Chapter 16

Stevie McGabe

Rhea plops down on the chair next to me and holds a flyer under my nose. “Smit is, like, really keen for me to go to this shit…he’s given me like four of these today,” she shakes her head, rolling her eyes. I give her a little smile.

I already knew about the gig; my whole family was going to support Darryl at his first gig in San Francisco.

After his caveman act at the party on the weekend, I’d thought it was the start of him coming back to being my Darryl, the sweet friend Darryl…but after he’d shouted at me and accused me of, I don’t know what exactly, he’d gone back to ignoring me.

I doubted very much he wanted me to be at his band’s gig, so I had already planned my TV schedule for that night.

“So, what time should I pick you up?”

“I’m not going.” I shake my head.

“Dude…if you think Darryl isn’t fucking gagging for you to be there, watching him do his sexy drummer shit, you’re fucking delusional.”

I can’t help but find Darryl across the classroom, hoping Rhea’s voice hadn’t traveled that well above the noise of our other classmates. His green eyes flick away from me so quickly I almost didn’t catch him looking, and I can’t help the small smile from playing on my lips.

“Yeah…okay. We can go to the dumb gig.”

Rhea slumps back. “Fuck…I hate metal bands.”

***

Feeling a little self-conscious in the outfit I’d borrowed from Abi, I slip into the booth my parents had squeezed into with Abi and Jake, Rhea squashing in next to me. “Look at you, little Miss Rock Chick!” Jake grins at me, raising his drink at me.

“Thanks, Jake,” I feel my cheeks blush a little.

The band starts to take their place on the small stage area of the bar, and I try to ignore the little trill of excitement which runs through me when I see a shirtless Darryl take his place on his drum stool and twirl his drumsticks.

Even though the music isn’t to my taste, I can’t say I wasn’t impressed with them.

I know that Darryl had been taught by the drummer of Abi’s old band, and she had obviously taught him how to do that screamy growl type of singing, which actually went really well with Smit’s softer vocal style.

Both him and their bassist seemed really proficient at their instruments too; it was amazing to think the three of them had only been rehearsing together for a short time, they were so tight.

Looking over, I find unexpected tears spring to my eyes as I see the look on Abi’s face.

In place of the stress and upset I’d seen etched on it over the past few weeks, she looked happy.

Unadulterated joy makes her eyes shimmer with pride as she watches her son, and I feel a little like a voyeur watching her.

The band finishes, and I drag Rhea over to the bar when I see the boys approaching our families. “Well, for something which is just noise, it was okay noise, I suppose,” Rhea sips her coke as I keep my eyes trained on the booth.

Darryl looks slightly embarrassed at the praise both sets of our parents are heaping on him and his friends, but I catch the little upturning of his mouth which gives him away.

My heart warms at the sight of him hugging his mom and pressing a soft kiss to her temple, and I can’t stop from wrapping my arms tightly around myself in joy. Maybe he was coming back to me.

***

Two weeks later, and it was abundantly clear Darryl was so far down the dark path I wasn’t sure he would ever find his way back.

Since the gig, he had been stumbling home in the early hours of the morning, with gory split knuckles, split lips, bloody noses, drunk or high or both.

I was running on minimal sleep, unable to fully settle until I heard him return, knocking into the trash cans or falling onto the floor.

Sometimes I would watch him from my bedroom window until he picked himself up and managed to drag himself into his house, sometimes I went down and picked him up and brought him into mine.

On those occasions, he would allow me to patch him up and put him to bed, but he was always gone long before I woke up again.

I’m pretty sure my dad had caught him sneaking out when he was going out for his early morning run, but he’d never said anything to me about having a boy in my room at night.

At school, Darryl resolutely ignored me still, except for the occasions I caught him unawares. Like now, with Brodie leaning over the desk copying the assignment out of my notebook, I could practically feel the heat of his green eyes burning into my back.

“Care to tell me why the freak is looking at me like he wants to kill me?”

I frown at Brodie. “He’s not a freak. Just because he doesn’t wear a letterman jacket and blue jeans, you think he’s not normal?!”

“Okay, okay…jeez!” Brodie puts his hands up.

“Okay, guys!” Mr. Jenkins, our chem teacher, claps his hands together at the front of the classroom to get our attention. “This next project is going to make up fifty percent of your final grade, and just to make it a little easier on you all, I’ve decided to let you work in pairs!”

He grins over the excited hubbub of people grabbing their friends.

Brodie smirks at me, and as he opens his mouth, Darryl pushes in between the two of us.

“Fuck off, football boy, and find someone else to carry you in this class, she’s mine.”

With a not-so-subtle roll of his eyes, Brodie backs away, leaving me sitting with a broody Darryl.

I’m not going to lie, the way he proclaimed me as his gave me a little thrill, but glancing over at my new lab partner, I wish he hadn’t bothered.

He was obviously just making a point to Brodie, some pissing match I didn’t understand.

“Do you want to set up, or should I?” Darryl gives a one-shoulder shrug, keeping his gaze down at his phone.

“O-kay. Well…once it’s set up, should I record the findings, or do you want me to do the experiment?” He lifts his shoulder slightly again, not lifting his eyes once to look at me. I huff exasperatedly, slamming my textbook shut and muttering an oath under my breath.

I know that Brodie would have just used me to get the grade, but at least he would have flirted with me while I did the hard work; all Darryl was going to do is ignore me, obviously.

“After all the times I’ve scraped you up off your ass when you’re drunk, you could at least help me a little,” I snap.

“I never asked you to do fucking anything for me,” Darryl snarls, abruptly standing up and pulling his backpack over his shoulder.

I watch somewhat stupefied as he strides out of the classroom, ignoring the call of Mr. Jenkins.

“What was that about? Is Darryl okay?” he questions.

“I wish I knew,” I sigh.