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He was already on his feet and wrapping his arms around my neck. “Then, let’s go,” he said, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
“Can I at least get dressed first?” I asked, pulling from his embrace to stand and show off the baggy T-shirt and threadbare sweatpants.
Peter laughed, before snaking his arms around my waist. “I think we can spare just a few minutes, yeah,” he said, then laid a gentle peck on my lips.
“Such a gentleman,” I teased before kissing him back.
***
“Now, here’s one for my listeners who like it a little grungy around the edges,” the DJ on my favorite radio station, 101.9 WROX, said as a familiar decrescendo began to play. “This is ‘Miss You Lately’ from Long Island’s own Angels of the Silences.”
I froze in my seat, unable to unknot the instant kinks in my gut, while Peter snickered beside me in the driver’s seat.
“Grunge?” He shook his head as he steered the car down another side street into a snootier part of town. “This band wouldn’t know grunge if it bit them in the ass.”
Dylan began to sing about the things of the past he never gave permission to leave while I hoped Peter wasn’t about to criticize a band I'd fight to the death for.
Even after everything.
“They got some influence from the grunge era,” I informed him, resisting the urge to immediately jump down his throat.
“Yeah, listening to their dads' old boom boxes,” he said with a snorted laugh.
“Uh, Dylan Pierce is thirty-nine. And he's a huge fan of Nirvana and Pearl Jam—not to mention, bands that came shortly after—”
“Babe, you don’t have to school me on grunge,” he interjected, offering a smile that leaned dangerously close to condescending. “I grew up, listening to those bands,” he went on, steering the wheel with one hand. “Iknow grunge. This band though?” He gestured toward the lit screen of the satellite radio presets. “They’re a bunch of posers.”
Biting the inside of my lip, I tried to force the words of protest and defense back down my throat. They hung onto my tongue, clinging tightly and screaming at me to let ‘em at him, but I didn’t want to fight with Peter. Not over something so silly. Not over a man I used to see but hadn’t even spoken to in weeks.
“Like, right there?” Peter pointed into the air as Dylan’s guitar wailed. “They took that straight from Soundgarden. Except Cornell did it thirty times better.”
But no matter what my relationship with Dylan had been, Angels of the Silences had been my favorite band for much, much longer. And with all due respect to Soundgarden and Mr. Cornell, I loved this band much, much more.
“This is my favorite band,” I stated, flat and void of emotion.
Peter’s lips fell open as we turned into a circular driveway at the end of a cul-de-sac. “Oh,” he said in a small voice. “W-well, you gotta admit, they’re not that great though. They kinda—”
“When I was sixteen, I was really depressed and sick of my life,” I told him, admitting things few people in my life knew. “I was sick of being a burden on my parents, and I was tired of watching all my friends get their licenses and move on without me.”
Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Oh, come on, Lennon—”
“No, wait.” I hurried to stop him from dismissing me. “I thought I’d be better off dead. And, yeah, maybe right now, I can look at that and think it was foolish, but at the time? I was completely serious. But then I saw this band come on MTV. I had loved them for a long time before then, but this was different. It’s really hard to explain, but something about that particular song, at that particular time, changed my life.”
As he stopped the car, he focused on my words, nodding gently. “I get it,” he replied quietly.
“No,” I said, shaking my head, “you don't. You have absolutely no idea. You didn't even notice me back then. You were too busy being popular, having girlfriends, and driving your fancy, new car Daddy had bought you.” He stared ahead at the steering wheel and pressed his lips into a firm line as I went on. “Peter, I don't begrudge you for any of it, and I'm not saying you didn't have your own ridiculous teenage issues to deal with. But you can never understand what any of this shit was like for me.”
He pulled in a deep breath, then nodded before finally turning his eyes on me. I didn't know if he could see my gaze behind my dark sunglasses, but I was looking back at him. Wondering what he thought after hearing my confession. Wondering if he felt differently for me now.
But then he smiled and snatched my hand from my lap, pulled it to his lips, and kissed my knuckles.
“I can get it without living it, and Idoget it,” he said in conclusion, and I lifted the corner of my mouth in a weak half-smile. Then, his elbow gave me a swift jab to the ribs. “But that doesn’t make them good.”
Laughing, I shoved him away. “Ass.”
“You love it.” He winked, then climbed out of the car to open my door while I questioned if I did.
Do I lovehim?
