sure if my heart beats faster because for a brief moment, his touch had a flashback of five years ago coming to mind, or if it’s because of the rage twisting his gorgeous face into something I don’t recognize anymore.
My breath freezes in my chest, and for the first time in my life, I’m afraid of Tristan.
I’ve never seen him look like this. He’s consumed with so much ire, it’s so unlike the boy I used to know. He was always full of kindness. My very best cheerleader, my hype man. The one who encouraged me and made music with me. And now...
How did things change so drastically?
One moment, I was quietly enjoying my coffee while reading a book. Surprisingly, finding comfort in the quiet... My thoughts have been so chaotic as of late that I seem to spiral into the dark depths faster than a dog gobbles dropped crumbs. And yet, Keaton somehow kept them at bay. I could get used to mornings with him.
Then, in a split second, it was all ruined. Sure, I was already getting uncomfortable as the others joined us, but it was nothing compared to the way Tristan came in on the warpath. Like he was pissed off he has to share the same air as me.
Well, I have news for him. He didn’t have to fucking come in and invade my space if he didn’t want to see me. He can gladly screw right off to where he came from and forget I exist.
“Answer me, Raina. Where did you get my shirt?” he yells at me. His words are so sharp I’m surprised spittle doesn’t hit me in the face. His hand snaps out and grips the shirt, yanking me to him until our bodies are flush.
His question cuts off my internal thoughts, bringing me back to the present, a place I’d rather not be if he’s acting like this. Glancing down, I take in the baggy tee. I’ve had it for so long, it’s threadbare. But with the way he’s acting, it’s like he thinks I walked into his room while he was sleeping and stole it.
Fucking prick.
“It’s my shirt,” I finally respond, grasping his wrist and tugging on it to get him to let me go. “I’ve had it for years.”
“My parents gave it to me after their trip to Colorado,” he hisses like it’s supposed to mean something to me. I remember when they gave it to him, he wore it all the time. They’d go on hiking trips often, and he couldn’t always go with them. After I left, he’d send me a new shirt every month until he stopped talking to me.
But this one… This one was the first tee he gave me. He sprayed his cologne on it and slipped it into a large Ziplock so the scent wouldn’t dissipate too quickly. I fucking cuddled the shit out of his shirt until it lost its scent, putting it on a pillow so I felt like he was in bed with me, so I didn’t feel too lonely. He knew all about it, too. I was so homesick those first few months. Who am I kidding? The homesickness never really went away at all.
But all of that doesn’t change the fact he gave it to me. It’s my shirt, and he has no claim over it. “Fuck off, Tristan. Let go of me.” Yanking on his wrist again, I step away, but I’m not able to go anywhere.
Somehow, his eyes become darker. It’s like he’s not even in his body anymore, at least not any version of him that I’ve ever known. His other hand comes up, and I flinch, worried he’s about to hit me with how deranged he’s acting. My eyes close, expecting the sting of his hand on my cheek. It’s not like I haven’t experienced it too many times to count in the past five years. But instead, there’s a ripping sound and a cool wash of air rushing over my front.
Snapping my gaze down, I find my boobs on full display and Tristan dragging the fabric from my arms, leaving me in only my pair of panties. Shock has me frozen in place like a deer in headlights.
He… he just ripped my shirt from my body. Leaving me exposed…
Why… why would he do that?
My thoughts feel stuttered. I can’t make sense of it at all. Before I know it, my eyes fill with tears, making it hard for me to see.
“Tristan,” one of the guys shouts. I’m not even sure who it was, but it snaps me out of my paralysis.
In a rush, I cover myself the best I can as a trickle drips along my cheek. I’ve experienced so much pain when it comes to Tristan, but never something that’s come directly from him like this.
The asshole sneers as he watches the tears slip down my face like he finds it so fucking disgusting. But what tears me apart is when he smiles, like my pain makes his fucking day.
Agony rips through my chest and suddenly, I can’t breathe. Panic like I’ve never felt before creeps over me. It’s like icy fingers scraping across my skin, wanting to drag me into a dark pit.
Experience dictates this will only get worse before I can drag myself out of it. That’s if I even try. I’m not sure I want to right now. I spin on my heel and blindly run from the room. My hip clips the counter, but I barely feel it with how much pain pulses through every cell of my body.
Another tremor wracks my body. I’m sore from how many times it’s happened. My muscles have gone through a workout with how many times they’ve spasmed. Who needs the gym when panic attacks can possess your body, taking over everything, even your thoughts.
I’m surprised muscle memory was able to surface enough for me to lock the bedroom door. Something I only know happened because one of the guys came to try and convince me to let them in. When I didn’t respond, they jiggled the knob.
