Page 13 of Indiscretion: Reckless Sin
The layout of my place is pretty wide open so I can see his broad back and shoulders, but not what he’s doing, until he turns around with a steaming cup in his hands. It looks as though he’s found my Keurig.
Placing the cup in my hands, then walking over to where I have my dad’s old Yamah, he picks the guitar off the stand and comes to sit in front of me on my coffee table. I know what’s coming before he starts and my whole body locks up tight as memory after memory assault me.
The strum of the acoustic strings meet my ears and Cyan’s low smokey, almost folksy rendition ofSmileby Nat King Cole begins, taking me away to one of our happiest places.
“...Smile, what’s the use of crying? You’ll find that life is still worthwhile if you just smile.” Cyan’s talented fingers strum his own little additions into the end of the well-known song, and he reaches up to wipe the tears from my face.
He usually plays the piano, following in his mother’s footsteps, much to his father’s displeasure, but there’s no denying that his talent on the guitar is just as impressive. Even at thirteen years old, he’s here using those talents to cheer me up after a group of girls were awful to me at school. It wasn’t any different than the usual bully crap I put up with day to day.
“You’re hideous. Why do they waste their time with you? Just kill yourself already.”
“You think that just because your dad can sing, you can too? Not a chance. You suck.”
“Seriously. Go die.”
“Slut.”
“Whore.”
“Rock Princess my ass. Try an ugly wannabe…”
More often than not I can brush it off. Sadly, I’m not even the most bullied in our school. I just drew the short straw when it comes to people being jealous that I have the most popular guys in our school as my inner circle. You’d think it would make me popular too, but I’m not mean enough to be considered top tier at my school, and I’m not pretty or talented enough to compete with the girls who are. If I can’t earn my place with kindness and being true to who I am, I don’t want it. Luckily for me, I’ve had Dexter, Rebel, Cyan, Ezra, and Phoenix in my life since the day I was born. I don’t need anyone else.
Cyan could be doing anything else with anyone else though and yet he’s here with me, cheering me up. All the kids at school either want to be the boys or be with the boys. The girls all swoon and the boys all get a little star struck, everyone vying for their attention in one way or another. But they chose me. Every single time. They choose me and right now is no different. Once upon a time, it may have been because they had to, being my dad’s bandmates kids and all, but now I really believe that I’m just special. Or really lucky. Maybe both.
A few years ago, I almost stopped being friends with the boys that I’ve known since diapers because I hated how much I got made fun of at school. It’s really hard to be the kid that no one likes sometimes, but the boys wouldn’t let me. They said that it wasn’t true that no one liked me, because they like me and then they sang me the song that my daddy used to sing to me when I’d get sad as a little girl, just like Cyan is doing now.
“Don’t cry, A. Whatever’s making you sad can’t be so bad. And if it is, well, then we can fix it together. You, me, and the guys. We’re a team and we’ll always have each other's backs. Always.”
“You really mean that Cyan? You promise to always be my friend, no matter what?”
“I promise, Ains. No matter what, I’ll always be yourbestfriend. But don’t tell the others, or they’ll get jealous,” he laughs, making me laugh too. “Seriously though, it hurts to see you cry. Right here,” he says, putting his hand on his heart.
His voice trails off as the song ends, and while I can hear the difference from his youthful childlike voice to the grown man baritone of him now, I still find it just as hypnotic as I once did. I could spend hours getting lost in his talented vocals.
“Sing with me, A?” he inquires, switching keys and playing Jake Bugg’sNote To Selfwith a smile on his face. I shake my head, but he starts the song anyway. His voice is so different from the original artist but the meaning behind the song still hits me like an arrow to the heart and I remember the night we saw it live at a Noel Gallager concert once in Portland, Oregon. The English singer was totally unknown to us at the time but I fell completely in love with him during his opening performance and this song is one of my favorites. Cyan knows that and he’s using it against me. I can’t help the laugh that escapes, nor the swell of love in my heart as it beats furiously against my chest.
I don’t join in on the song, instead sitting back and enjoying the warmth of the blanket, coffee, and the undeniable charisma that the man in front of me exudes. When he switches up the song choice again toMiss Me Babyby Chris Cagle, I can’t help but do exactly that. Basking in his voice, I let myself miss him and everything he used to represent in my life, wishing it could still be that way. Comfort, companionship, and reliability. Not only has he been a constant in my life, but also someone I never doubted I could trust with my life, my heart, and my music.
I let it all take root, calming me enough to fall asleep and finally have a small amount of peace.
Chapter Ten
Cyan Oliver
LookingoveratAinsley,I can’t help but smile. The softness of her face when she sleeps reminds me of the young girl I fell in love with during those years. I didn't understand the depth of my feelings at the time. Back then, all we knew was how to have each other's backs. We’d all dealt with some level of neglect to an extent but it was all okay at the end of each day because we knew we could count on each other. Some situations went beyond the standard neglect of a famous parent and hopped right over the line, straight into abuse territory. Those were the times that made us stronger, the music we all made together only serving to cement our bonds through time and space. The cherry on the top of our multi-layered sundae if you will.
Phoenix’s parents were both famous—his dad is a member of Viper and his mom was an international supermodel—always too busy to pay him any attention. When our girl disappeared from our lives, he became more withdrawn than ever. I’ll never forgive myself for not checking in on him enough when he’d needed us the most. I’d felt lost too, but he was well and truly alone for too long.
Rebel’s mom died shortly after Ainsley went away. Cancer took her too soon and too fast for him to cope properly, instead he’s spent the better part of these last year’s grieving from the bottom of a bottle. Between Ains and his mom both leaving him at the same time, I think a part of him just… died.
Ezra’s life was already a living nightmare. So, Ainsley leaving hit differently for him as well. She’d been his safe place—she’d been all of our home base for so long, I don’t think any of us could have anticipated how hard it would be if anything ever happened to her. She was our sun, moon, and stars, forever shining so bright it made us all feel stronger, smarter, better in every way—bigger than life.
It was actually Ainsley who’d figured things out with E before any of us had. Ezra hid his bruises so well, never letting on the emotional and physical pain he’d been in. Even his dad hadn’t figured it out until Ainsley called E’s mom out at one of our annual family get-togethers. His mom drank too much and Ains had only confirmed her suspicions when she caught her mid slap when we were twelve years old.
I’d never seen our little ray of sunshine so angry. Still to this day I’m not one hundred percent sure what had happened. I just know that Ainsley was screaming her head off, calling Mrs. Ryder all sorts of names—using words the sweet girl normally would blush at—with a bright red handprint marking her pretty face after taking the hit across her cheek when she pushed Ezra out of the way.
It was then that I could see it plain as day—he’d loved her in ways beyond friendship. What he didn’t realize at the time was that we all did. Or maybe he did know, but like the rest of us, was too afraid of messing up how great things were. The guilt he carried after she got hurt was worn on his shoulders for months afterward, the pain he wore like armor for years.
