Chapter 11 - Sandy

Chapter 11

Sandy

Austin, Texas, 1992

Love makes you crazy.Sandy Keays had scrawled the graffiti on the toilet door at The Club, when she was crushing on Nick Russo, the lead guitarist of Torn, a band that was touring the college circuit. He was older, cooler, and sexier than any guy she'd dated before. And he'd seduced her with ease in her freshman year of college. She thought about it every time she went into that club toilet and saw her graffiti. The sight of it always made her smile.

She'd been at UTex only a semester the first time she hooked up with him. She'd gone out with some girls from her dorm; there were always bands from out of town headlining the local clubs, and Sandy lived for music.

She still remembered what she'd been wearing: a red and black tartan skirt, Doc Martens, and a well-worn black T-shirt with a ragged hem. She wore her hair long, with sharp-cut bangs. Sandy made her friends come to The Club with her to see Torn, even though they were keener on Cherry Bar and the lineup of synth-goth bands there.

"You have to let me see Torn," Sandy begged. "They're from Arizona, and you know how homesick I am!"

"Homesick," her roommate, Melissa, scoffed. "You don't even want to go home for the break."

"If you had my parents, you wouldn't either." Sandy didn't want to think about her parents. Or rather, her mom and her stepfather. That was the year she wasn't talking to Dale, who she'd disowned because he was a jerk for cheating on her mom. She called him Dale to his face, which he hated, and she went by the surname Keays at college, which he hated even more.

"I adopted you," he complained. "Your name is Waller."

Not in Austin it wasn't. And she didn't ever want to use his name again.

Sandy had never seen Torn live, but she'd heard them on the radio, and they were good enough to line up for. Even if the lineup did have a bunch of normies in their orange and white Longhorns gear in it. "Oh my God, some of these people look like they'd go to a Bryan Adams concert," she said, taking in the frat boys and shiny trendy girls.

"Worse, Richard Marx," Melissa said, nose wrinkling.

"Take That," Lori giggled.

Sandy laughed. "They've probably even got the T-shirts to prove it."

"They probably wear the T-shirts."

"This is what you get for picking The Club over Cherry Bar," Melissa sighed.

Sandy popped a stick of gum and passed the pack around. She'd given up smoking a couple of weeks before and it was still a grind to get through a night out without a puff. "It could be worse, I could have asked you to go boot scootin'." Which was totally a thing around here.

The Club was pounding that night, with normies and with the cooler indie kids. Torn was one of those bands that played to wider audiences, like the Chili Peppers or REM. Once Sandy and her friends had slid in, gliding through the velvet rope thanks to their short skirts, they headed straight for the dance floor. None of them were old enough to legally drink and they didn't have fake IDs, so they had to wait until someone offered to buy them booze. Which usually didn't take long.

Sandy usually kept to just a vodka orange juice or two. Melissa, on the other hand, was prone to getting hammered. "You're in charge of her tonight," Sandy yelled at Lori over the music. "I don't want to miss the show." She left her friends and pushed her way to the front row of the mezzanine, where she had a perfect view of the stage.

It was hot and steamy in the windowless club, so much so that it felt like sweat was dripping off the walls. Which might explain why, when the band came out, they were minus their shirts. The lead singer and the drummer were completely bare from the waist up, and the singer had a total Anthony Kiedis vibe. But it was the lead guitarist Sandy noticed. He'd caught her eye when he sauntered out from the wings. He was sex on legs, lanky and muscular, in an unbuttoned red flannel shirt, which hung loose to his hips. His jeans hung low, revealing razor-sharp hipbones and a dark shadow of hair beneath his navel. And, oh God, he had abs like Keanu Reeves. He glanced up and saw her at the rail. She saw him clock her and felt a thrill when his gaze slid all over her.

He was hot.

They weren't the best band she'd ever heard (that honor went to Nirvana, who she saw at the Sun Club in Tempe the year before), but they were pretty good. Really thick guitarscapes. Just weak on the rhythm section, which was a shame as it made them janglier and looser than suited the songs. They needed to be toughened up.

But still, it was better than your usual gig. And worth it for that lead guitarist.

That very hot, very aggressive lead guitarist, who came straight for her after the show, carrying a couple of plastic cups of beer. He didn't say a word, just passed her the beer, and gave her a look that could have melted the Arctic.

"Hi," Sandy said, a little breathlessly, taking the cup, even though she didn't like beer.

"Hi." He leaned against the rail.

Sandy couldn't believe he'd singled her out. She was only a freshman. He was so confident. Like he wasn't scared of anything. Sandy mimicked his pose and took a sip of the beer, trying not to pull a face at its sweaty hoppiness. He still had his shirt open, and she couldn't stop looking at his chest.

He slid along the rail until they were close enough that she could smell him: sharp, tangy sweat, beer, and the powdery, piney scent of cheap body spray. "I'm Nick." His voice was deep and rough. He seemed so grown up, slightly dangerous, not someone you could tease.

"Sandy." She introduced herself, trying to sound casual. He had dark brown eyes, and they were looking at her like he wanted to eat her.

"Sandy? Like in Grease?" He slid another inch closer.

No one had hit on her like this before. It was like something out of a movie.

"Yeah, like in Grease. Virginal. Can't you tell?"

He cracked a smile at that. "I don't believe you're a virgin."

Sandy liked the way he was looking at her. It made her tingle all over.

He'd slid so close his chest was brushing hers.

"You guys sounded good tonight," Sandy said. She flicked her hair, feeling the faint friction of him against her breasts as she moved.

"I know." Then, without preamble, he kissed her. There was no asking for permission. He just kissed her.

And hell, he was good at it. This was a dude who'd had a lot of experience kissing girls. He was straight in with the tongue, but it wasn't forceful.

"You want to get out of here?" he asked.

Did Sandy want to get out of there? With him? Yes, Sandy did.

She loved the way people watched them as he led her out of the club. People had been watching them make out too. She felt flushed and horny and desirable as all hell. That's what Nick did to her. He made her feel like the hottest woman in the room, like every guy was watching them, envying him. And she knew every girl was envying her.

They hooked up in his van, and the guy actually went down on her. Which she'd read about but not actually had anyone do to her before. It was transcendental. A little awkward at first, because it was beyond intimate (and a little anxiety inducing) to have a guy put his face right between your legs, but once he got going she couldn't think, let alone feel any awkwardness or anxiety. She felt like a goddess. It was amazing.

He didn't run off after either. He pulled her into his arms, and they lay in the back seat of the van, their clothes tangled around them. She could feel him breathing hard, and then his breath slowed, like an ebbing tide. He toyed with her hair, winding it around his finger.

"Thanks," he said. Like she'd just played a good game of tennis with him or something. And then he drove her home and walked her to her dorm.

"Nice to know you, Sandy-the-not-a-virgin," he said, kissing her goodbye.

"Hey," she called as he walked off. "Don't be shy next time you're in town?"

He gave her a salute. "We're back in spring."

Sandy made sure she was back in spring too, right there at the rail on the mezzanine of The Club. The exact same spot as last time. That time he got her number after they hooked up, and now and then he actually called. He'd fill her in on what he was up to, and then he'd get hot and heavy on the phone, and it was just as hot as when he was there in person. By then, Sandy was obsessed. No one compared to Nick Russo. Certainly not the guys in her classes, or at the clubs around campus.

She went back to The Club a lot, and stood at the rail, and had vivid daydreams that Nick would walk in and see her, and slide along that rail, and then take her all the way to heaven.

But of course he didn't. He was touring. Or at home in Arizona.

With his girlfriend.

Sandy found out about the girlfriend when she was home for summer break, housesitting for her parents in Phoenix while they were off on vacation. She'd refused to go on vacation with them. Mom had rolled her eyes about it, but Dale had been furious, asking how come she was happy to accept her education from him, but not a vacation.

"Leave her be," Mom said, trying to soothe him. "She'll get over it. She's just being a teenager."

"I'm in college," Sandy had called out. "I'm not some damn kid." She was so goddamn mad at her mom for going on that vacation. How could she forgive him? She'd always thought her mom was so tough. But she wasn't. She was pathetic.

So Sandy stayed home by herself while Mom and Dale took Jacqui to some resort in Florida. She spent most of the summer reading books and listening to CDs, keeping an eye out to see if Torn was playing anywhere nearby. Eventually, in late August, she found them listed in the gig guide, playing as a support act at the Mesa amphitheater.

Sandy dressed casual, like she wasn't out to impress, but there was nothing casual about it. She wore her new denim cut offs, with a tight white tank, no bra, and her Docs. She'd recently cut her hair into a Winona Ryder–style blunt bob and was looking forward to debuting it to Nick. She looked fresh, but with an edge. And she couldn't wait to surprise him.

The gig was enormous. A proper summer concert, the air perfumed with weed, and the beer flowing freely. Sandy couldn't get anywhere near the front. Fine. She'd hit up the security guard backstage after the concert to tell Nick she was here. She was sure Nick would see her. He always did.

Torn had grown in popularity in the last few months. They'd had a couple of singles that had scraped the bottom of the charts, "Scoring Points" and "Hot Line," and had been landing higher-profile support gigs, like this one. Sandy's heart was in her mouth as she saw the band come out. There he was, his hair longer and shaggier, his shirt still unbuttoned. She felt an absurd burst of pride as she watched the gig. She knew him. And he knew her. And all these people around her would die of envy if they knew.

But then the unthinkable happened. A girl ran from the wings with a bottle of beer for him. She was tall and leggy, in a skintight cami dress, and her thick crown of henna red curls bounced as she ran. Sandy watched, horrified, but not entirely surprised, as Nick—her Nick—kissed the leggy girl in front of everyone. There were tongues involved, and the crowd cheered them on. It was only as she heard the murmurs from the crowd around her that Sandy realized who the girl was—Rachel Kelly, the lead singer of the headlining band.

And even though Nick had never promised her anything, and they clearly weren't dating, Sandy felt like the world had just fallen out from under her feet. It was dumb. Because of course he had other girls.

When the headliners took the stage—that hennaed hot girl up front on a mic—Sandy left her to it and headed backstage.

"Can you tell Nick Russo from Torn that Sandy Keays is here to see him?" she asked, keeping her shoulders back so the security guard got a good view of her braless tank. Security were always nicer after they copped a look.

The guy passed her message along on his walkie-talkie and then just stood there staring at her boobs. Sandy moved to stand against the fencing, her heart pounding. She didn't know if she'd be able to pull Nick away from the gravitational pull of the redhead on stage or not. She could hear the redhead singing. She was good. Her band was definitely better than Torn.

Sandy shifted restlessly in the heat. It was an oppressively hot August night. She wished she'd worn flip-flops instead of her Docs. Only there was nothing tough about flip-flops, and she needed the edge to be confident enough to approach Nick like this.

"Well, hey."

Sandy went hot with pleasure when she saw Nick at the backstage gate.

"How you doing, Sandy the not-a-virgin?"

The security guard smirked at that.

"I'm good. You?" She bit her lip, trying to contain her grin. He was glad to see her.

"I'm good. Now." He was doing that dropped head, peering up through his floppy fringe thing that he did. "What are you doing outta Texas?"

"I live around here," she said, feeling weirdly shy. "Or my folks do."

"Is that right?" He hooked his fingers into the chain link fencing behind her head.

"Yeah. You're from Arizona too, right?" She tilted her head to accept his ducking kiss.

"I am," he breathed, leaning into her. "Phoenix born and bred."

"Me too." This was everything she'd hoped for.

But then he broke away. "Ah," he sighed regretfully. "I can't. My girl's here tonight."

"Your girl?" Sandy could taste ashes.

"Yeah, I mean what happens on tour stays on tour, you know? But not when she's on tour with me . . ."

"Right. Rachel Kelly."

"Yeah." He still had his fingers linked into the chain link fence over her head and his body was all but brushing hers. "God, it's hard not to touch you, though."

Sandy shivered. His gaze was full of longing. For her.

He ducked his head and pressed a kiss to the column of her neck. "How long are you here for?"

"Only another few days, before I have to go back and get ready for school."

He touched his forehead to hers and stared deep into her eyes. She could hear him breathing heavily.

"I'm home alone . . . ," she told him. "My family's all on vacation."

"Is that so?" He rubbed the tip of his nose against the tip of hers. "I might have some time on Monday . . ."

* * *

Nick spent more than just Monday with her. He arrived on her doorstep, rumpled and tired from too many late nights, and he didn't seem to want to leave.

"There's something about you," he said as they sat on the edge of her parents' pool drinking iced tea and talking about not much of anything at all. The Nick Russo who'd turned up that Monday was different from the one she hooked up with after gigs. This Nick Russo was tender with exhaustion, boyish, and weirdly vulnerable.

"What's the something about me?" Sandy asked, desperate to know. Was it beauty? Style? Wit? Cool?

Nick shrugged. "I don't know. You like me or something. I mean, you're happy to hang, not just fuck."

Oh. Sandy wasn't sure she liked that answer.

"I'm just a dumb guy when I'm off stage. I'm not fit for much other than sex."

Sandy was shocked. How could Nick Russo be insecure? He was Nick Russo. "You're not dumb," she protested.

"Yeah, I am. My mother says I was back of the line the day brains were handed out." He drained his iced tea and put the glass down with a gentle clink.

"I have never once thought you were dumb," Sandy told him honestly.

"Well, I'm no college kid like you. The closest I get to college is playing in campus bars."

"You could go to college if you wanted." Sandy moved her bare feet through the bright blue pool water. It was oddly thrilling to see this side of Nick. She wondered if she was the only person that he'd shown this side to, or if Rachel Kelly had access to him too....

"Nah. No money. And no hope of a scholarship. Besides, could you imagine me in a classroom?" He pulled a face.

His dark eyes were sad. It tugged at Sandy's heart.

"Want to go for a swim?" she asked.

They spent the rest of the day lazily drifting in the pool and talking about music. Nick stayed all night, and the next night, and the next. They spent days together, just the two of them, eating cornflakes and drinking coffee; swimming and watching TV. It was regular and really nice. There was nothing of the rock star about him as he watched Melrose Place with her and helped her finish the crosswords in Dale's newspapers.

After he kissed her goodbye and went back to his band and his girlfriend, Sandy went back to Austin and tried to focus on her studies between his visits. Which was hard. Because she thought about him all the time. And while she was happy for him that Torn was booked onto national tours as an opening support act, she missed him. Torn had outgrown The Club, so he was never in Austin anymore. After a while his calls grew infrequent too, and she began to suspect he'd be a memory from her college years that made her smile, and nothing more. Love makes you crazy. The graffiti was a record of their mad hookups, and it still made her smile every time she saw it on the toilet door at The Club. It was proof they'd happened.

In junior year she started dating Scott Torres. One of his frat brothers was seeing Melissa, so they were thrown together all the time, at parties and weekends away, concerts and gigs. And he was hot and friendly and fun. She couldn't see any reason not to date him. He was a good kisser and good in bed, he liked live music, he liked reading, and he was interested in her when she talked about her studies. Which she did a lot, because she was enjoying her social work degree. She believed in it and had big plans.

Besides, it was nice having someone around all the time. Instead of a lover who was always somewhere else in the country. With someone else. If Nick could do it, she could do it too.

Only Scott wasn't an after-gig fling. He was deadly serious about her and looking for exclusivity. He even bought her an amethyst necklace for Christmas—it was an unpolished amethyst on a black thong that was so cool she never took it off. Sandy really liked him, and she really liked that he liked her.

So she committed to it. She even took Scott home to meet the 'rents. And month by month the love makes you crazy graffiti became an artifact of her past.

Until spring of '92, when Nick called.

"Hey, Sandy!" Melissa beckoned her to the phone, giving her a significant look. "It's Nick." As she handed the phone over, she touched her forefinger to the amethyst dangling from the leather choker at Sandy's neck.

Sandy rolled her eyes. As if I would, she mouthed. But her heart was thumping away like a runaway horse. She turned her back on Melissa, who pointedly sat down and opened a magazine, her big ears listening in.

"Hi," Sandy said, managing to keep her voice calm.

"Hi yourself." It was the same deep and dangerous flirty voice.

"I haven't heard from you in a while," she said mildly. "How's the touring?"

"Oh, you know, constant. Just about to ramp up again for spring too. And then we've got shows booked all summer."

Right. Of course. Sandy felt a stupid stab of disappointment. She didn't know what she expected. That he'd called to say he'd realized how much he missed her and was giving it all up for her? Sure. And pigs were going to fly.

"I guess you're calling because you're coming to town?" she said, sounding calm and mature. Even though she felt the opposite.

"Something like that."

"You'll have to tell me when you're coming," she kept her tone light, "so my boyfriend and I can come see you." She put emphasis on the word boyfriend.

There was a beat of silence. "Cool," he said, but she could hear a new tension in his voice.

Good.

"Be great to meet him."

Not good.

"What's his name?"

"Scott." Sandy turned and faced Melissa again. Her friend had given up all pretense of reading the magazine and was staring, engrossed in Sandy's side of the conversation.

"Scott?" Nick Russo sounded completely unimpressed.

"He's studying mechanical engineering," Sandy said blithely.

"Is he, now?"

"I think you'd really like him."

"I'm sure I would." Another beat. "Are you and Scott living together, then?"

Sandy frowned. He wasn't sounding at all upset now. He was taking it in his damn stride. "No. He's Greek."

"He's Greek? Like as in Animal House or Revenge of the Nerds or something?" Nick Russo made it sound deeply uncool. "So, he lives in a frat with a bunch of other dudes, instead of with you?"

Sandy almost giggled. This was more like it. He was jealous.

"So, Scott the Greek isn't there with you right now, then? He's off at a kegger with a bunch of bro-dudes?"

"He's in class, if you must know. He has late classes."

"Right. Engineering things."

"When are you coming, so Scott and I can put it in the calendar?" she asked coolly.

He told her. "Best make sure it doesn't clash with a kegger," he drawled.

"We'll make sure," she said sweetly. "And give my love to Rachel Kelly. I saw she's gone solo."

"Yeah," he sounded disgusted, "she sure has. We broke up."

Sandy jumped like someone had given her an electric shock. What? They broke up, she mouthed at Melissa.

"Uh-oh," Melissa groaned. And then she jabbed her finger at the amethyst.

Sandy glared at her.

"Anyway, Sands, it's been nice to chat. Talk again soon?"

"Oh, wait," Sandy panicked. It was too quick. She didn't want this to end yet . . .

But he was already signing off, and then she was just holding the buzzing receiver, standing there like an idiot. She dropped it in its cradle with a clatter, feeling empty and angry and full of bad feeling.

But then there was a lazy rapping at the front door.

Sandy and Melissa looked at one another.

"He wouldn't . . . ," Melissa said. But they both knew he would.

Sandy dashed for the door.

And there was Nick Russo, leaning against the wall outside the front door of her share house. She'd moved off campus in sophomore year, and given him her address, just in case. Now and then he sent postcards from wherever he was.

Nick was wearing a pair of John Lennon–style round sunglasses and a flannel shirt open over a gray T-shirt. He was a study in casual cool and was giving her a wolfish smile.

"Hey," he said.

Hey. Like they hadn't just talked on the phone.

"Hey," she said back, also playing it cool. "Didn't know you were coming to town."

"Well, it was a sudden thing," he drawled. "I was home in Phoenix, and I went past your folks' place and, wouldn't you know it, I just got to missing you."

The thing about Nick was, you kind of knew he was playing you. But you didn't care. She didn't care. Because he played so well. And maybe there was a part of him, that boyish and vulnerable hidden part, that wasn't playing at all.

"I guess you want to come in?" she said, opening the door to let him in. Her whole body was singing to be in his presence.

"I always do." He lowered his sunglasses, and his dark eyes gave her an appreciative stare. Oh, she'd missed that look. No one else looked at her that way, not even Scott. Nick Russo looked at her like she was delectable. Irresistible. Just what he'd been hungering for his entire life.

He slid past her, his body brushing hers.

Melissa was in the hallway glaring at them.

"You remember Melissa?" Sandy was nervous under Melissa's judgment, but unable to refuse Nick. She wanted him there. More than she wanted Melissa's approval.

Nick was like nicotine. She knew she shouldn't want it, but she did. No matter how many times she quit, no matter how many times she suffered through withdrawal, she wanted it. She thought she'd always want it, even if she never smoked another cigarette, even if she never let Nick in ever again, she'd still want them both on a cellular level.

Once an addict, always an addict.

"Sure," Nick said. He put his hands in his pockets and stared straight back at Melissa. And then he smiled, that deeply sexy smile.

And even Melissa flushed and melted. She was still unhappy about it on Scott's account, and maybe on Sandy's account too, but she kind of understood.

"You want anything?" Sandy asked, gesturing to their little kitchen. The place was a rundown old 1920s bungalow that they rented for peanuts. But it was a whole house, big enough for four of them to share, and it was close to campus.

"Show me your room?" he suggested.

Sandy didn't need to be asked twice. She was glad she'd cleaned up on the weekend, she thought as she swung the door open. Her room was at the back of the house, with a window facing directly into the yard, with its overgrown grass and spreading live oak. Her room was furnished with thrift store finds, and she'd covered the bare globe that hung from the ceiling with a fat white rice paper shade that she'd bought for four bucks. There were books on every surface.

As she led Nick in, she noticed she still had a CD playing on the stereo, the Smashing Pumpkins' Gish. It was on "Crush," which seemed appropriate.

She saw him clock the poster of himself opposite her bed, and a ghost of a smile chased across his face at the sight of it, and then he prowled her room, examining her books and opening her lecture pad to read her notes. She closed the door quietly, feeling shy now that he was in her space.

"Who's this? Scott?" He lifted a framed photo from the mantlepiece.

Clearly not. The photo was old.

"That's my dad." Sandy was glad that was the only photo she had out. Jimmy was cool. Not like Dale. He was so normie it hurt. But Jimmy Keays wasn't. In that photo, her only photo of him, he was young, wearing aviator sunglasses and a cocky expression. He had long hair and tight jeans, and he had attitude.

"Oh yeah?" Nick held the photo closer and examined it. "He doesn't look like you."

"No, I look like my mom." Sandy pulled a face.

"I wouldn't complain," he said, shooting her a flirty look. "You got some good genes."

"Not good enough to warrant a visit from you lately." She wondered if he ever thought about their stolen few days in Phoenix, the easy comfort of it, the lack of pretense. The cornflakes and all.

He put the photo of Jimmy Keays down and sat on her bed. He patted the mattress next to him. "Well, I'm here now."

"For how long?"

He considered her. "How long do you need?"

Without thinking, Sandy blurted out the truth. "How long can you give me?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Oh yeah? And what about Scott?"

Love makes you crazy, Sandy thought. And what did she have to lose? "I'm only with Scott because you're not around."

"Lonely, huh?" He flopped back on her bed. "Yeah, me too."

And there he was, the Nick from Phoenix, appearing from behind the mask.

He rubbed his face tiredly. "It's a bummer being on the road all the time. It's fun for a while, but, I don't know, after a while you want to get beyond first conversations with people, you know?"

Sandy's chest tightened. He looked exhausted. "What about Rachel?"

"What about Rachel?"

"You clearly got past first conversations with her." Was he lonely only because they'd broken up? Or was he here because he longed for the ease of his few Phoenix days with Sandy? Did he want more than just sex?

"I guess." He stared at the ceiling. "She never really got me, though. You know?"

Rachel hadn't had access to this, then, Sandy thought triumphantly. Because you couldn't understand Nick until you saw him without his mask. Nick was just a lonely boy.

"She was cool and all. And fun. But . . ." He turned his head, and his dark eyes were more vulnerable than she'd ever seen them. "We're just not on the same frequency." He reached out and took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. "Not like with you."

Sandy wanted to believe him, even though she knew a line when she heard one.

She had a choice to make, she supposed. She could choose to believe him, and lay down next to him on the bed, and keep this wild magic thing going. Or she could choose not to believe him, and say goodbye to Nick Russo.

Or . . . maybe she could choose to kind of believe him, and kind of not?

Because maybe he kind of believed his own bullshit too, and kind of didn't? And maybe he needed someone who kind of believed, and kind of didn't? Because it was lonely kind of believing all by yourself.

He sighed, squeezing her hand like he'd read her mind. "I've got issues, I guess."

"Don't we all," she said dryly. Then she cocked her head. "What kind of issues?"

He laughed. "How much time have you got?"

"All the time, for you." She crawled over him and lay next to him, taking his hand again as soon as she was comfortable.

"Just the usual shit, I guess," he said, still staring at her ceiling. "Parents who broke up when I was a kid, dad who ran off, mom who needed me to be her everything but who had nothing to give me in return."

"My dad ran off too," Sandy blurted as he trailed off.

"That guy in the picture?" He turned to regard her curiously.

She nodded.

"They're fuckers, aren't they, dads."

She nodded. "Every year on my birthday I used to check the letterbox to see if there was a card. Like one year he'd realize how much he was missing out on me, and he'd post something." She paused. "But there was never any card."

"I'll tell you what, Sands," he said, rolling over. "I promise you I'll send you a card every year on your birthday. Fuck dads, right?" He ran a finger down the line of her cheek and Sandy felt like crying with the tenderness of it.

"What about you?" she asked softly.

"Oh, I don't need cards," he breathed, wriggling closer.

She laughed. "I know what you need."

"No." He laughed too. "Well, yes. That too. Always."

"What, then?"

"Just love me," he said. "And don't leave me. Everyone always leaves."

"I swear," she said fervently, wanting to give that to him so bad it hurt. "I swear I will love you, and never leave you. If you don't leave me too."

"It's a lot to ask of you," he admitted, staring into her eyes. "You don't even know me."

"I know you," she protested. "Or at least I'm starting to." And she wanted to love someone so badly. Someone who would put her in the center and never leave her. It could be her and Nick, and no one else. "You're worth it," she told him, leaning forward to kiss him, but what she was actually thinking was that she was worth it. He made her feel worth it. He could have any girl he wanted, and yet he had showed up here at her door, begging for her love.

"I'm not," he warned her. "I'm a fuckup."

"No." She wouldn't hear it. "You're everything." And she'd be everything too. They'd be everything for each other. And she wouldn't be alone anymore.

"When you say it," he sighed, looking like a little kid, "I almost believe it." And then he relaxed back into her pillows as she kissed him. And that was that. She ditched the rest of junior year and went on tour with him.

And, true to his word, every year Nick sent her a card on her birthday. And he never left her for good. It mattered.