unREASONable by Arya Matthews

Track 42

Alexandra

I stand with Connor on the front porch of the Nest.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you really were?” I ask him.

He checks his phone. “It had to be this way. The Vipers already gave you trouble for joining them the way you did. If they knew you were directly connected to me, do you think they’d treat you well?”

Knowing the guys as much as I do now, I believe they would. Although, Marshall did get ticked off that one time he was present for Connor’s call. So I have to correct my belief to include one vital word—eventually. I nod my understanding. Connor hid his involvement for the same reasons I didn’t tell the guys about my family. We both wanted me to have a place with them with as few things affecting their perception of me as possible.

“Thank you,” I say. “For doing so much for me.”

“You’re welcome.” Connor pats my head. “I’m sorry about the reasons that ultimately brought you here.”

“Me too. I’m happy here though.”

“Good.” He heads to his car.

This is all nice and wonderful, but…

“Connor, what would have happened if I failed?”

He turns around. “I’d take care of you either way. Send you to college here or something. We’d figure it out.”

There was a safety net for me all along? Connor is devious. Nice, but devious. Had I known I had nothing to worry about financially, I might’ve given up on Project Viper a long time ago.

After Connor drives off, I exhale and gaze at the star-dotted sky. What a day. I survived my first performance in front of thousands, and by all accounts, I was pretty good. I jump a few times in excitement. I’m a recognized singer. Heck, I’m a bassist!

Marshall comes out to the porch, and I can’t help laughing. When we first met, he hated me and reminded me any time he could that I was not, in fact, a bassist. But I am now. Me! A tiny girl with tiny hands a bassist for Project Viper.

“What are you giggling about?” He wraps his arms around me.

I can’t stop smiling at him. I told Connor the truth. I am happy here. My body’s light enough to float, and I’m so ridiculously giddy seeing Marshall return my smile.

“So, you don’t mind then that Connor forced me on you?”

“You know I did, a lot, six months ago. I didn’t know you or what you could do. But not anymore.” His hands slide to my waist. “It’s late, but what do you want to do? Watch a movie? Go for a ride? Oh! I know.”

Marshall takes my hand and leads me to the garage. “You don’t mind a little outing, do you? I mean, you must be exhausted, but—”

“I don’t mind.”

His face is aglow with some brilliant plan, and I’m curious to find out what he came up with. Besides, I love this decisive Marshall. Such a wonderful difference from what he has been with me up to now.

We take his old BMW, although there’s hardly anything old about it. The body is from the sixties or the seventies, I’m not an expert, but the paint is spotless and appears brand-new. Black with a slight pearlescent shimmer to it. And the insides are all polished to a shine, maybe replaced, including the red leather seats. It’s a fun car, and I feel like I’m finally allowed into Marshall’s world without having to force my way in.

Speaking of Marshall. He rubs his palms against the steering wheel and shifts in his seat every time we come to a red light.

“What are you planning that you’re so squirmy?” I tease him.

“Nothing too awful.” He pulls into the next parking lot.

I take in the building that gleams with bright windows in front of us. There are tables and a few people inside. “Is this a restaurant? Still open at this time?” I glance at the clock on the dashboard. It’s after midnight.

“Yeah. It’s not the best, but we never got that breakfast. So I figured, why not now?” He pops open the glove compartment and fishes out a black baseball cap that he pulls on low to conceal his upper face.

“You worry that the four people that are inside will recognize you?” I tease him again.

Marshall squints at me. “Fine.” He takes off the cap and pushes it onto my head.

We go in, and sure enough, the bleary-eyed young woman that greets us doesn’t even bother to look at our faces. She takes us to a booth, hands us utensils and laminated menus, and shuffles off after a promise to take our orders in a minute. Something tells me it’s going to be quite a few minutes before she comes back. It doesn’t matter. We’re not here for the food exactly.

Marshall unfolds the napkin and arranges his utensils, then straightens a little glass dish with sugar packets, then aligns his paper placemat with the edge of the table. It’s amusing to watch him struggle like this with…us being together? After everything I’ve been through today, bravery is easy to find, so I take his hand across the table.

“Marshall. Relax.”

He exhales and moves his other hand away from the salt shaker. “I think I can be justified for being a little nervous with you. I’ve screwed up everything so far—”

“You didn’t screw up everything.”

He looks at me. We both cringe.

“You’re too nice,” he says.

“Well, fine.” I try my best to be diplomatic. “You could’ve done a little better in some situations. I know you’re sorry, and I don’t want to spend tonight dwelling on the past. There’s so much future ahead of me now. Ahead of us.”

“Us.” Marshall props his chin on his palm and stares at the ceiling for a second before his gaze returns to me. “Sounds good.”

I shrink into my seat and clench my hands together. I felt a lot of different things with Marshall—anger, maddening frustration, desperation, curiosity, even desire. But now that we’re on the same page, I’m nervous.

Oh. Okay. That’s probably why he’s been so fidgety.

The waitress finally comes back. She places two waters on the table and pulls out a tablet. “What can I get you?” She sounds quite a bit more energetic and smiles at Marshall. I don’t exist.

He gives me a stern look.

I clear my throat and say, “I’ll have the tall stack with strawberries and cream. Please.”

The waitress jumps and stares at me. “Um. Of course. Anything else?” Her eyes still bounce to Marshall.

“Scrambled eggs.”

“Sure. Any other items?”

“Orange juice.”

“Is that it?”

I’m tempted to continue ordering more things, one by one, but I’d rather not waste my time with Marshall. I do, however, take a few more seconds to study the menu, then look at the waitress, who taps her thumb against the tablet. She smiles at me. I smile back. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Must be that lingering bravery. And budding, territorial jealousy. This is my rock star. As soon as someone else goes through what I’ve gone through to be with Marshall Jones, they can have him. Scratch that. He’s all mine no matter what.

She blinks, and I stifle a laugh. “Yes, that’s all. Thank you.”

Marshall orders eggs plus steak and hands our menus to the waitress. “Could we get the check right away please?”

The waitress heaves a suppressed sigh, but nods and leaves.

“She would’ve recognized you anyway,” I say to Marshall as I adjust the black cap he surrendered to me. “And why did you ask for the check so early?”

“If she brings us the check, she’ll have less reasons to pester us.”

“Be nice.”

He smirks. “I’ll leave a nice tip.”

We wait for our food in silence, although Marshall’s feet find mine under the table and sandwich one of my feet between his. I take to spinning my phone between my fingers.

He breaks the silence. “I noticed something a while ago.”

“Mmmm?”

“You have two phones, don’t you?”

“Kind of.” It looks like we’re not done talking about my past tonight, which is okay. I pull my old Russian phone out of the pocket of my hoodie and place both devices on the table in front of me.

“This one’s from home,” I explain, pointing at my old smartphone. “It doesn’t work here, but I don’t need it to because Connor got me one that does. The old one has a bunch of photos and videos of my family. I have them all backed up to the Cloud and downloaded on several flash drives, but I still can’t get myself to get rid of it. My dad got me this phone before I started my, what do you call it here, high school?”

Marshall nods. “You don’t need to get rid of anything. I just wondered if you were a Russian spy.”

“Seriously? Could you be any more cliché?”

“Probably.”

He smiles, wide and warm. For me. All for me. The smile melts my core, and I have no clue why or how I’m still in one piece.

Our food arrives and we eat, rehashing the festival.

“I thought you would puke right before it was our turn to go on stage,” Marshal says as he saws through his chicken-fried steak.

“Well, I’m sorry. Not all of us have years of experience appeasing large crowds.” I steal a shred of potato from his plate.

He swallows his bite. “You did great.”

“Really?” I mutter through a mouthful. They offered us plenty of food at the festival venue, but I was so dazed and drawn in every direction that I never got to eat anything properly. And now I’m starving. Pancakes hit the spot just right, even though they’re a little too sweet for my taste.

“Really. It was fun.”

“You think your fans liked me?” I reach for my new phone, but Marshall clamps his hand over mine.

“They’re our fans,” he says. “And don’t check social media. It’ll be a funky mix of comments for a week or so. Wait until we go more public with your addition. Even then, worry about sales more than fan reactions. There will always be disgruntled ones, and you can’t please everyone anyway.”

“But…” It’s easy for him to say I was great. I want to know what the public thinks. Did I really do well?

“Trust me.” Marshall removes his hand and continues working on his steak. “Give it some time to circulate and settle. Don’t worry about anything. Not tonight.” He looks up, his gaze tender and reassuring. “You’ve been through a lot. Take a breather. You don’t have to worry about anything right now.”

I still remember what day it is. The struggle to win the Vipers over is also still fresh on my mind. So, when Marshall tells me not to worry about anything, tears rise to my eyes in less than two seconds. I bite my lip hard. Tears spill down my cheeks when I try to blink them away.

Marshall sits with me and hugs me, gently, like I’m about to break. “Should we go?”

There may be only a few people in the restaurant, but I’m still embarrassed through and through. “Yes. Is that okay?”

He pulls out his wallet. I stuff another bite of pancakes into my mouth while he deposits some cash on the table.

“Thank you,” Marshall calls out to the sleepy, disappointed waitress that served us before we go out the doors.

I try to subdue the tears and sniffles all the way home. The moment we’re in the driveway, Marshall helps me out of the car and hugs me again.

“It’s okay. Don’t fight it. You don’t have to hide it anymore.” He kisses me on the cheek. “You never had to.”

His embrace is heaven, but the grief is so overwhelming, nothing comforts me. The only reason I’m here is because both of my parents are dead. How can I possibly enjoy what I have with that knowledge? Then another thought cuts me. If they never died, I’d never meet the guys. I’d never have Marshall.

The warring realizations send me on my knees into the wet lawn next to the driveway. I sob, loudly, ugly, hiding my face in my elbow. Marshall’s gentle but insistent hands pull me close and shield me from the world. He doesn’t say anything until I calm down a bit, which, surprisingly, doesn’t take long. A few late night breezes, a hiccup, and a growing sense of numbness stop the flood.

“How did you… How did you ever survive?” I look Marshall in the eyes. “Without family? Without someone to love you, be with you, guide you?”

Yellowish light streams on us through the open car door. Marshall holds my gaze and smooths my hair. I close my eyes and relish his soothing touch.

“On a certain level, I couldn’t miss what I never had. I only ever had dreams and wishes. You had something real that’s been taken away from you. That is so much worse. Eventually, I found a family that was better than anything I could ever hope for. Now you’re a part of it. I don’t expect you to stop being sad, and no one expects you to carry on like nothing’s ever happened, but I want you to remember you’re not alone anymore. Talk to us. To me. Okay? Tell us everything. Ask me anything. Anything at all.” Marshall stirs. “Rats. My butt is wet. I’m sorry. I was doing so well with my profound speech, but that’s too cold.”

Laughing, I stand up and offer him my hand. “Come on. Let’s get inside.” My behind is pretty wet and cold too.

He rises to his feet, closes the car door, and follows me to the guest house. “I mean it though. I’m here for you.”

Bright, white lights come to life as we step onto the porch.

“Thank you. And I’m here for you too,” I say and press my thumb to the fingerprint scanner attached to the door lock.

After the scanner gives me an approving beep, the lock clicks open. We step inside. The entryway lights, automatic like the porch ones, switch on. While I kick off my shoes, Marshall’s hands sneak around my waist again and draw me to him.

“What was that saying?” I face him and slide my hands to the back of his neck. “Third try’s the charm?”

“Perhaps.” Marshall dips his head and inhales the scent of my hair. His lips brush the top of my ear, setting everything within me on fire.

“Are you going to kiss me or what?” I whisper, trying to regain control of my knees.

He chuckles and pulls slightly away. “Ladies first.”

I thread my fingers through his dark, tousled curls, and bring him back. “I kissed you first to begin with. On Halloween. It’s your turn.”

He brushes his nose against mine. “I kissed you first on Christmas Eve. So it’s your turn.”

“We’re counting now?” My voice refuses to rise above a whisper. Marshall’s killing me. Another minute and I’ll die. Would he just kiss me already?

“You’re the one who started it. Also, the third try happened after the festival, on the side of the road.” Marshall takes my chin with his fingers and traces the edge of my lower lip while his dark green eyes caress the rest of my face.

I rise on my toes to reach his lips, but he pulls away again.

“What now?” I groan, dropping my head back.

“I love you.”

The way he says it—no playfulness, no teasing, but serious, his voice low and intense—steals all coherent thoughts from my brain. I stare at him, speechless. He said those words before, only a few hours ago, but this is different. I didn’t doubt he meant it then, but now… Now his attitude is solid and committed.

“Ya lyublyu tebya tozhe.”

We kiss. Marshall doesn’t kiss me first. Neither do I kiss him. Our lips meet halfway. Tentative and airy at first, the kiss gains slow and steady burn. My hands familiarize themselves with his shoulders, arms, and sides while Marshall kisses me on the forehead, the temple, down my jawline, on my neck. That last one steals my breath and makes me dizzy in the best kind of way.

“Marshall.” I whisper his name. I just want to be closer. As close as possible.

He draws a sharp breath and steps back over the threshold. “Sleep in. I’m going to.”

My body disagrees vehemently with this abrupt ending to our evening, but I’m grateful for the hit on the brakes. Not everything has to happen today.

“You think Zach will let us?” I lean in to kiss him one last time, but Marshall bursts out laughing.

“You know him well,” he says once he catches his breath. “Spi sladko, lyubov’ moya.”

Sweet dreams, my love.

I grab the front of his sweater and hold him in place until I steal that goodnight kiss. “You too.”