Chapter 13 #2
“Yeah, my acts as a young hoodlum in the mean streets of Malden.” I sigh and slide out of his arms to lie back across the couch. He moves my legs into his lap. I don’t really want to talk about this right now, either, but it seems only fair. “Sure. I don’t care.”
“Well, it’s not so much what you did as what happened after that I’m interested in.” Luca’s looking at my tattoo again, his hands sort of framing the scar without quite touching it. “Did you go to jail? I mean, what do they do with kids?”
“Not jail. They were throwing around threats of a DYS commitment until I was like, twenty-one or something insane, but then the pandemic hit and everyone was leery about bringing any new kids to locked facilities. So I got probation and a bunch of community service instead.” I shrug. “Oh, and a big fine.”
His lips twitch. “That’s all the restitution required of a big, scary felon like you, huh.”
“It was bullshit, anyway. Fucking jumped-up charge because a couple of pigs got humiliated by a gay high schooler. They called me a faggot bitch while cuffing me.” I smile a little at the memory.
“The one guy wanted to hit me so bad, his partner was practically holding him back. Fucker was a mad dog.” Granted, I was being a mouthy little shit.
“They didn’t hurt you, though? Not that I expect they treated you exceptionally well.”
“They were pretty rough. I went to some overnight facility for other kids like me until my hearing, and then my mom actually posted my bail a few days later, somehow.” I can tell Luca doesn’t know what to say to that.
He’s as surprised as I was, I guess, when they let me go: Your mother’s here.
Fresh off an OD. I had to inherit my persistence from somewhere.
“I was court-ordered therapy, too,” I add.
“A few sessions with a shrink. That’s how I got diagnosed with BPD in the first place. ”
“Oh,” he says. “I was wondering about that.”
I shut my eyes. “It wasn’t a total waste. They made me do some dialectal behavioral therapy, and it was actually pretty useful. Like I said, I used to be so much worse. That’s saying a lot when I already suck a lot now.”
“You don’t suck.” Luca palms my thigh, just below the hem of my shorts. “I’ve been impressed with how well you’re doing lately, in spite of—well, everything.”
My eyes flick open again. “Are you sure you don’t care?
” I ask him. “About what I did. It’s okay if you do.
I get it. Maybe I’m not so good to have around your baby after all.
” My throat closes up when I say it, voice breaking, because I want to be there for it all so bad. I want to be part of his little family.
“I don’t care,” he tells me, meeting my gaze. “I know you, Noel. I trust you. You were a kid in a fucked up situation. I’m not punishing you for that.” I feel his fingertips graze the scar. “Do you still hurt yourself?” He poses the question very softly, like he’s afraid of hearing the answer.
“No.” I roll up my sleeves, show him my arms. “I stopped. It’s been hard, but I…I haven’t done it.”
“Good.” He studies me and must find something wanting there, because he says, “You look drained. We can stop talking about this.”
I reach for him. When he leans down, I bury my face in his neck, smothering a yawn. “You woke me up from a nap.”
“I’m sorry. You want to go back to sleep?”
“Absolutely not.” I’d stay awake until dawn just to get the most out of him being here. It’s just such a waste. I lay a kiss on his throat, just at the edge of his moth, and wonder when we’ll get to live together again. I hate us being apart at all.
And just him being here makes me feel so much better, more optimistic about the dumpster fire of my life.
Jordan’s gonna run out of phone numbers to bother me with and he doesn’t know where I live, thank god, so that’s gonna fade away, too.
It’s going to stop feeling so awful eventually and in a weird way, isn’t he right?
Nothing happened, not really. And no one will believe me, anyway.
I try to dispel all that from my mind as I begin to kiss up the side of Luca’s neck, nuzzling his ear, and his hands glide under my shirt and up my spine.
My body’s already responding to him, unfurling like a flower, petal by petal, and god, I love this.
I love the way he touches me and I love how it feels being in his arms, pressed against him; it’s home.
Familiar and comfortable and safe. It’s nice to just trust him and I want to trust him.
It’s easy right now, when he’s in my corner. When he’s gone, it’s different. My insecurities just fucking eat me alive.
“So,” he breathes against my ear, and I squirm. “Baltimore, huh? When were you gonna tell me about that?”
“I totally forgot.” Which is true, I’d forgotten until I’d gotten the fucking reminder email yesterday. A testament to how much had been going on that I could let something so important slip my mind. I butt my cheek up against his. “I was going to tell you, though. Of course I was.”
“Uh, yeah. I hope so.” He draws back a little to look at me, and there’s a cute half-smile on his face. I lean in to kiss the corner of it. “It would be more than a little concerning if you suddenly vanished without warning me.”
“Aw. You gonna miss me?”
“Do you have to ask?” He settles back against the couch, chucking his chin at me. “You booked your flight yet? Or the hotel?”
Whoops. “No...”
“No?” He’s both incredulous and amused. “When exactly were you planning on doing it? After there were no more flights or rooms? Or maybe a little bit before?”
“I’ve had a lot going on!” I retort.
So we fetch my laptop and lie in bed together with it, and Luca goes on whatever website to look at tickets.
I let him do the legwork because I figure he’s got more expertise in this area, rubbing my cheek absently against his shoulder and not-so-subtly breathing in whatever cologne it is he uses.
I’m pretty sure it’s Le Male. Maybe I should buy a bottle just to spray my pillows with so I can smell him all the time, the times he’s not here—which is unfortunately most of the time.
It won’t be the same, but it’ll be better than nothing.
I don’t know how I’m going to survive the next few months, only getting to see Luca a few times a week and having to settle for just hearing his voice and viewing him through my cracked phone screen the rest of the time.
It’s going to be even worse after the baby comes, I know.
No more sleepovers for sure. I’ll be the one going over there, assuming Demi doesn’t ban me from the house entirely.
But I want him, and he wants me, so maybe it’ll be okay.
I’m making my slow but sure way back to him, clawing through mud and murky water.
Shore’s in sight, it just takes some time to get there.
He’s here, and he wants me and he wants to make this work, and so do I.
It counts for something. Or everything. As long as we both want it, it’ll work. I think. I hope.
I hope I don’t ruin it.
I hope he doesn’t leave me again.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Luca asks me.
It’s like a kaleidoscope of butterflies have suddenly taken flight beneath my skin, the surge of excitement is so great. I jerk my head up and I know there is a wide, cheesy grin plastered across my face. “Yes. Of course I would.”
“Then I’ll buy two tickets?” He tilts the screen so I can see what he’s doing.
“Only if you let me pay you back,” I say quickly. “And the hotel’s on me.”
“No way. We’ll split it.”
“No, Luca. You took me to Killington, remember?”
“Of course I do. It wasn’t that long ago, Noel.”
About four months now, but it might as well be a lifetime ago.
I felt like I’d aged decades in the interim.
It’d been such a good time up in the mountains with him, having the best fucking sex of my life and falling in love.
Seeing Luca in his element at his very most unfettered.
That’s when he is the most beautiful to me; when he lets go of everything chaining him down.
And sure, his stupid friend Killian showed up and spoiled it all at the end, but that won’t be happening this time.
It will just be me and him in a brand-new city neither of us have ever been to before.
And hey, I was racking up the miles in just a few months, from having gone nowhere to Mr. Goddamn Worldwide. Not bad for a piece of shit like me.
“I’m so fucking excited,” I say, flinging my arms around his neck and knocking the laptop askance. He closes it, carefully laying it aside. “I mean, I was before, but now I’m gonna get you all to myself. It’ll be like old times. And don’t make fun of me for saying that,” I warn him.
Luca can’t help himself, of course. “Who’s the dork now?” he teases me.
“I don’t know how else to refer to that time. Round one?”
He smiles a little. “Soon enough this will all be old times, too,” he tells me, hooking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Blink and you’ll miss it.”
“Don’t know about that,” I say. “Everyone says life is short, but so far it’s felt horribly, insufferably long.”
“Just wait. You’ll hit the big three-oh and suddenly you’ll wonder where the fuck it all went. It only gets faster and faster. Jesus, I can’t believe I’m almost thirty-two.”
“Oh my god.” I roll my eyes. “Thirty-two. Gee. Someone should just take you out back and put you out of your misery already, you geriatric fuck. Luca, come on.”
“I cannot wait for you to get old,” he returns. “I know I’m never gonna fucking hear the end of it when you get your first gray hair. Or god forbid, a wrinkle.”
“It’s true,” I say solemnly. “I’m gonna make your life hell. Will you still love me even after I experience twink death? Or are you gonna trade me in for a new one?”
“What comes after twink, anyway?” He’s grinning. “Twas? Twonk?”
I groan. “I’m just gonna throw myself off the Tobin when it happens.”
He begins humming fucking Into the Mystic and I have to tell him that song’s not even about the Mystic River, and anyway I hate dad rock.
He gets all offended and tries to insist that Morrison isn’t dad rock, but he’s wrong, of course.
I even search is Van Morrison dad rock on my phone and he’s terribly dismayed when the consensus is heavily skewed in my favor.
“I really am getting old,” Luca says mournfully.
“Stop. It was already dad rock when you were a kid. Now it’s like, grandpa rock. And Nickelback or whatever is the new dad rock.”
He makes a face. “Noel, do you even like music? You shit on literally everything.”
“Of course I like music. Mostly EDM and deep house and stuff like that.” And TikTok music and the occasional mainstream pop song, but I won’t give him that ammo.
He rolls onto his side. “Look, my point is this: do not throw yourself off a bridge.” He touches the tip of my nose. “You’re going to be beautiful to me forever, stunt girl. No matter what.”
I smile, because that’s the only thing that really matters to me, anyway.