Chapter Twenty-Two Fitz
Fitz was an enormous asshole.
He knew it. She knew it. Even this giant bed they were going to share knew it.
For a few seconds after Ren disappeared into the bathroom, Fitz stood on the other side of the door, fist raised, trying to find the nerve to knock. He didn’t hear water running, didn’t hear teeth brushing. There was only silence, and his mind filled with all the potential images on the other side: Ren glaring at herself in the mirror. Ren crying. Ren burying her embarrassed face in her hands. He stepped away, walking over to the bed and sitting down.
Fitz could remember his first Thanksgiving at the Fitzsimmons table. It was only two weeks after the adoption had been finalized, and in the previous ten years he’d gone from Mary’s to homeless to juvie to this; he knew it would be a long time before he stopped feeling like a vagabond in the pristine hallways, if ever. At the dinner, there’d been three forks at each place setting, servants bringing out food, clearing plates. He didn’t know to put his napkin in his lap, didn’t know which bread plate was his. When the food arrived, he reached for it, not knowing that they were supposed to say grace first, and after grace they were supposed to go around and say what they were thankful for, one at a time. Fitz didn’t know that his new father, Robert, expected Fitz to thank him and only him for bringing him into the Fitzsimmons home, that Robert would be sullen and withdrawn for the entire rest of the meal because Fitz had thanked Robert’s wife, Rose, first and longer.
But Fitz learned, quickly. He learned how to put on the mask, how to shower Robert with awe and deference whenever he was home. Fitz learned how to play Robert’s game, by Robert’s rules. It never brought them the true bond of a father and a son, but it brought them a delicate sort of peace. His father started taking Fitz to fundraisers, ball games, charity appearances, and staged photo ops out shopping in Seattle or Portland or Vancouver. No matter how often Robert screamed at his wife and kids, no matter what Fitz heard going on behind closed doors, Robert cared only that, in public, he came off as the perfect parent, and Fitz let him. He could be patient.
Even though Ren wasn’t patient—grabbing at life with both fists was more her style—Fitz wouldn’t expect her to know how to navigate everything on the first try either, and was amazed how fast she was learning. Whereas he’d spent his first year in his new world quietly observing, Ren was running forward, arms outstretched. He wanted to tell her how impressed he was, how hard and disorienting and intimidating he knew it must be. Most of all he wanted to tell her just how desperately he wanted to hold her hand—and much, much more.
But every time the instinct yawned awake in him, self-preservation slammed it shut. Ren didn’t need to know Fitz better. She didn’t need to be someone—the first someone in years—who he opened up to. Ren didn’t need all the baggage Fitz brought to the table. As much as he wanted to sit her down and tell her everything, it wasn’t smart. Their lives could not be more different. Ren had barely seen anything in the world, and Fitz had already seen too much.
He’d learned too many times that when you think life is going the right direction, you were probably only inches from a blind turn.
The worst thing about it all wasn’t even the effort it took to keep her emotionally at arm’s length; it was keeping her physically distant, too. It was obvious to them both that there was attraction here. Fitz had felt this often enough to know what it was: the adrenaline-flooded limbs, the heat in his blood, the desire to drink in her features like a heavy, sweet brandy. He’d look at her across the console, the table, the sidewalk, and all he wanted to do was touch her. He wanted to tug her hand at night and pull her over him, letting her figure out how her body worked. And if Ren had been anybody else, he would have done it already.
But Ren wasn’t anybody else; she didn’t even speak that language. Everything he wanted to do with her would be her first: first kiss, first touch, first time. Only the worst of men would take those firsts knowing he’d vanish right after.
Shit, but her sweet openness was the exact thing that was making him crazy, turning him into a turbulent sea: high tide, low tide, high tide. He couldn’t find a way to be normal with her anymore. And when it came down to it, why not open that door? What did he care if this was her first or one thousandth experience? What difference would it make? He could take, and take, and take, and what did he care if it messed with her head? Ren was an adult. She’d figure it out.
The problem was, he did care. And worse, maybe, was this: What if she wasn’t the only one who got hurt? Fitz had never known this kind of attraction before—one that was entwined with curiosity and amusement and a sense of companionship that felt too, too comfortable. Turned out, he hated it. Sexual chemistry in isolation was so much easier. His dream was to be a free man unbeholden to anyone. He didn’t want or need feelings.
They’d be arriving in Nashville soon—could easily make it tomorrow, if they wanted—and from there Ren was going to Atlanta. He’d drop her at the bus depot, and for all he knew, he might never see her again. Maybe she’d stay in Atlanta with her dad, maybe she’d head back to her homestead. Maybe she’d come back to school, and they’d awkwardly orbit each other for a few months before he graduated. He had no idea. But what he did know was that it’d only been four days, and this level of attachment was stupid. It was dangerous, even. This was when kids like him got hurt. The last thing he ever wanted to be again was the sucker who fell for the promise of more.
But when she came out of the bathroom, hair long and soft over one shoulder and cheeks so flushed she looked fevered, some resolve in him cracked. He could keep her at arm’s length physically, could keep his emotions in check, too. But he didn’t ever want to bruise hers.
“The bed is plenty big for us to share,” he said, silently begging her to look at him.
She glanced up and then quickly away. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’ll stay on my side.” He’d wanted it to sound playful, but instead it came out tight, like a warning.
“Of course. I will, too.”
“That’s not—” He faltered because words about feelings and shortcomings and fears were not in his working vocabulary. “I wasn’t—”
“Good night, Fitz.” She cut him off gently, walking around the bed to climb in on the other side. The air stirred, and it smelled like honey. He wanted to press his nose to her skin, breathe her in. “I know it’s weird for two people who barely know each other to share a room, let alone a bed. I’ll never stop being grateful.”
Two people who barely know each other.
He’d said something similar to her, he knew it was true, so why did it sting when she said it back?
Ren reached up, turning out the lamp beside her bed, so he did the same, lying there in miserable silence.
“Ren?”
He caught the tiny, frustrated sigh that preceded her amiable “Yes?”
“If you want to drive tomorrow,” he said, “I’m cool with it.”
He was such a liar. Cool with it? Not even close. It went against every instinct, but he’d kept his word and handed her the keys on Saturday morning, watching begrudgingly as she unlocked the door and settled into the driver’s seat. She’d been quiet as they’d gotten ready to leave, but her subdued vibe transitioned to elation as he directed her out of the hotel parking lot. Ren opened up Max’s speed on the frontage road, letting out a giddy whoop.
“Ease him in gently,” he said, leaning forward and feeling oddly jealous from where he’d been banished to the passenger seat. “You don’t need a brick foot right off the line.”
Ren adjusted her grip on the steering wheel. “I told you I drive all the time on the farm. I know how to handle an old car.”
“An old—” The words sent him back against the seat, insulted on Max’s behalf. “This Mustang is a finely tuned machine. A classic.” He reached out and put a consoling hand on the dashboard. “Don’t worry, Max. She didn’t mean it.” The engine rumbled in reply.
“His model is from the 1970s,” Ren said, matter-of-factly, in that know-it-all voice that had always set his teeth on edge. “He’s beautiful and you’ve kept him in great shape, but objectively he’s an old car.” She pursed her lips, thinking. “He’s the same year as our manure spreader, I think.”
Wow, the insults kept coming. “He’s also getting your butt to Nashville, so a little respect, please.” Fitz looked at the map and glanced up ahead. “Take this left turn.”
She flicked on the turn signal, and a twinge of irritation colored her voice when she asked, “Is the plan to stay on surface streets the entire drive?”
“It wouldn’t be if you stopped taking the turns so wide. He’s a Mustang, not a school bus.”
“Why’d you let me drive if you were just going to grumble at me the whole time?”
Fitz didn’t need the years of mandatory child-services therapy under his belt to get that he was being a backseat driver and, frankly, sort of a dick. They were already in a weird place with each other after his mental meltdown last night. Unfortunately, he liked being in the driver’s seat—literally and metaphorically—and knew it was unlikely he’d be able to shut that down over something as enormous as another person driving the car he’d saved up for years to buy.
But Ren was right: He either trusted her to do this or he didn’t. Yes, there had been the car she’d cut off in the parking lot, and she’d sped up instead of conservatively slowing down for two consecutive yellow lights. She had a lead foot and tended to hover on the right side of her lane, but they’d been on the road for more than twenty minutes and it had been fine, hadn’t it?
With a glance down at his phone, he propped it in the empty ashtray where she could see the map and sat back in his seat.
“Get in the right lane and merge up ahead.”
“We’re getting on the freeway?” she asked with a hopeful lift to her voice.
“Sure. You’re right, you don’t need me babysitting you. Just go where the GPS tells you.”
“I’ll watch the speed and keep Max safe,” she insisted, smoothly shifting lanes and guiding Max up the on-ramp. “You won’t regret it, Fitz, I promise.”
“I know, Sunshine. You’re doing great.”
The freeway was blessedly empty, and as the miles rolled seamlessly beneath them, Fitz felt the muscles in his shoulders loosen, felt his worries ease.
And after three consecutive nights of crappy sleep, exhaustion started to settle in.
Max’s engine rumbled comfortingly all around him, lulling him into a heavy trance. Traffic was light, it was an easy route. Ren could handle herself, and they’d be in St. Louis before he knew it.
He yawned. It would be fine.
A truck horn blared so loudly it sounded like it was inside his cranium, and Fitz startled into consciousness, bolting up as the semi barreled past them, sending Max hopping sideways in the lane on a reverberating blast of air.
“Fitz! Wake up!” A hand reached blindly for the front of his shirt, shaking him. “We’re going to die.”
“W-what?”
Ren clutched at his collar. “I don’t want to die!”
Adrenaline sent a bolt of electricity into his veins, and he was immediately alert, looking frantically at the situation around them. They were in the middle lane on a three-lane freeway somewhere between Kansas City and St. Louis, completely boxed in on all sides by irate drivers. A woman in a cream Cadillac swerved around them, leaning out her window and yelling, “Get off the road!”
“What’s going on?” Fitz yelled over the commotion.
“Everyone is freaking out! It was so calm earlier, and all of a sudden all these cars showed up!” A raised truck came right up on their bumper, the driver leaning heavily on the horn. Ren screamed, slapping her hands over her ears.
“Hands on the wheel!” Fitz leaned across the console, taking over the steering, and managed to get a glimpse of the speedometer. “Ren! You’re going thirty-five miles an hour!”
“Because they’re scaring me!”
A man in the truck beside them was shouting obscenities out his window. A kid in the backseat of another car flipped them off as his mother drove past. The warm spring breeze that had lulled him to sleep now whipped into the car, adding chaos to the cacophony.
“Okay, listen, we’ve got to work together. We’re going to get over into the right lane. Come here, Ren. Put your hands back up. I can’t steer the car from here.” Ren lifted her shaking hands and wrapped them around the steering wheel.
“Let’s give it a little more gas, Sunshine.” He put his hand on her thigh, pushing her leg down to lean on the accelerator, but when Max sped up, the person to their right sped up, too, vindictive and unwilling to let Ren ease in front of them.
“Oh, come on!” Fitz yelled out the window.
A car swerved around them on the left-hand side, the driver shouting, “MORONS!”
“Why are these people in such a bad mood!” Ren cried.
A truck with a bed full of onions in front of them suddenly slammed on its brakes, making Ren swerve to the left to avoid hitting the bumper as onions tumbled out, bouncing all over the road and even into the car. “I don’t want to die! I’ve never eaten tiramisu!”
“Tira—?”
“I’ve never seen the northern lights!” she sobbed. “I’ve never been on a plane! I’ve never been kissed! I want to be kissed someday, Fitz! I don’t want to be the girl who was killed by onions and never ate tiramisu and never got kissed!”
In the pandemonium, his brain stuttered over that one, and for some reason, he burst out laughing, pushing down harder on her thigh to encourage her to keep going. Fitz had been unable to sleep because he’d been thinking about nothing but kissing her. Go figure. Those unkissed lips were precisely what got them into this predicament.
An exit was nearing, and Fitz knew this stretch well; if they didn’t get off soon, they’d be stuck here without another option for miles. “Check the mirror,” he said. “Can you get over?”
A watery hiccup, and then, “I think so.”
“Good. Turn on your blinker. Move to the right. There you go. That’s it, they’re letting you in.” Her hands shook on the wheel, but her chin was set in determination as she eased Max into the right lane. “We’ll get off at this exit.”
Fitz stared at her profile, feeling something powerful well up in him. Awe. He was in awe of her.
Out of nowhere, a semi came up behind them, air horn blasting as it rocketed past. Fitz unleashed a screaming laugh as Ren veered to the exit, slowing at the bottom of the slight hill and steering off to the side of the road.
“It’s not funny!” she yelled, but then she broke and was laughing, too, tears welling in her eyes as her entire body started to shake. “It’s not funny,” she said again, this time with less conviction, and her laugh turned less trembling and more joyous and…
God, she was so pretty.
Fitz reached down and pulled an onion from his lap, and she laughed even harder. There was enough adrenaline pumping through his veins that he was tempted to just reach over, put his hands in her hair, and kiss her.
Somehow, he resisted, but he did reach across the console and cup her face, meeting her eyes. “You okay?”
Ren nodded. “I think so. Did we almost die?”
“Goonies never say die.”
Dust settled around them, and when she smiled, her cheeks filled his cupped palms. “You’ve seen The Goonies?”
“Every true movie fan has seen The Goonies, Sunshine. Do you realize we’ve just survived the Clueless on-ramp scene and lived to tell the tale?”
“You’re right.” She laughed, closing her eyes, and Fitz remembered the way Mary used to lean in and kiss each of his closed eyelids when he was scared.
He searched around for the cynicism he needed, the pessimistic reminder that this was all a terrible idea, but the call went unanswered. What he was feeling had wiped it all away, and the only thing he felt was hope.
He let go of Ren’s face, reeling in an epiphany that made him feel lightheaded. He’d been wrong last night. A chance to be with Ren—for three months, a week, a day, an hour—was worth the risk of getting hurt. For her, he would willingly walk toward that blind turn. But he couldn’t do it without her knowing the truth about him.
He just had to figure out how to tell her.