Saving Landon Part 37

"And now you understand why I was speeding," he told me a little gruffly. "Steven might be a total a.s.shole of a manager, but he's generally competent. Generally."

Before he left, I reminded him to take his pain medication. With an appreciative smile, he dug the orange bottle out from a hidden spot in his closet, and then popped into the bathroom to swallow it with a cup of water.

After he left, I stayed put. I flipped through some books of his, realizing that I should have tried to find something to keep myself preoccupied. But it wasn't like I actually had anything like that back home, anyway.

I'd mostly spent my time tending to the needs of the bar, occasionally walking further into town and occupying myself at the single, small bookstore that we had.

At least there are different books here.

A few hours later, after the night had fallen, Trent finally returned to the bus. He planted a quick kiss on my lips before going to wash off in the shower. When he came back into the room, I was preoccupied with thought.

I knew that I had to tell him.

"There's something you need to know about me," I reluctantly blurted out.

Briefly, just for a fraction of a second, a look of penetrated concern flickered across Trent's face. With the blink of his eyes, it was gone, replaced with his cool, smooth confidence.

"What's that? You're not really from Alabama? Secretly a government agent? Betrothed to another man?"

I shook my head, trying to not take personal offense to that last one. I knew he didn't mean it. He had just sensed that this was bad.

"You know how I freaked out in the car earlier this morning?"

Trent looked genuinely troubled for a moment.

"Yeah. There's a specific reason for that?"

"There was an accident," I told him.

"An accident."

"I was in the car with some people I don't really remember who. Just a group of us. The driver, he was going too fast, taking too many risks...we hit something and I was thrown from the vehicle."

"Oh my G.o.d," he spoke, his face growing pale. He covered his eyes, looking incredibly guilty. "I had no f.u.c.king idea. I'm sorry."

"You didn't know," I told him.

"But were you...were you hurt?"

"Well, it was a high-speed collision, and I was ejected from the car," I snarked lightly, before toning myself back. "I mean...yeah. I was hurt pretty badly."

"What...how did you...?"

"How did I survive?" I asked, almost bitterly. "I don't know. I was thrown into some trees. Luckily, I wasn't too mangled up. But I was in a coma for, like, weeks."

"And your friends?"

"They didn't make it," I told him, fighting back tears. "I think the driver did, but the rest of the people in the car, they all died on impact. Getting thrown out saved my life."

"And your memory?"

"Yeah," I continued, struggling to recall the details. "It's kind of fuzzy. I lost a lot of my memories from that point and back. The doctors told me that they don't know how I woke back up. But the damage was done. I barely remember a thing from before the accident. h.e.l.l, the accident itself is totally gone. I only know what happened because I was told."

I realized that Trent was squeezing my hand, staring deeply into my eyes.

"So, what do you remember?"

It wasn't an easy question to answer.

"It's kind of like...you know how you dream sometimes, and occasionally you remember it when you wake up, but sometimes you don't? If you're lucky, you'll remember it in the shower, or maybe something during the day will remind you...and maybe it takes months for it to click?"

Trent nodded thoughtfully.

"Right. So, I remember bits and pieces like, I know who my parents are. I can remember little... flickers of things. Like, mental pictures. The way the sunlight bounced off of my hand, running through the cattails in a pasture. I remember a man I think he was my grandfather carrying me on his shoulders when I was really young, spinning me around in the rain."

He squeezed my hand gently.

"But...most of it is gone. All I have are these tiny, fleeting moments. They're small, and maybe insignificant, but they're all that I have left," I told him.

It was only as he brushed his knuckles against my cheek that I realized I had been crying. Trent looked pained as he listened, wiping my tears aside.

"Everything from before me being sixteen and younger is like a dream. I can't remember much at once. It only comes in small flashes, and then they're lost unless I really focus on them...and I can barely remember they were ever there from the start."

"Have you been checked out?" Trent asked. "Have you gone to see someone about this?"

"Not since the start. The follow-up treatments were so expensive. Just the hospital visit from my coma alone was terrible. It basically bankrupted my parents, not that they had much to begin with."

"And where are your parents?"

"Back in Alabama," I told him. "Not Riverton, though. Further back... deeper into the state. Interstate doesn't go anywhere near it."

"You haven't really mentioned them before," Trent observed. "Is there a reason why?"

Involuntarily, I thought back to my other secret... the secret I wanted to take to my grave. His hand squeezing mine felt so distant all of a sudden, and things were growing darker and darker...

There was a voice, a husky chuckle.

It shook me down to my core.

With a deep, calming breath, I summoned up my strength and fought my way back to him from that crus.h.i.+ng darkness. The whole thing couldn't have taken more than a second or two but, to me, it felt as if I'd drifted back to that lightless abyss for hours... possibly days.

"There aren't really many pleasant memories," I quietly conceded to him.

"I see," he answered with a suspicious but supportive nod. "I'm not going to push you on that. I just...I can't imagine what it's gotta be like."

"What do you mean?" I asked sincerely.

"I mean, I remember mostly what it was like, growing up," he told me. "But to have most of my life completely gone? I can't think of how hard that's gotta be."

"It's not as difficult as you might think," I shrugged. "It just took some getting used to. Luckily, I had help. Like with Old Greg. He didn't have to take me in like that, but he was a total lifesaver. I don't know how I would have coped on the streets."

"How did you wind up in Riverton?" He asked, tilting his head.

"I was just hitchhiking...I think Old Greg was the one to find me. It's hard to be certain."

"Old Greg?"

"Yeah..."

I pressed harder in my head, focusing on the memory. My nose got that slight smell of copper that told me I was on the verge of remembering.

"That's right..." I smiled. "It's kind of in pieces...but yeah, Old Greg picked me up on the side of the highway and he brought me back to his bar. It must have been late at night...the place was closed when we got there. I don't remember much else."

"You weren't scared?"

"No, that's the funny thing," I recalled. "I trusted him. Without even questioning him, really. Something about that old guy just told me that he wasn't trouble. Maybe I saw something good and pure in his eyes."

"Do you think you knew him before?" Trent asked, wondering about the connection.

"Nah. I wasn't anywhere near home when he found me... He was just some lonely old codger who took pity on some stupid wayward kid in the middle of the night."

Trent didn't seem too convinced, but he didn't try to pry.

"Anyway, my head's starting to hurt...I think this little trip down Memory Lane is kind of taxing me. How about we talk about something else?"

Concern flickered across his face, but he swiftly brushed it aside. I appreciated that that he cared, and that he cared enough to not try and force me to open up.

"Of course," Trent smiled, pulling me into his embrace. "We've got the whole night ahead of us."

My hand brushed against the bulge of his c.o.c.k, and I grinned wickedly up at him.

"I can think of a few things to fill the time..."

"Oh yeah?" He chuckled.

"That's right," I whispered, unzipping him. I could already sense heat emanating from the growing bulge, and I lowered my face as I withdrew his thick, mighty weapon...

19.

Trent We settled into a fun routine over the following few weeks as our band tour finally wound down.

Working on material while Angel slept.

Chatting, eating together during downtime.

Practicing with the band.

Rocking out onstage.

Briefly appearing at the after-parties.

Finally, taking Angel in my bed.

It was the perfect routine. Out on the road, doing what I love, and coming back to the bus with the girl I had slowly turned into my own, private s.e.x fiend.

She might have been a virgin, but she was making up for lost time. Angel loved f.u.c.king everywhere she could, burning through my extensive repertoire of s.e.x positions, and just flat out reveling in our contact together.

Which didn't bother me one bit.

Besides being physically a challenge in the bedroom, she still contested me mentally. She was always trying to pry into my head and figure me out.

For someone who had been stuck in the sticks for as long as she had, Angel had ideas big ideas...

To my total surprise, she was fun to brainstorm with. I'd sit in the room and write poetry pretty much the closest you can get to a song when you lack the instrumentals and I let her read some of it sometimes.

Angel made solid suggestions, and helped me tighten up some of the lyrics. I'd sing a few parts, here and there, and she'd recommend different tones or help guide me a little in the delivery. The girl was a natural.

Sometimes we listened to recorded jam sessions together when a song was coming along. I played a few studio session snippets, singing some of my lyrics over them.

And the feedback she gave?

Golden.

It was fresh... Almost naive. A new take on the sound.

Where did this f.u.c.king girl come from?

Of course, I knew that. I'd plucked her out of that place, thinking she was a challenging, hot piece of a.s.s that I couldn't bear to part with.

Turns out I'd found myself a diamond in the rough. Angel was proving herself incredibly useful in ways I hadn't even remotely considered.

She held up to her end of things. She was like a ghost to the rest of the band, but I knew she was getting bored. Restless.

That's how I noticed her penchant for drumming her fingers. I didn't think much of it at first, but the more that she did it, I realized that she was pretty good at keeping rhythm.

"Do that again," I asked her one day.

"Hmm?"

"With your fingers."

"You mean, this?"