Chapter Twenty-Two
You okay?” I ask him as he loads our plates and silverware into the dishwasher. He eyes the open doorway as Hal’s deep, bellowing laughter funnels in.
Jonathan doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes my hand and leads me into the family room or grand room, or whatever it is, and straight outside, snagging our jackets along the way. He doesn’t pause to let us put them on. I brace against the cold and continue after him.
“Where are we going?”
“My room.”
“Your room?” I don’t understand. Not until he opens a door at the back of the garage to a set of stairs. “Your room’s above the garage?”
“Better this way,” he tells me, navigating the narrow set of stairs to the second level.
I still don’t understand what that means, exactly. The house is massive. Is it that bad between them that they can’t sleep under the same roof? I’m still whirling from the knowledge that Jonathan’s father hit him, but we haven’t talked about it. The truth of it. And I can’t trust what I’m seeing.
The landing opens up into a gym. It’s laid out like my dance studio with a wall of mirrors, racks of weights and other equipment I have no idea how to use. It’s huge and seems to take up most of the garage. But I don’t see anything resembling a bedroom.
Not until Jonathan reaches for the handle of the door on the other side of the landing—what I thought was a closet. And when we enter his space, it’s not much bigger than one. But it makes me grin as soon as we enter. This feels like Jonathan.
The room is small, but immaculate. Minimal really. A neatly made bed in the corner with a nightstand and lamp next to it. A closet that is probably not bursting with clothes and shoes, like mine. I can’t help it; I have to look.
Yep, shelves with folded T-shirts and jeans, hung jackets and shirts and a neat row of three pairs of shoes and boots on the floor. I shut the door with a small laugh.
“What did you expect to find in there?”
I shrug.
I’m immediately distracted by the two desks. One is in front of the window, overlooking the woods behind the garage. It’s slanted and has a stool under it. There’s a detailed drawing of a building clipped to it. Something tall and angular. A ruler and other design tools propped on the edge.
“You drew this?” I ask, unable to hide my amazement. Jonathan nods.
There are more drawings pinned to the wall above the second traditional desk that’s covered with pencils and architecture and car magazines.
A Penn State decal is in the middle of all the pinned images on the wall.
Swimming medals and trophies line a shelf above my head.
It’s the most congested space in the room.
It feels inspired. Like his dreams are on display before me.
There’s even a framed picture of the three of us set on the corner of the desk.
We’re at the river—looks like two summers ago based on the bathing suit I’m wearing—mid-leap off the edge of the second-highest ledge, gripping each other’s hands. I can’t remember who took the picture.
I pick it up. The smile hasn’t left my face since we entered the room. “I thought we were going to die, jumping from here.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen.”
I believe him.
The summer before our freshman year, he jumped in after a kid and pulled him out of the river before the current swept him away. Jonathan doesn’t think twice before putting himself in danger, no matter who needs saving. It’s a memory I don’t allow myself to remember often.
I set the picture down with a shiver and sift through the drawings on the desk.
“I can’t believe I never realized you’re interested in architecture.
” Then I remember. “That’s why you took that drafting class.
And you’re so good at math; it makes sense.
Wow, I am so fricken clueless. Why haven’t we ever talked about it? ”
“It’s not what we talk about. I mean, we know Collin wants to rule the world, and you don’t want to be a lawyer, but that’s about it.
” He takes my hand and draws me to him until my knees bump against the mattress.
He scoots back to sit against the headboard, and I crawl after him, cuddling under his arm while resting a hand on his chest. “Let’s talk about it.
What do you want to do with your life, Sadie Prescott? ”
“I don’t know,” I reply, listening to his heart beating against my ear. “That’s why I don’t care where I go to college.”
He sets his chin on the top of my head. “If you and Collin both come to Penn State with me…”
He finishes the thought with a tight embrace.
I can feel how much this means to him. Keeping us together.
I scan his room, an open display of all his dreams. His achievements.
But other than the picture of the three of us, there isn’t anything really that reflects his personality.
It’s clean and orderly. But so very blank.
My room may be a disaster, but my mirror is plastered with pictures of friends, ticket stubs, and inspiring quotes. Lights hang from the ceiling, and my shelves hold books, stuffed animals, and charity paraphernalia from all the causes I’ve obsessed over through the years.
Is this really Jonathan? Just what he’s accomplished? And what he’s determined to become? My first impression of the room doesn’t sit right anymore.
I consider how much I know about the boy I’ve loved most of my life. And I’m not sure how deep that goes.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
He glances down at me. “What do you mean? You know everything about me.”
I pull back so I can look into those dark eyes that keep everyone out.
“I don’t think I do. I mean, I know you like your coffee black.
When you catch the football, you like to spin right to throw off the defender.
I know that when you swim, you basically become the water.
And that if I ever need you, you’d be there before I could call you.
” I begin tracing the fingers of his hand resting on my lap.
“But I feel there are parts of you that you keep hidden from me. I mean, I didn’t really know you wanted to be an architect. ”
“Engineer,” he corrects.
“What?”
“Architectural engineer. It’s different.”
“Oh. Well, see. That’s what I mean. I don’t even know the difference or what that is. The only thing I knew was that you didn’t want to be like your—” I stop myself. I meet Jonathan’s eyes. “Why? What does he do to you?”
Jonathan focuses on the far wall, instantly withdrawn.
He’s shutting me out. I figured out long ago what to say and what not to say so this wouldn’t happen.
But I don’t want to be careful anymore. To not say the wrong thing.
To make everyone else feel better. If I’m considering changing the course of my life so we can stay together, I have to know the things he doesn’t want to tell me.
“Please help me understand.” I lift his hand and press it to my heart. “You can trust me.”
His eyes flick my way. “I know that.” He swallows, staring into the distance.
“Tell me whatever it is. Jonathan, I want to know all of you. Even the parts you don’t think I’ll love. Or understand. I’ve loved you nearly my entire life. There’s no way that’ll change if you let me in. If anything, it’ll make me love you more.”
His eyes are on mine. The penetrating gaze that can see through to my soul. That shields his secrets and keeps him distant enough that I never quite know what he’s thinking. I search for a hint of what may be running through his mind. What he’s feeling.
Jonathan leans down and brushes his full lips against mine.
My eyes instantly drift closed. “You know me.” His words are heat against my mouth.
He kisses me again, pressing harder. “You are the only one who really knows me.” He leans in and licks my lower lip.
I seek more, but he pulls away again. “You’re the only one who will ever know me. ”
This time, when he leans in, I wrap my arms around him, not allowing him to escape. When our mouths meet, there’s an explosive surge of fire and electricity that captures my breath. He’s over me in a second, pressing me flat against the bed.
“Jonathan,” I murmur in a flush of color, lost to the fire between us.
“Hmm.” A trail of kisses down my neck has me arching, gripping his back. “I love you.” The heat of his hands scorches the bare skin beneath my shirt. “You’re the only one I will ever love.”
The pressure of him on top of me has me squirming.
I reach for his shirt, but he’s already tugging it over his head.
I skate my hands over muscle developed from years of dedication in the pool.
In the gym. On job sites. He is smooth skin and defined strength.
I run a gentle touch over a healing bruise on his ribs.
I still can’t believe I get to touch him. This isn’t a dream.
I scramble to remove my sweater. Not nearly as graceful or seductive. My face turns hot with embarrassment when it gets caught around my neck, my necklace tangling in my hair.
Jonathan chuckles. “Hold on. Let me help you.”
Instead of pulling it free, his lips dance across my stomach. I cry out in surprise, my muscles contracting with the ticklish sensation.
“I know how sensitive you are,” he reminds me. Brushing his fingertips across my exposed skin. I squeak in protest. “I thought I’d take advantage of your situation.” I wriggle beneath him.
“Jonathan!” I cry out in pained laughter, struggling even more with the sweater, probably making it worse. The necklace tugs my hair. “Ow!”
“Sorry. Sorry,” he says, quitting his gentle torture. “Hold still.” He dexterously untangles my necklace and eases the sweater over my head. My styled waves are filled with static electricity. As always.
“I tried to be as sexy as you,” I tell him, sounding deflated. “But I’m not. I’m sorry.”
The smile on his face is so big; I wonder if he actually heard me.
“You’re perfect.” I give him a confused look.
He definitely didn’t hear me. “Sadie, I’ve also loved you my entire life.
I know exactly who you are. And this, getting your sweater caught while we’re in the middle of undressing, is one of about a million reasons I love you. ”
“So… you don’t care that my hair looks like I stuck my finger in a light socket?”
He shakes his head. “I love your wild, untamable hair.” He kisses me behind my ear.
“Or that I wear boring white cotton bras?”
“Uh-uh.” He kisses my collarbone.
“Or that I get hiccups when I’m nervous?”
“I have water on the side table.” He kisses along the edge of cotton fabric.
“Or…” But I can’t think any more because his hands are unsnapping the fabric, sliding it off my arms. Nope. Not thinking. Or talking. Only feeling. I really can’t believe this is happening.
The doorknob jiggles, followed by a loud, pounding knock. “Jonathan?”
I jump up and knock my head against the headboard. “Shit.”
“What do you want?” Jonathan hollers back, his deep tone nearly a growl. I’ve never heard him sound so threatening before.
I scramble to replace what was taken off. Probably putting it on backward. His father is on the other side of the locked door, thinking that we’re doing… well, exactly what we’re doing.
“Need you to hold up your commitment and help me in the garage.”’
“Now?”
“Now,” is the firm answer, Hal’s voice just as menacing. “And this door had better be unlocked in the next ten seconds.”
I’m off the bed, taming my hair, nearly falling on the floor when I attempt to sit on the desk chair and it begins to roll away.
Jonathan is at the door, shirt still off. What the hell is he thinking?
He opens the door. “I’ll be down in a minute.” I study all the images on the desk, unable to meet Hal’s gaze.
“Keep the door open,” Hal demands, short and curt. He leaves us, his boots stomping down the stairs.
Jonathan slams the door. My heart about jumps out of my chest. I remain frozen on the seat.
When Jonathan faces me, his eyes are dark. I mean, darker than usual, and I didn’t think that was possible. I reach for my jacket and slowly rise. “I’m gonna go.”
“You don’t—”
“Yeah, I should.” I shove my arms into my sleeves, slipping past him toward the door. “I’ll… um… I’ll call… talk… to you later.” I motion toward the door.
“Sadie.” He’s pulling a shirt over his head, following me down the staircase. “Don’t.”
But I’m already outside. My feet carry me at a pace set by my pulse. This is that moment my dad warned me about. The uncomfortable feeling. It’s loud and scary. And I need to get away from this, whatever this is.
“Hey.” Jonathan catches up to me, gently tugging at my elbow. “You okay?”
“Uh, yep. I just… it’s best if I go.” I try to smile, but it’s so fake, I give up on it. What do I tell him? That I don’t want to be here for this? That the building tension between him and his father is scaring the crap out of me?
Does that make me a horrible friend? An even worse girlfriend?
Or does it make me smart for listening to my dad?