Chapter 12
Twelve
REESE
I tiptoe out of my bedroom, careful not to wake Charleigh, and pause. Zoe sits on the couch in front of the coffee table with three lit candlesticks as her light.
“What are you doing?” I whisper. “A seance?”
Zoe doesn’t even glance up from her book. “A seance? Who the hell would I want to contact from the dead? I already know plenty about our mother. No need to ask her from hell.”
“Zoe,” I warn.
She glances at me and shrugs. “What? It’s true.”
It is true, but still.
The only thing I learned from both of our parents is what not to do. The electric bill is due? Any sane person would pick up some more hours so they can afford it. My parents used to rip the bill up and throw it into the trash.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Until the power shuts off, and somehow, they’re both shocked. My dad would take it out on my mom with his fists, and she would disappear for days at a time, leaving my sister and me to fend for ourselves.
What can I say? They were great role models.
I plop down onto the couch beside Zoe and sink into the worn cushions. “God, it feels good to sit.”
Zoe remains quiet as she pulls her textbook closer to read. It’s so dim in the apartment that I have no idea how she’s able to see the text. I stare at the flickering flames on the candles and then slowly move back to staring at her.
It clicks a moment later.
My stomach slowly slides to the floor with the weight of the world on my shoulders again.
“Zoe,” I say her name slowly. “You can turn the lights on. Stop working by candlelight like we used to do in high school.”
I drag myself off the couch and head over to where my purse hangs.
Was I planning on working tonight? No.
But all it takes is one tiny reminder of how bad off we really are to kick me into gear.
Zoe peeks above her textbook. “What are you doing?”
I try to act energetic and walk with a pep in my step toward the door. “I’m going to Uber for a few hours.”
Her textbook slams shut behind my back. “Reese, no. Take the night off.”
“You’re literally working by candlelight,” I joke from over my shoulder. “That means you opened the electric bill before I did, and that means it’s probably a lot higher than expected.”
Her shoulders drop. The wavy strands of her dark hair sway with a heavy sigh. “You deserve a night off.”
I ignore her. “You’re in for the night, right? In case Charleigh wakes?”
“I’ve got our girl,” she says, opening her textbook again.
“Love you, mean it,” I say in the doorway.
We started saying it years ago, when things at home became messy.
Zoe is as strong as they come and independent too.
But when she was younger, she would scream if she was forced to leave me.
One day, I tried to reassure her that I’d see her after school and that I loved her.
Her face screwed up, her cheeks turned a bright red, and then she said, “Yeah, but do you mean it?”
I couldn’t blame her for questioning the meaning. Plenty of people told us they loved us, and then their actions told us a different story. That’s where the ‘mean it’ part came into play.
“Love you, mean it,” she says quietly.
I smile to myself and shut the door.
After logging into work, my phone immediately starts blowing up. Three rides later, a total of $20 in tips, and I’m being directed to the hockey arena.
The Blue Devils must’ve had a game tonight, which explains why the Uber requests are piled high.
I do a great job of not thinking about a certain hockey player until I pull up to the curb with hundreds of fans wearing blue and black fleeing from the arena.
So many of them wear his number that it’s impossible not to let his annoyingly hot smirk creep inside my head.
Damn him.
I grip the steering wheel and wait for my rider to approach the car.
I peek through the window to search for someone with that deer-in-the-headlights look, but it’s no use.
Rowdy fans with their foam tridents–one of my marketing ideas–loiter around, making it difficult to breathe let alone spot my little Honda off to the side.
I open my car door and stand on my tiptoes in search of some guy named Nathan. A gust of wind whips my braid around as I step up onto the curb with my phone in hand.
Where are you? I type, wondering if he’s gotten a different ride.
All of a sudden, the crowd parts, and a guy comes barreling toward me. I take a step backward and lean onto my car.
“Reese?” He glances at his phone and then up at me.
I nod. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Whew.” He wipes sweat off his forehead and flings it off to the side. “Sorry. For a second, I thought I missed my ride.”
I shake my head and direct him to my car. “It’s no problem. I know how crazy it gets after the game.”
It isn’t until I’m about to step off the curb when I realize that people are staring in my direction. I pause with my foot hovering above the road. Nathan wipes more sweat off his brow with his other hand on the passenger side handle.
Weird.
I hurry around to my side of the car and slide inside. The sugary smell of Skittles fills the air as I grab the wheel. I turn to make sure Nathan is getting in–and scream.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” My hand flies to my chest to keep my heart from barreling out onto my lap.
The back door slams shut. Nathan sucks in air so quickly, he squeaks.
Malaki, relaxed as ever, shrugs nonchalantly. “Getting a ride.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I’m too shocked to form a sentence.
Malaki angles himself toward the backseat. His large frame takes up so much space I have to move backward so his arm doesn’t brush mine. “You don’t mind if I tag along, do you?”
Nathan blinks three hundred times in one second. “What? Yes. I mean–” He shakes his head, frustrated with himself. “No! I mean, no! I don’t mind. You…you’re Malaki Young.”
Malaki’s jaw drops. He looks at me with surprise and then back to Nathan. “I am?!”
A laugh bursts from my mouth.
I slap my hand over it.
I can’t let him know he makes me laugh!
Malaki’s mouth curves on the side, but he says nothing. Instead, he reaches into the back with his hand outstretched. “It’s nice to meet you, man.”
“Um, yeah…” Nathan gingerly shakes Malaki’s hand. “You too. That was a g–good game.”
Malaki turns back around—as if he’s supposed to be in my front seat—and continues the conversation. “Yeah, it was alright. We won, and that’s all that matters, I suppose.”
Nathan’s seatbelt clicks, but I still remain unmoving.
“I can’t believe I'm in a car with Malaki Young,” he says under his breath.
“Me either!” I hiss in Malaki’s direction. “What are you doing here?” I whisper, trying to keep our conversation somewhat private while Nathan gives himself a pep talk in the backseat about keeping it cool.
“I told you…” He leans over the center console, closer to me. His warm breath fans onto my face and–are those Skittles I smell? “I’m getting a ride with my favorite Uber driver.”
I freeze when he reaches across me to grab my seatbelt. He pulls it across my chest and clicks it into place. The small act shouldn’t cause my brain to fizzle, yet I can’t breathe.
I almost forget that Nathan is in the backseat until he clears his throat. It snaps me out of my near blackout. I quickly shift my car into drive while Nathan and Malaki ramble on about the hockey game for the entire seven-minute drive to Nathan’s drop-off point.
“Can I have a quick autograph?” Nathan asks, door half-opened in front of some club with a line wrapped around the building. “Do you have anything to write with?” Nathan looks around my car. “And, like, maybe something to write on?”
Malaki, who acts like this is his car instead of mine, opens the center console and rummages around for something. He finds a pink permanent marker—from my college days, I assume—and…oh my god.
My eyes almost pop out of my skull.
A nursing pad?!
Malaki furrows his brow while he flips over the cotton circle a few times.
I stopped nursing months ago but never disposed of the pads because they could come in handy at some point. Apparently, like right now–for a freaking autograph!
If someone could ram into the back of my car just enough to send the pad flying, that would be great.
Eventually, Malaki shrugs and signs the nursing pad before tossing it to Nathan.
“There you go.” He shoves the marker back into the center console, and Nathan thanks him over and over again while climbing out of my car.
He tips me before moving away toward the line.
“Wow,” I whisper, staring at the amount.
Malaki adjusts himself in the front seat, spreading those long legs. “You’re welcome.”
I cross my arms, making no attempt to drive anywhere with him still inside the car. “For?”
“Admit it, Dimples.” His blue eyes twinkle with mischief. I hate the way my breath catches. “You make more money when you’re with me.”
I huff. “That’s because you pay me to hang out with you!”
Malaki scoffs and points to the backseat. “How about what just happened? I gave him an autograph too. Imagine if I had told him no, or if I kicked him out of the car and took his Uber completely, leaving him stranded at the arena.”
“I should leave you stranded at the arena,” I exclaim. “What are you even doing in my car? You have your own!”
He turns and stares out the window. “It broke down.”
“Liar.”
I can see his smirk through the reflection. It makes me want to smile in the worst way–that or hit him. I refuse to do either. “You’re insane.”
“I’m not insane,” he argues. “I’m persistent.”
“You mean annoying,” I quip.
“Charming.”
“Irritating.”
“Handsome.”
I can’t help but laugh.
He shows me his heart-stopping smile. “I’m funny too.”
I give up. I drop my head against the back of my seat and sigh. “Well…where am I taking you? Home? Back to your car that is most definitely not broken down?”
Malaki rests his head against the passenger seat just like me. We both turn and stare at each other with nothing but the air conditioner whirring in the background. “You can take me wherever you want…after you tell me who Charlie is.”
This again?
I bite the inside of my cheek.
It’s not necessarily a secret. I’m not hiding that I’m a mother from Malaki for any reason other than I don’t like people privy to my life.
I’m protective of not only my daughter, but of Zoe too, and our well-being.
I’m cautious. It’s as simple as that. Which is why Benedict’s threat has my stomach turning every time I have to make a decision that could give him or anyone else ammunition to use against me.
“You’ve given me no other choice,” Malaki announces.
I squint at him. “What–” I gasp when I realize he’s staring at my Skittles. “Don’t you dare.”
He eyes me from the side as he reaches for the bag of candy. I quickly sit taller, my spine locking. He wastes no time. He moves just as quickly as he does on the ice. The wrapper crinkles in his grip, even more so when he tips his head back and opens his mouth.
“Tell me, or I’m eating every last one,” he says, his neck bobbing up and down.
I jump into action and undo my seatbelt. I lean over the center console as a single Skittle drops into his mouth, the candy clinking against his teeth. Malaki turns towards me now, our faces inches away. He proudly shows me one lonely Skittle resting on his tongue.
“Give my Skittles back,” I stress, half-playful, half-annoyed.
I know it’s absurd, but the candy is sort of like a protective blanket to me. I’ve been indulging in Skittles since I was a kid, and somewhere along the way, they became more than just a sweet treat.
“You’re going to have to take them from me.”
The candy is beginning to melt on his tongue. I flick my gaze to his, and the teasing glint in his eye sweeps me right off my feet.
Malaki is challenging me, and I know I shouldn’t play this game with him, but being this close to him jumbles me up.
I narrow my eyes and smile. He does a double-take, tilting his head to one side.
“Fine,” I say.
I brace myself as I press my mouth to his. It surprises him so much that I’m able to brush my tongue against his without trouble. The sweet taste of strawberry fills my mouth, and I’m seconds from stealing it until I’m brutally ripped away by a sharp rap against my window.
I fly back into my seat and turn.
Benedict stands outside my car in his victorious stance. His arms cross at his chest with a cunning smile to greet me.
“Shit,” I whisper.