16. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
CHARLOTTE
T he Collins’ home is every inch of what I was expecting. It’s warm and lived in, not dirty by any means but also not completely tidy. Shoes line the mat by the front door. Hoodies and coats cover the backs of chairs, and Barb calls out for the boys to clean them up. Magazines and books clutter the coffee table. Empty glasses dot the countertops of the small kitchen, and dozens of framed photos hang on the wall.
It’s lived-in and warm, the complete opposite of my father’s massive bachelor pad, and I wonder if she’ll put her mark on his home, too, once they get married. My own recollection of what our house was like pre-divorce is fuzzy, overridden by the near-constant state of stress, so it’s hard to imagine it was ever truly a home like this. Family photos were never updated, and personal touches around the house were nearly nonexistent.
During Mom’s low points, my father took care of most household duties, which meant hiring a cleaner and having take-out meals. Dirty dishes were rare because we mostly ate off paper plates. Even rarer was the scent of a homemade dinner permeating the air as it cooked. Clothes were always put away, folded and neat because when the housekeeper wasn’t around, I made it my life’s mission to be the perfect daughter, to be everything my mother needed to make her happy again. Because maybe if I was perfect, I’d be enough, and Mom would snap out of the darkness that always consumed her.
I wonder if my father felt the same. If that’s what ended their marriage. If he got tired of trying so damn hard to be enough and never stacking up.
I push the thought aside as I walk into the kitchen beside Chris, taking in the scene before me. Tucker and Tyler are already setting the table while Joey chops the vegetables for the tacos and Barb cooks the meat. Bailey and Quinton set to work clearing random dirty glasses and clothes strewn about, arguing and bickering as they go about whose mess it is.
It’s like watching a scene from a family movie I wish I could be a part of.
“What can I do?” I ask, refusing to stand idle while everyone else works.
“Come on. We’ll fill the water glasses.” Chris motions for me to follow him toward the cupboard beside the fridge where his mother and Joey are already fast at work.
The kitchen is cramped with so many bodies, the spicy scent of taco meat filling the air, and though I’m well aware I should feel like an outsider, I somehow don’t.
Opening a cupboard, he removes two glasses and hands them to me while Joey scoffs and ridicules him for taking the easy job.
Chris cracks back with a joke about not chopping his fingers off and getting body parts in the tomatoes before taking two more glasses to the fridge and filling them with ice and water, then waiting for me to do the same.
It feels oddly normal that I’m here as we set the waters on the table at each place setting, and it occurs to me more than once I might be linked to this family legally come spring.
Once we’ve finished with the water, we start taking the various toppings to the table where the younger boys are already sitting, making bets on who can eat the most bright blue tacos.
“Charlotte, how many tacos can you eat?” Tucker asks, blinking his eyes up at me.
“Um, I don’t know. Three?”
Tyler snorts. “Three. She’s such a girl.”
I feign offense while Chris pokes me in the side. “Lightweight.”
“And how many tacos do you eat, big guy?” I ask, trying to pinch an inch, but finding nothing but muscle.
“Big guy, huh?” His eyes glitter, and I can sense the dirty joke he’s holding back as a goofy grin spreads over his face. “I like that nickname,” he says with a wink, and I flush. “I mean, I hate to brag, but I hold the record in this house for twelve tacos eaten in one sitting.”
I nearly choke on my spit. “Twelve?”
“My wallet has definitely seen a difference since you left for school,” Barb calls out behind us.
“You’re welcome,” Chris says, rubbing a hand over a stomach I know firsthand is as hard as a washboard.
“I hold the second title at nine,” Tyler proudly announces.
“That’s because you’re both fat asses,” Joey says, taking the seat beside Tuck.
“Language!” Barb admonishes, piercing him with a look as she brings a tray with two bowls of refried beans and two even bigger dishes of ground beef to the table. “And this isn’t a competition.” She rolls her eyes, then mutters. “Lord knows my grocery bill is high enough.”
My jaw drops at the spread. It’s enough to feed an army. “Holy cow. How much meat is that?”
Barb chuckles as she passes by and settles into a chair at the head of the table while Chris guides us to the remaining seats beside her. “That’s?”
“A shit ton,” Chris answers for her.
Barb whacks him lightly with the back of her hand. “Now I just yelled at your brother for that. Don’t make me yell at you, too. I’ll get the wooden spoon out.”
My mouth gapes, and Chris bursts out laughing when he catches my expression, but Barb shoots him a glare and shushes him before she reaches out and takes my hand, then does the same with Chris. Tyler on my right takes my other hand while the rest of the table falls in line.
My throat swells with emotion as I glance at everyone’s bowed heads and try to think of one family tradition we had of our own that wasn’t somehow interrupted, destroyed, or discontinued throughout the years. Clearly, this is routine for the Collins’ household, just another family meal, just another blessing. Tuck says grace, ending it with a chorus of amens from everyone around me.
“Mom didn’t actually use a wooden spoon,” Chris chimes in, interrupting my melancholic thoughts. “She’s too soft for that.”
“No, I’m just more creative than that.” Barb smirks as everyone starts to pass dishes around the table, building their tacos.
Chris groans, taking two flour tortillas and two hard shells. “Right. Her punishments were way worse than getting paddled. Hell, I would’ve taken a wooden spoon any day over some of her more creative ideas.”
A grin tugs the corners of my lips while I take two hard shells and pass them to Tyler. “Like?”
“Like the time I shot Mom with a NERF gun right between the eyes and she made me read through an entire gun safety manual, then write a report on it.”
Barb grins. “I was okay with play guns as long as there was no shooting each other in the face.”
Chris snorts. “But shooting each other in the extremities was okay?”
“Nothing is worse than the T-shirt, though.” Tyler shakes his head, his expression solemn as he fills a taco.
“What’s the T-shirt?”
Chris only grunts while Barb smiles, but it’s Quinton that fills me in as he crams half a taco in his mouth. “The ‘Get Along shirt,’” he says, setting his taco down to make air quotes with his fingers. “It’s one of Dad’s old white T-shirts that literally has Get Along written in permanent marker across the front.”
The mention of his father is so casual and smooth, like it doesn’t faze him in the least, and I wonder what that must be like?living in an environment where sadness doesn’t last forever and instead is turned into something resembling happiness.
“When we fight bad enough,” Bailey continues, “Mom makes whoever is fighting put the shirt on, so imagine two of us”?he motions between the boys?“sharing a shirt, each with one arm out one hole, and our heads and necks both crammed through the neck. It’s torture, and she makes us wear it for hours. ”
“She once made Joey and I sleep in it,” Chris chimes in with a shudder. “Two teenage boy footballers in one shirt on a twin bed all night. We had to spoon just to keep from rolling off.”
“I still have nightmares about that,” Joey says, wide-eyed.
I meet Barb’s eyes, glittering with amusement, and we both burst out laughing.
“Sometimes a single mom’s gotta do what a single mom’s gotta do,” she says, wiping tears from her eyes, and I couldn’t agree more.
An hour later, I’m standing by the Collins’ front door saying goodbye to all the boys with promises to visit again, when Barb flings her arms around me, wrapping me up in a hug so tight, it brings tears to my eyes. I didn’t get a lot of hugs growing up because my mother?the one who was supposed to be the nurturer in the family?was so often too depressed and lost in a hell of her own making to show love. So I’m not sure what to do with this, other than hold her back.
“It was so nice to have another woman around for a change.” Barb pulls away from me, looking me in the eyes. “You come back, you hear? Don’t leave me with all these boys forever.” Her voice is as warm as it is sincere, and funnily enough, I believe her.
She gives me one last squeeze before letting go and wrapping Chris up in a similar hug, only Chris growls and leans back, lifting her off her feet before putting her back down again and smacking the top of her head with a noisy kiss. “Night, Ma.”
“You take care of this lady, you hear?”
Chris winks. “You know it,” he says while my cheeks heat.
I wonder if she suspects something more is going on between me and Chris than meets the eye. Hell, I wonder if something more is going on between me and Chris than meets the eye. After today, I’m no longer sure, but it’s a question I’ll analyze all the way back to campus.
Once we’re outside, we climb in Chris’s car, and he drives us back to his father’s shop where my car is waiting.
“I’ll follow you, just in case,” he says as I step out into the chilly evening air.
Leaning down, I duck my head back inside. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure the car will be fine.”
“Can’t a guy have an excuse to say good night?”
My stomach tightens, and I bite my lip in an effort to squelch the flurry of butterflies awakening at the thought of being alone with him again. “Okay,” I breathe. “I’ll meet you back at school, then.”
I close the door and climb inside my car, ignoring the way my hands sweat as I take the wheel. The entire drive back to campus, all I can think about is Chris and our time spent together today.
Watching him with his family gave me a whole new level of understanding of who he is and why. I can see how much he cares about them through each interaction with his brothers; how he’s both their best friend, brother, and mentor all wrapped into one. It’s a whole level of devotion I hadn’t thought him capable of, one that both endears me to him and scares me, because I’m not sure I’ve ever witnessed that same level of devotion in my own life.
If anything, today has reinforced the notion that you’re a product of your environment, because Chris is every bit as carefree, goofy, loving, and steadfast as the rest of his family. I wonder what that says about me and mine?
The thought haunts me the entire way back to Hyde Hall, right until I pull into the parking lot of the dormitory and turn off the ignition.
I sink back into my seat, tugging on the strings of Chris’s hoodie while my mind races.
Part of me hopes Chris will simply wave as he passes, maybe honk, and say good night before he goes on his way, so when he parks and steps out of his car, my mouth goes dry. The palms of my hands begin to sweat as he approaches, hands tucked in his pockets, his masculine features cast in shadows. It’s unfair how undeniably attractive he is, or how hard my heart pounds at his proximity.
“What are you doing?” I wrap my arms around myself, more in an effort to ward off the effect he has on me, rather than the cold.
“I wanted to walk you inside.”
“This again?” I roll my eyes, pretending to be annoyed, even though I’m anxious as hell, if not a little giddy at the prospect. It’s a stark contrast to the last time he walked me inside.
“Yes, this again. My mother raised me to be a gentleman at least half the time.”
I laugh, falling in step with him on the way to the doors and saying nothing when his hand reaches between us, brushing my fingers with his before softly intertwining them with mine.
My skin ignites, every nerve ending coming alive with his touch. I’ve done a hell of a lot more than hold hands with men before, but this . . . this feels both scarier and more exciting than anything I’ve ever experienced.
I hold my breath, afraid to break the moment when he pauses outside the double doors, turning to me with warm blue eyes. “I hope my family wasn’t too much for you. I know they can be a lot, especially to someone who grew up without siblings. There’s pretty much zero privacy and a whole lot of voices talking at once, as well as opinions you never asked for. Never a dull moment, that’s for sure.”
“I loved it,” I say, the smile slipping from my face as I realize just how much, because it’s something I’ll never have. I’d take the chaos and noise any day over the silence . “You’re very lucky.”
Chris briefly glances away before meeting my eyes again. “I think right about now is when I should remind you of our deal and that you owe me a date, but instead, I’m going to tell you I won’t hold you to it. I wanted to help you out, and I did. That’s payment enough for me,” he says, and I hate that I believe him, because it really means he is just that good of a guy.
And because the thought of not getting the chance to spend time with Chris one-on-one again is achingly disappointing.
“I mean, we did have a deal,” I say. “And I’m not one to go back on my word. Quid pro quo, remember?”
“You know that’s not how relationships work, right?” Chris reaches out and brushes the hair from my face, still holding onto my hand with his other.
I love how whenever I’m in his presence, he always seems to be touching me. Just little things. My cheek, my arms, my hair. It’s like he can’t not put hands on me, and this warm and fuzzy feeling forming in the pit of my stomach tells me I like it is more than a little dangerous.
“What do you mean?” I ask, finding it hard to remember my train of thought.
“Tit for tat? Quid pro quo? That’s not how a relationship is supposed to work. You’re not supposed to keep score. It’s not a business transaction, Lettie.”
I want that to be true, and I get what he’s saying, but I’ve seen firsthand the damage that’s done when a relationship is one-sided, with one party doing most of the giving and the work. Spoiler: It doesn’t end well.
But I don’t say that. Instead, I rock back on my heels, giving his hand a little squeeze. “Well, that’s good, considering we’re not in a relationship.”
“Aren’t we?” His cool blue gaze shifts over my face. “We’re friends, are we not?”
Before today, I might have said no. I would’ve snapped and come back with something snarky. But after the day spent with his family, giving me rides, bringing me tea and breakfast, and fixing my car, I can’t bring myself to deny him. Especially when the truth is maybe even a little more complicated than that, because the growing feeling in the center of my chest tells me there might be even more here than friendship.
And for reasons I can’t explain?reasons I’m sure I’ll lie awake and analyze for hours?I stretch up onto my tiptoes and brush my lips over his in a chaste peck before sinking back down onto my feet again.
He blinks, a hunger in his eyes unlike anything I’ve ever seen before as he dips his head closer, his breath warm against my cheek. A shiver shimmies down my spine when he reaches out, his fingers pulling me even closer until our chests touch. Until I can feel the rise and fall of his chest as the breath leaves his lungs.
“What was that for?” he asks when all I want is for him to kiss me again.
“I didn’t think it would be like this,” I murmur, cursing myself for the tremor in my voice.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Our eyes lock a moment before he reaches for my face, cupping my cheek in his hand. A thumb brushes over my skin, slow and deliberate, as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of me beneath his palm.
“And I’ve always known it would be like this,” he whispers back.
My pulse quickens, and without another word, he closes the remaining space between us, his lips brushing against mine.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if we’re both afraid to cross a line we might not be able to uncross. But then I lean into him with a breathy sigh, and the kiss deepens, more urgent, more certain.
He tastes of the night air and something sweeter—something entirely him that I can’t place?and in that moment, the world falls away. It’s only him and me, and nothing else. There’s no room for doubt, or thoughts about my mother. All my fears are cast aside, traded for the heady sensation of his touch, the addicting taste of his mouth. And as I sink into him, I think I could be happy like this, right here, right now, if only we could stay like this forever.