The Stillness Of You(2)

It was that something hot and wicked that scared me because guys like   Ben Lancaster were off limits for me. First off, my brother would kill   me if I ever got mixed up with one of his players again, and after   everything I'd been through in the last six months, Matt was my anchor. I   couldn't screw up. Not again.

And secondly? It would be tragic for me to ruin someone like Ben   Lancaster, and that's pretty much what I did. I ruined things. I ruined   people.

I was my mother's daughter through and through.

I was the girl no one should bring home to their parents. The hot mess   every guy's mom warned them about, and even though I was technically in   treatment and on the mend, I knew the fire was still there. The hot  fire  currently buried beneath layers of medication. Sometimes when the  noise  got to be too much, I felt it pulling at me desperately, not  content to  rest.                       
       
           



       

And it was so hard to push it back down. To bury it beneath the scars   under my skin because sometimes it was the only thing that made me feel   alive.

But I did. I did it for my brother, Matt. I did it for my therapist,   Seamus. And I suppose on some level I even did it for myself.

I was all of that and more.

And Ben Lancaster was off limits.

"Okay," I said again as I set my tools back onto the easel. "I'd better get dressed."





Chapter Two





Georgia





My cell phone buzzed and I glanced down. There was a text from Matt. ‘Shit, I'm sorry I forgot. Home in fifteen.'

He would be at least another half an hour, if not longer. I was betting   on the longer, because it was too close to rush hour and everyone and   their freaking mother would be heading somewhere with the Fourth of July   two days away.

I glanced in the mirror and tucked a long strand of inky black hair   behind my ear. Unlike my older brother Matt, who'd inherited our   mother's coloring, I was more like my dad. My hair was dark, my eyes a   super light greenish-bluish color that some people found freaky, and my   skin was pale. I was winter while Matt with his warm blue eyes and  blond  hair was summer, and go figure, summer was the one thing I always   wanted to be.

For a moment the picture of me in the mirror blurred.

I have a vivid memory of my mother brushing out her long, blond hair,   the strokes even and precise. It's one I usually keep locked away but   sometimes, I open that box, the one loaded down with memories, and I sit   back and remember.

In my mind she sits at her vanity, hidden inside the large walk-in   closet of our million dollar Cherry Hill home, and stares at herself in   the mirror, her delicate hands holding the large brush. She would start   at the top of her head near the crown and pull the brush down slowly,   once, twice, and then a third time before she would move on to the next   piece.

She would sit there for long periods of time and I, as a little girl,   would bring my dolls into the closet and watch her until I got bored.   I'd play with my dolls, sometimes for hours, while she stared at herself   and brushed her hair.

Sometimes she would cry and sometimes she would sing. Sometimes she   would say nothing at all, not even when the shadows crept in from her   bedroom. Matt never came into our secret room, it was always just me and   Mom. On those nights my dad would come home from work, his eyes tired,   and his smile sad. He'd pull me from her side and take me downstairs  to  eat.

Not even then would she say a word.

Funny the things you remember.

With a sigh I tossed my cell back onto the dresser and decided I couldn't hide in my room any longer.

Ben was standing in front of the floor to ceiling windows that ran the   length of my brother's loft, gazing down onto the street below. My   brother's place was in the heart of Old City and everything we needed   was within walking distance. Shops, pubs, parks. It was beautiful and   trendy. It was everything a guy like Ben Lancaster would be looking for   and I'm sure he would end up buying some swanky bachelor pad. They all   did.

I noticed a large duffel bag near the door, along with a knapsack and a   soft shell computer case. He turned around, hands shoved into the front   pockets of his jeans.

"Hey," he said softly. "I didn't get your name."

"Georgia," I answered.

"Georgia."

I nodded. It was a summer name ironically.

"Yep. As in the peach. As in the state. As in my mom must have been on drugs when I was born because Georgia is just … "

He arched an eyebrow. "Is just?"

I shrugged. "Not me."

He nodded toward the canvases propped along the wall to his right.   Unlike the one on the easel, these ones weren't empty. They were filled   with dark images, open mouths and wide eyes. They were good, but they   weren't for the faint of heart.

"Those yours?"

I nodded.

"So is that what you do? You're an artist?"

I wasn't about to tell Ben Lancaster that I wasn't much of anything. Art   was just something I did to fill in the holes that blanketed my life   like shrapnel. Sometimes it worked but other times I was left leaking   all over place. An injured soul back from some war that no one would   ever understand unless you've been there.

"It's just a hobby."

"A hobby," he repeated, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "It looks like more than a hobby to me. You're really good."

I moved away because the guy was too intense. Too fucking intense.

"Matt sent me a text. He'll be home soon."

"Good." He paused. "So, are you a hockey fan?"                       
       
           



       

"It's kind of hard not to be." I was a big fan of the game and there had   been a time when I had been a big fan of several of the hockey   players-they were always around. Again, not information I was willing to   share.

Silence fell into the loft and for a few seconds it was an uncomfortable   silence, broken by a cleared throat-me-and a shifting of feet-Ben.

A few heartbeats passed and then the door flew open, thank God.

My brother Matt strolled into the loft, a wide grin on his face when he   spied Ben across the room. "Lancaster," he said. "Man, I'm sorry.   Totally slipped my mind that you'd be hanging here for a few days until   you get settled."

I watched as they greeted each other and it was obvious they had more   than a passing acquaintance. Not surprising, at thirty-two, Matt was one   of the youngest coaches in the league and he knew a lot of players  from  when he'd started out as a scout.

There was the shaking of hands, the slaps on the back and the general   ‘guy-greeting' I'd seen a million times before. It was like they wanted   to hug each other silly, but it didn't pass the ‘guy code,' so the   shaking and slapping sufficed.

Matt glanced back at me, his smile in place, but I saw the worry in his   eyes. I'd been living with him for three months now and I hadn't spent   much time with anyone other than him and my therapist, Seamus. I had   certainly steered clear of anyone male and hot.

Now, I'm sure if our houseguest was the little old lady on the first   floor-the one who hoarded magazines like they were gold-he wouldn't   think twice. But this was a guy. This was a hot guy. And this was a hot   guy who happened to be one of the brightest hockey players in the   league.

I saw the worry in Matt's eyes and he had every right to be. I'd done a   lot of stupid things in the last few years but I was better now. He  knew  I was better. They'd figured things out. I was taking my meds and  my  life was a bowl of sunshine and roses.

Okay, that was a huge exaggeration. I was a twenty year old orphaned,   college dropout, who had spent six months in what everyone liked to call   a hospital, but what was in fact, a fancy, expensive mental   institution. I'd been poked, prodded, observed and had been analyzed and   talked to death. I'd been diagnosed.

I'd done my therapy, I'd taken my meds like a good girl and now I was out.

So, yeah, it wasn't sunshine and roses but I wasn't locked up. I wasn't   looking at life through a cloud of confusion and so what if sometimes   things felt fuzzy. So what if fuzzy was only marginally better than the   dark, chaotic mess I'd been before.

At least the fuzziness wasn't always there, seeping into my brain and stifling anything that was expressive.

For now things were good enough. Though there was always the chance I   could derail at any time and take a fuck-ton of people down with me and   Matt knew it.