© Copyright 2012
All work is property of Leah Crichton, any duplication or reproduction of all or part of the work without explicit permission by the author is illegal.

He'd fallen asleep hunched over the keys of the piano. When Devin's hand brushed his shoulder, it was the best he could do to moan in agony.

“Sawyer,” she whispered. “It's nine thirty. Aren't you late?”

“Don't care,” he said into the keys.

“Can you move?” she whispered.

“Don't think so.”

Devin's hands began to push into his shoulders. “You have knots,” she said. “You should get that taken care of.”

“Thanks sugar for pointing out the obvious, unfortunately time is a little hard to come by these days.” He still couldn't move. Jesus, he felt like he'd had his asked kicked.

“Make time,” Lane's voice cut in. “Your health is important.”

“Told to the chain smoking, booze hound slash motorcycle driver. Makes perfect sense,” Sawyer said sarcastically. “Help me.”

“Please,” Devin whispered. “Manners.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes to no one but the ivories stuck to his face. “Help me please.”

“Shove over, Dev,” Lane said. Sawyer could feel Lane's body behind his seconds before the pressure of Lane's two hundred pounds dug into the sore spot between his houlders. Lane somehow managed to wrap Sawyers arms around his like he was going to hold him in a full nelson before he said, “take a deep breath on the count of three.”

Sawyer braced himself for impact knowing Lane was about to send him into a world of hurt.

“One,” Lane said.

Sawyer sucked in a breath.

“Two.”

Another.

“Three.” He didn't award Sawyer with the opportunity to take the deep breath as he'd instructed before he lurched his body up and back, sending a grotesque and audible cracking from his tailbone to the nape of his neck.

“Ah, I hate you!” he yelled.

Lane released his arms. “No, you don't. Quit bein' a baby and get up. You're late for work.”

Sawyer stood. “Work implies that I'm getting paid, which I'm not. I'm late for the bullshit community service and to be honest I can't bring myself to care.”

“Will you care when the judge sends you to prison?”

Sawyer's jaw tightened. “She did send me to prison. It's called Paper Planes. I'm phoning in sick.”

“You can't just call in sick for community service. That's not how it works.”

Sawyer gave Devin a wink. “Watch me,” he said. “Can you put coffee on?”

Lane adjusted the waist on his sweats and turned shaking his head. “It's like the last supper but the last coffee instead. You're a dead man.”

Devin was worried. “What if you get in trouble?”

“Don't worry sugar, I won't. Hey, thanks for the present,” he gave a nod to the piano. “I can't say I recommend sleeping on it though. Give me a hug, darlin'.”

Devin's face changed at the mention of his piano. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. “I knew you'd love it. But it was Lane's idea.”

Sawyer stood in the living room, holding Devin in his arms and it was easy to forget about everything else. About Sadie and how mad she was. About Alexa and the crap he'd pulled on her. It was just Devin, the only one who he ever seemed good enough for. He kissed her forehead. “Love ya, sugar.”

Devin pulled away. “Love you too. Will you teach me how to play?”

His insides clenched, remembering Alexa saying she'd always wanted to learn. “''Course I'll teach you.”

Devin beamed. “So cool. Hey I can join the talent competition at school next year.”

Sawyer nodded. “You could.”

“I didn't have a talent until now.”

“Coffee,” Lane shouted from the kitchen. “And Dev, you do have a talent. You put up with Sawyer. Take my word for it, it's a skill some people work years on and you picked it up right away.”

Sawyer couldn't help but smirk. Lane was funny shit when he wanted to be.

After he had a coffee in hand Lane looked considerably more awake. “What do you want to do today then?”

“Are you kidding me? Band practice.”

Lane brought his cup to his mouth and smiled. “I thought you'd never ask.”

The studio smelled of fresh paint. Someone had been in recently and coated the walls in a deep blue which reminded Sawyer of the living room curtains in the penthouse. After their first album soared up the charts, Moody decided they were worth the investment and essentially converted a warehouse space into the studio where they could record and rehearse.

Sometimes it felt more like home to Sawyer than home did but that was because he'd never been used to having one, a home, that is... at least not in the traditional sense of the word.

His guitars were lined up like soldiers and beckoned him. He picked one up, a custom made Manson he'd had shipped from London. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers along the smooth surface until he got to the strings. He felt every ridge in the string, every fret on its neck and something inside him stirred.

Robbie's voice echoed loudly. “Do you need a minute with your guitar, dude?”

Sawyer didn't bother opening his eyes. “Depends, do you need your drumstick shoved-”

“Hey,” Lane shouted. “Watch it. You brought Devin, remember?”

Sawyer smirked and his eyes flew open to settle on Devin. “Sorry sugar.”

Devin giggled. “You're vulgar.”

Sawyer shrugged as if there was really nothing he could do. “Can't be perfect at everything.”

“Of course you can, I'm a perfect example of being perfect,” Sebastian said. He'd walked in with Charlie at his side.

Charlie scoffed and poked him in the arm. “Behind every perfect man, there is a perfecter woman.”

Sebastian turned his head to face her, grinning like a fool. “Baby, you're perfecter even if there is no such thing because you just invented that word."

“It's a privilege reserved for the exceptional portion of the population,” Charlie said.

Sawyer set the guitar down. “Awesome. That means I can invent the word lovepuke.”

Charlie arched a brow. “What?”

“Lovepuke,” Sawyer said. “It means you two are so in love, I'm going to puke.”

Sebastian scooped Charlie in his arms and rushed to the couch. When he set her down he kissed her and she squirmed underneath him. “Sebastian!” she scolded. “My sister.”

Sebastian promptly got up. “Sorry, Dev, I wanted to see if Sawyer would toss his cookies.”

“Speaking of love, how'd your date go Robbie?” Lane asked.

Robbie looked off into the distance and sighed. “She's the Juliet to my Romeo, the Bonnie to my Clyde, the Rose to my Jack.”

Lane picked up his bass and twisted the pegs while one finger strummed each cord individually. His hand craned down to hear above the talking. “Sounds pretty serious.”

“Only one date,” Robbie said. “I'm waiting five days to call her.”

Sawyer laughed. “Why?”

“Guy rule,” Robbie said simply as if that explained everything.

“What guy rule?” Sawyer pressed. “Whatchu talkin' about, Willis?”

“You know if you like a girl you don't call for five days. The guy version of playing hard to get.”

“Or playing a social retard,” Sawyer volunteered.

Devin flopped on the couch. “That's a really dumb rule, Robbie.”

“It's bro code,” Robbie said, unshaken.

“It's suicide for your love life,” Devin argued.

“Right, 'cause your so well informed about love lives. No offense Dev but you're like fourteen.”

“Duh,” Devin said. “The same age as you maturity wise. Point is, if a guy didn't call me for five days, he isn't worth my time.”

Robbie frowned. “Really?”

“Really,” the entire room said at once.

Robbie paled. “I gotta call her!”

“No,” Sawyer said. “We need to practice.”

“Start without me,” Robbie said. “I have to go and call her.”

Sebastian left Charlie beside her sister on the couch beore going to collect his own guitar. “Okay, that Summer Solstice is in two weeks. We need a set list and we need practice now more then ever in light of Sawyer's time away. So let's get this done, I got a perfecter woman to take out later.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes. What the hell was with everybody and females? They just complicated everything.

Alexa glanced at her watch again. 10:30 am. Where was he? She checked in on Sadie, curious to see if Sawyer was there but found Gabby and Sadie talking instead so she headed for the kitchen. Babs busied herself kneading dough. Flour coated every surface, including her nose. “Hey Babs,” she said.

“Good morning sweetheart. What brings you down to the pressure cooker?”

“I was wondering if maybe you'd seen Sawyer this morning.” She prayed she didn't sound too hopeful, even though it was unlikely.

Babs flipped the dough, her hands moving through it like a masseuse. “I'm afraid not.”

“Okay then, thanks.”

She was going to turn and leave when Babs asked, “something wrong?”

Bab's innocent question froze Alexa's feet to the floor. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure can,” Babs said. “What's on your mind?”

She did a quick inhale to pump herself up and went for it. “If you knew someone who had a terrible past,” she said. “How would you help them?”

“I suppose that would greatly be affected by what their past was,” Babs replied. “Not everyone needs help, not the kind that your Aunt gives, anyway.”

“I know not everyone needs a therapist,” Alexa said. “But what if I wanted to help.”

“Did this person ask for your help?”

“Not exactly,” she admitted.

“Is the person a normal functioning member of society?”

“Sure,” Alexa said. “Kind of.”

“Then what makes you think they need your help?”

Babs' question gave her pause. There was no right answer. “I don't know.”

Babs placed the dough in a large bowl and covered it with a tea towel. She wiped her hands together and sent a dusting of flour in the air. “Alexa, bless your heart, I know you have the best intentions love, but you can't save everyone.”

“I know,” she said.

“I'm afraid sometimes you don't. I know you want to do well and I don't think there is a mean bone in your body,” Babs said, “but sometimes I think maybe you're the one who needs saving.”

Alexa blinked. What was that supposed to mean? “I do not,” she objected.

Babs sighed. “Alexa you're like seventeen going on forty. When did you stop being a kid?”

Around eleven. But she didn't say that. Babs may be stuck working in a kitchen but she was a smart woman and Alexa knew it'd do her some good to consider what she'd said. Gabby and Rachel both said it often but somehow it didn't count coming from her Aunt or her best friend.

She stiffened and tried not to feel offended. “I should go,” she said. “Thanks for the talk.”

She didn't even tell Gabby goodbye. Rounding up enough change for bus fare, she left Paper Planes and headed back to the Craftsman wondering what Rachel would tell her to do? Go to the mall, watch a movie, read a magazine.

Rachel's words popped in her mind Wouldn't you rather be sunning yourself poolside in a bikini?

It took her less than five minutes to have her stuff packed and call a cab. The community pool wasn't far from Gabby's place. Alexa remembered going there with Martin when she was small and would come to visit.

She found a spot in the sun, thinking Rachel would be proud and after a quick glance she stripped off her shorts and t-shirt, feeling especially naked in her swimsuit. She'd just set her towel down and removed her sunscreen from her bag when someone whistled.

Her head snapped around and settled on two boys, close to her age. One was well built and tall with a buzz cut and the other was more lanky with acne scarring and glasses. “Can I help you put that on?” the tall one said.

Alexa shook her head. “No thanks. I'm good.”

“Aw c'mon now,” he coaxed. “A redhead like you has to be careful in the sun.”

She held up her sunblock and pointed to the label. “SPF 60, the best kind.”

The tall one shrugged. “Suit yourself. I'm Dean and this is my cousin, Andrew.”

“Alexa,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Got any friends, Alexa?”

“Nope. Just me myself and I.”

Dean pulled two chairs closer to hers. “Mind if we sit with you?”

Yes, she minded! She had a hard enough time looking at herself in a bikini, let alone granting permission for a pair of boys to ogle her while she tanned. “It's a free country,” she tried to sound unimpressed, thinking maybe they'd take a hint and leave but Andrew set the backpack he had with him on the ground, while Dean stretched out on a chair.

“My sister is coming to join the party in a bit,” Dean said. “You two might get along.”

Alexa adjusted her sunglasses and crossed her arms over her bare belly. “I'm not here to party, just to get a tan.”

“You mean a burn,” Andrew offered. His voice was deep for such a nerdy looking boy.

Dean smiled impishly and opened the backpack to reveal a flask. “Are you sure about that?” He twisted the lid off and took a swig, offering to Alexa. “It's five o'clock somewhere.”

She looked at the flask. She'd never drank alcohol except a glass of champagne at Christmas. Be seventeen. She grabbed it from Dean and chugged a generous amount before handing it back to him and wiping her lips with the back of her hands. The liquid snaked down her throat like fire.

“Whoa,” Dean said. “You're a party girl, Alexa. Cool.”

Alexa smiled. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. She could be seventeen and reckless. She'd just proved it to herself. “Hurry up with that,” she said. “I'd like another sip.”

A couple hours later, Dean's sister, Mandy had joined them and Alexa was pleased to discover Dean was right. She was a beautiful girl with chin length blonde hair and bright pink highlights. She'd scolded Dean for public drinking before she handed him another bottle of something... vodka maybe.

Alexa's world had turned upside down in the course of the afternoon and it felt like her chair was in water, bobbing up and down sans gravity. Dean's hand rested lazily on her thigh but she hadn't noticed until he began to tickle her with his fingertips, working his way up her leg.

It felt good so she closed her eyes and let it happen until a familiar voice cut in, one that'd been in her mind since last night. Sawyer was pissed. “What the fuck are you doing?"