“Mac?” His voice is soft and close, as if he’s pressed up to the other side of the door as I am.
Just the sound of his voice calms me. I take a deep breath. “Yeah.”
More silence.
“It’s okay. I won’t leave you.” His voice is firm and soothing.
My heart seizes at his words. How familiar this is, being separated by a door and whispering words to console the fears. Does he remember? Is he riding the same déjà vu?
“Mac, do you have a key in there with you?” His voice is still soft, but now determined.
“Yes.”
“Can you slide it to me under the door?”
I don’t answer him with words but instead glide down the door to the crack at the bottom. And just like when we were kids, I press my cheek to the floor, looking through the crack. I see the white toes of his Chuck Taylors, and I feel the loss at not seeing his eyes. I push the key through the crack of the door, and his feet step back.
Time slows to a crawl as he reaches for the keys.
Our fingers meet.
Then still.
Skin touches skin beneath the door and something happens.
Neither of us move.
I can’t see him, but an urgency to connect with him pushes one word to my throat.
“Rex . . .”
~*~
Rex
Exactly like my dream.
I’m separated from someone important, wanting so badly to remove the barrier between us, but knowing it’s impossible. Hands braced together through a space that’s so small and yet feels like something bigger than my heart can take.
“Rex . . .”
My breath hitches. The way she says my name, sadness dripping off the word, makes her sound so young and helpless. So familiar and yet . . . not.
I stare at the space where our fingers are connected. Dark purple painted nails accentuate her pale skin.
“It’s okay.” Those two simple words reverberate in my head like a gong. It’s okay. The urge to lay my cheek against the cold floor and try to see her is overwhelming. “I’m going to get you out of here.” Again, the words feel as if they’ve been spoken before, but when?
Reluctantly, I let go of her fingers and stand. With a turn of the key, the door swings open. Mac is sitting on the floor, her knees tucked in and arms wrapped tight around them. She tilts her head back to look at me. Pain and confusion work behind her eyes.
“You okay?”
“Better now,” she whispers.
Bright light flares behind my eyes, and I see her: the flaming-orange hair, gray eyes, and pale skin. Before I can grab the vision and store it in my memory, it’s gone. I close my eyes, searching for it, begging to get it back, but it’s like trying to hold onto vapor.
“Holy shit.” I lean back against the doorframe and rub my eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Mac’s voice is close. “All the color drained from your face. Here”—her small hands grip my arm—“you need to sit down.”
“No, really. I’m good.” I wave her off and breathe through the feeling that I’m going to pass out. “I just need a second. Think I stood up too fast or something.”
Or something.
“Oh, right.” She backs away. “Take your time.”
That was the most intense déjà vu I’ve ever experienced. Not only were the visuals so real but the intensity of the feelings. Just like my dreams, but I’m awake. Is that possible?
The flash of the little girl seemed almost like a memory. She couldn’t be a relative. If I had family, I wouldn’t have had to go into group homes and foster care after she died. But I must know the redheaded girl from somewhere. I get the feeling that she was important to me. Another orphan maybe? Why would I only see portions of her face? Even in my dreams, it’s only her eyes, lips, and hair, but only in sections.
“Dude, where the fuck have you been? We’re not your roadies, Justin Bieber. Get your ass out here and help us set up.” Lane shoves me and pops a cigarette in his mouth. He swings his gaze to Mac, who’s now behind her cart of bottles. “Mac, what’s up, girl? Mind grabbing me a beer, sweetheart?”
A possessive growl threatens to escape my throat, before I swallow it back. As much as I don’t appreciate Lane calling her sweetheart, she isn’t mine. I brush it off to me having respect for the girl. I mean she’s not a fucking groupie. Shit.
“Sure, Lane.” She pushes her cart past us, peeking up at me with a tiny smile. “See ya ’round, Rex.”
“Yeah, see ya.” I watch her until she disappears into the bar area then turn to Lane. His eyes are fixed at ass level where Mac just turned the corner. Fucking asshole. I punch him in the shoulder hard enough to knock the cigarette from his lips. “Call me Justin Bieber again, bitch, and I’ll break your legs.”
He rubs his arm, his jaw slack. “That’s my fret arm, dick!”
I shove past him with a frustration that is as misplaced as it is annoying. Reacting to a woman on any level is uncomfortable, but something about the black-haired motorcycle-riding barmaid is rocking my damn psyche.
~*~
It’s after two a.m., and I’m loading up the last of our equipment. Like most nights, the other band members have disappeared either to head home or hook up. Or both.
Usually I’d give them all a ton of shit for taking off, but the club was packed tonight, and we ended up playing an extra set. We all walked off stage to a crowd of chanting fans. The guys were on such a high that they needed to go blow off steam with the activity of their choice.
“Rex?”
I turn from where I’m strapping down our amps to find Mac standing by the tailgate of my truck. She’s fidgeting nervously.
“Hey.” I squat down to sit on the open tailgate. Her eyes dart around the dark alley behind the club, avoiding my eyes. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah.” She tucks a few loose strands of her long hair behind her ear. “Listen, I didn’t get a chance to thank you for helping me out back there. Another minute and I may’ve passed out from a panic attack.” She laughs, but the sound is unnatural, as if she’s trying too hard.
I nod. “No problem.” My arms ache to wrap her in a hug. What the fuck is that all about?
“I also wanted to apologize for the, um . . .” Even in the limited light of the alley, I see her light-skinned cheeks turn scarlet.
It’s so pretty on her, and again I have to wonder why I hadn’t paid more attention to her in the past.
Her hands knot together. “Last week, when I, uh . . . it was out of line.”
“By it you mean the kiss?” Saying the word in her presence, I watch her neck take on the same color as her cheeks. The innocent blush stirs up a nauseating wave of arousal in my gut. I swallow it back and tug at my lip ring to avoid smiling at her reaction.
“Yeah, that.” Her eyes fix on mine, her expression serious. “I had no right taking advantage of you like that. You helped me and I repaid you by making you uncomfortable.”
I don’t know what to say. As much as I know I should say thank you and reassure her it’ll never happen again, my body is begging to relive it, so much so that it’s overriding the rising bile in my throat. Maybe I’m still riding the high of the kick-ass show we just played. Or it could be all the extra testosterone that’s pumping through my veins because of the eight-hour training sessions I’ve been having all week. Either way, I’m enjoying the feeling. Again, what the fuck?
“I acted like a dick, got you alone on a bed with a bottle of booze.” I shrug. “What’s a girl to think? I set you up and then treated you like shit for taking the bait. I’m sorry too.”
A tiny smile lights her pretty face. “Thank you for being so cool about it. And for the record, I don’t go around, you know, kissing any guy who helps me out of a jam.”