Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
“Maybe I want you to,” I tease, taking a lick off the top of my cone this time. Slowly and deliberately.
“Maybe you want . . .” His eyes darken as he trails off.
I laugh, then wink at him, turn, and jump into the front seat of the truck. “Come on, hurry up, let’s go!”
With a sigh and a dramatic eye roll, Alex closes the truck door. Then he shakes his head as he jogs around the front of the truck to the driver’s side.
The river.
We usually come here a few times every summer and then sometimes in the fall, too, when the summer heat lingers into late September and early October.
There’s this one spot that’s secluded, off a short trail through the trees, and we’re lucky that no one else ever seems to come to this specific spot, even in the summer when there are a bunch of people on the river.
It’s quiet and calm and exactly what I need after a day like today.
I’ve been hiding, pretending. The whole last hour or so since I got home from work, changed my clothes, went to Harley’s with Alex, flirted and teased him with the ice cream—I’ve been hiding how fucking awful my afternoon actually was.
God, I’m lucky I didn’t get fired. Yet.
I should have told him already—because honesty and communication and all that. But we were having such a good time, and I didn’t want to ruin it. Plus we’ve got plenty of other stuff we’re supposed to talk about.
I’m tired, though, and I can feel my resolve crumbling as all the energy it’s taken to keep pretending all day drains from me.
From his spot in the sand next to me, Alex shifts a little so his shoulder bumps mine. “You’re quiet. Everything okay?”
I close my eyes and laugh without humor. “You’re reading my mind now.”
“Huh?”
“I was just thinking about how I’m really not okay.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then he says, “Do you want to talk about it?” He sounds hesitant, though, as if he’s not entirely sure he wants my answer to be yes.
It’s a bit jarring.
I lean forward so my elbows are resting on my knees, and I stare out at the shallow water in front of us, flowing slowly at the edge of the sandbar. When I’ve finally worked up the courage to talk, I drop my eyes to my hands.
“My mom came to the library today, after you left,” I say, and my jaw clenches as I remember the conversation. The anger in her eyes. The resentment in her tone. The way she didn’t really let me speak while she berated me, loudly, in front of my colleagues.
The way Caitlin had to step in and ask her to leave when she started to raise her voice.
The way Sharon scowled disapprovingly at me and told me to get back to work.
Without meaning to, I ball my hands into fists and shove them down into the sand. It’s warm and dry, and maybe that should help me a little. But it doesn’t, really. The pain’s been gnawing at me for hours, and rather than go away, it worsens, knotting up my stomach and stabbing into my chest.
Alex clears his throat and scoots closer, his shoulder now touching mine. “What did she want?”
“Money.”
“The money for your car?” he asks softly.
I nod and force a couple of breaths. “She said she wanted it right then, like I just had five hundred dollars burning a hole in my fucking wallet and could just hand it over, there at the library.”
“What the hell?”
It was actually worse than that, and I clench my jaw again and let myself lean against him as I continue.
“I told her I wouldn’t have it until Friday, and she said no, that’s not good enough anymore.
She yelled at me in front of everyone and then threatened to report the car as stolen.
And then she threatened to—fuck—” I’m shaking now, and I only manage to not panic more when his arm wraps around my shoulders.
Tears slide down my cheeks, though, and I screw my eyes shut.
“Sh-she threatened to send Patrick over to pick it up,” I force out, “because she said Patrick would know ‘how to convince me.’”
“Jesus.” I feel him shake his head, and then he presses a kiss to my temple and tightens his arm around me. “That’s horrible. What . . . or like, why? Why?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, and I turn and lean into him more, burying my head in his shoulder. “She sounded mad, like I was the one who betrayed her. And I . . . I just . . .” I blow out a sharp breath, unable to continue. I have no fucking clue why she’s acting like this.
“She didn’t report it stolen, right?”
I shake my head. “Not that I know of. But she didn’t really say she wasn’t going to, either.”
“She shouldn’t be allowed to do that,” Alex spits out, and there’s a venom to his voice that I’ve never heard from him before.
“Do what?”
“Threaten you with that asshole,” he says. “Isn’t there a restraining order or something?”
My chest hurts, and I close my eyes, still leaning into him. “No. It expired or whatever when I turned eighteen.”
“Dammit.”
“Yeah.”
He’s quiet for a minute, though he keeps holding me tight, and then he says, “We can stop by the ATM now. I have the money. We can pay for the car and be done with her. Then she’ll have no more hold over you. You can pay me back whenever. It’s not a big deal to me.”
“No. No, I can’t—”
“That’s actually one of the things I wanted to talk to you about tonight,” he cuts in, and that feeling that my stomach is knotting up intensifies.
I pull away and wrap my arms around my midsection, shaking my head. “I’m not taking your money, Alex.”
“It’s really not a big deal—”
“It is to me!” I don’t yell, but I do raise my voice. And I hate myself for it. He’s just trying to help. I sigh deeply. “I’m not taking your money,” I repeat, and I look up to the water again. “She’ll just have to wait until Friday, like we agreed.”
Alex is silent, and my stomach aches with the thought that I’ve pushed him away when all he was trying to do was make me feel better and find a solution.
Hell, I don’t even know why it’s a big deal to me.
My jaw trembles, and I bite my lower lip as I glance over at him.
His shoulders are tense, and he’s staring off across the river, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.
He must sense that I’m looking at him, because he turns his head toward me and gives me a tight smile.
“I want to help.” He blinks, and his smile turns into a frown just as I look away, back to my hands.
“And I want you to know we’re in this together, Nico.
You don’t have to do this alone. I have the money.
It’s just sitting there in my account. If it’ll save you from worrying all week long, or—or from having to see that asshole again, I don’t understand why you won’t let me help. ”
It’s logical, like he usually is. So I’m not sure why I can’t just nod and accept it.
I got thrown into this—this life I didn’t expect.
Before all the shit hit the fan with my mom, I planned to stay there through the summer, save my money, use the experience I gained at the library to get a permanent job.
Then maybe I’d have enough saved to move out, rent my own apartment, be on my own.
Instead, I’m living off the generosity of Alex and his mom. Still only forty dollars to my name. Still rewashing the same set of work clothes every night. Driving an uninsured car and relying on Wi-Fi signals to connect my cell phone.
“You’re already helping me so much,” I say through gritted teeth.
He moves closer, and his hand finds my back. I close my eyes at the gentle touch. It feels good.
“I want to help. Besides, you didn’t ask for any of this. None of it is your fault. You shouldn’t have to shoulder it all alone.” He rubs up and down my back with smooth strokes, and I shudder as I shake my head.
“I just want her to honor her word,” I admit, and my voice breaks as the tears start to fall. “She said Friday. I-I shouldn’t have to—I shouldn’t have to pay her now. It’s not right.”
“I know,” he says softly. “I know. It doesn’t make sense. But, Nico, she’s not doing things that make sense right now. Whatever her reason, she’s not being honest or predictable or caring. What if she . . .” He trails off, and I feel him move even closer until his arm is around my shoulders.
What if she actually sends Patrick this time?
Is that what he was about to say?
I let him pull me up against him, but I’m trembling. My hands close into tight fists as a scene suddenly plays out in my head.
Patrick showing up at the library, demanding to see me.
His beady little eyes dark with rage as he pushes past Caitlin, back into the office where I work.
Hate-filled words leaving his mouth as he knocks down a pile of books on his way over to me.
Then pain as he grabs my shoulder and throws me back against the wall.
His fist slamming into my face, just like—
“Fuck,” I hiss, covering my face with my hands. I can barely breathe, and my heart feels like it’s about to leap right out of my chest. “She wouldn’t . . .”
Alex squeezes my shoulder. “I hope not. But that’s why you should let me—”
“No. I’m not taking your money.”
“Okay, okay. That’s okay. I understand,” he says, and the silence returns.
Which is bad.
I hold my breath as it happens again—the scene playing out in my head.
Except this time, it’s not an imagined scene.
It’s what actually happened four years ago.
Patrick actually screamed at me, grabbed me, yanked me back so hard I had bruises on my shoulder.
Then he actually hit me, his fist breaking my nose.
There was so much blood, and I couldn’t breathe. And he kept screaming at me to shut the fuck up, threatening to do it again.
My mom heard the noise from the other room and came in to see what happened. She pushed him away, called 9-1-1, had him arrested for hurting me. I spent the night in the hospital, had surgery a week later to fix my busted nose, spent two weeks home from school because I had a concussion.
“She wouldn’t,” I repeat, and this time, it’s a complete statement.
Because I can’t believe, not for one second, that she’d allow him—encourage him, even—to hurt me again.
She’s changed, and she’s angry and awful now, and I have no idea why.
But she’s still my mom, and she still went through that shit with me. “She wouldn’t.”
Alex doesn’t say anything, but he nods and holds me to him. Then he turns his head and kisses my hair.
Across the river, a deer peeks out from the trees and looks around cautiously before stepping up to the water to drink.
Alex hums quietly and kisses me again, and some semblance of calm starts to wash over me.
The deer stays there for several minutes, drinking and then grazing on the grass along the edge of the sandbar, and we both watch silently.
It’s relaxing this time, the quiet. It’s maybe what I needed.
When the deer finally wanders back into the trees after a bit longer, I close my eyes and rest my head up against Alex’s shoulder.
My breathing is back to normal, and my heart is no longer racing so fast it hurts.
The sun’s going down behind us, though, the distinct flickers of fireflies becoming visible among the trees and brush.
“We should probably head back home soon,” Alex says, echoing my own thoughts. Then he laughs once and shakes his head. “God, we were supposed to talk about California and stuff.”
“Yeah. Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“I, uh, made a budget. You know, to show you that it’s, um, doable, I guess.”
There’s that hesitation in his voice again. I focus back across the river, letting my eyes follow the bright, brief streaks of light from the fireflies as I try to keep my anxiety from returning. “And is it?” I ask.
He inhales a long breath and then lets it out slowly. “Yeah, I think so. I mean . . . kinda.”
“Kinda?”
“It’s complicated.”
It would be. Of course it would be. I just nod and keep staring off at the fireflies. It’s not more than a few seconds later, though, when his fingers brush against my cheek.
“Nico . . .”
He applies a gentle but firm pressure, tilting my chin toward him, and when our eyes meet, a rush of shame courses through me.
I try to pull away, but he shakes his head and lowers his mouth to mine in a kiss that’s not so gentle or chaste.
His tongue traces my lower lip, and when I open my mouth for him, he eagerly explores.
I groan when his hand slips down my neck, his fingertips grazing along the bare skin of my throat.
He doesn’t stop, and I don’t try to pull away again.
He deepens the kiss more, and he seems to be playing with things—the angle, the pressure, the way his tongue caresses me.
And his hands aren’t idle, either. His fingers find the hem of my shirt and tease along my skin, hot and intense.
“Oh, fuck,” I grunt, and I finally break away, lowering my head as I breathe heavily. He keeps caressing along my waist, and his lips flutter light kisses along my jaw.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, though I can tell he’s not actually sorry at all. He does, however, slow down and—reluctantly—straighten up. His hand lingers on my hip, underneath my shirt, his fingers flexing into my side, and he lets out a shuddering breath as his eyes fall to my lips.
It’s my turn to laugh, and I shake my head and set a hand on his chest, pushing him away. “Can you show me the budget you made? Back at the house, maybe.”
His eyes are dark and unfocused as they dart up to mine, but he nods right away. “Yeah, of course. Yeah.” He blinks a few times, then his face lights up. “You mean it? You want to see it?”
“If only to see how bad it is,” I say. He frowns, but I roll my eyes. “I’m kidding. Yes, I want to see it. Though I don’t . . . think . . .”
He hops up and dusts the sand off his shorts, shaking his head. “I’ll show you, and we’ll figure it out. Okay?”
With a tentative smile, he reaches down to offer me his hand. I stare at him for a few long seconds, and then I nod, take his hand, and let him help me up. His arm immediately loops around my waist, supporting and protective, and my heart flutters in my chest.
Is it possible—this dream of his where I follow him across the country and we start a new life together in California?
I have no fucking clue, and apparently, it’s “complicated.” But as we start back to his mom’s truck, his arm holding me close, I find myself hoping, maybe for the first time, that “complicated” doesn’t mean “impossible” and that we might actually have a chance to figure it out.