36. Dane
36
DANE
Her hair ribbons and billows with the breeze, and her smile takes on an excited edge, as the Nova flies down the scenic route I’ve driven countless times. The golden hour is upon us, and hazy orange sunlight casts over us and bounces off her skin.
Retrieving my new phone from my pocket, I take a picture of her behind the wheel. My girl’s the photographer, not me, so it comes out blurry. The next one I capture has her sticking her tongue out at me. It’s extremely out of focus and my favorite photo of her by far.
Since I don’t want to distract her, I stow my device away and provide her with directions needed to get to the hidden beach. Only locals know about this spot, and even then, it’s a pain in the ass to find.
Soon, we find ourselves in a residential area, and Reese puts on a frown when she circles the block for the third time.
“I don’t see any parking,” she mumbles, heaving out a quiet sigh.
“There’s one right there.” I gesture to my right, and she blanches.
“It’s too tight.”
There are plenty of innuendos I could make right now, but I decide to behave for once. Especially when she’s finally comfortable on the road. She’s no longer holding the steering wheel with a death grip, and her shoulders aren’t pulled taut when she brings the vehicle to the speed limit.
“Don’t even sweat it, Snack Mix,” I assure her. “You got this.”
The corner of her mouth twitches a beat, and then she blows out a breath. Trepidation gathers in her eyes when she stares ahead. With a nod, she throws the vehicle in reverse and carefully tries to parallel park.
If we could even call it that. I resist the urge to snicker, staring pointedly at the side-view mirror and pressing my knuckles to my lips when I sense her scowling beside me. A smart man knows better than to laugh, but I can’t help it.
My girl’s terrible at this, making more than a twenty-point turn without any real progress.
“All right,” I say finally. I don’t think I’ll be able to maintain a straight face if this becomes a fifty -point turn. There’s only so much self-control I can exert. “I’ll give you a refresher tomorrow. Let me park the car for you.”
A groan of relief breaks free, and she thumps her head against the headrest. “Thank you for putting me out of my misery.”
With the brakes on, she jumps out of the convertible like a bat out of hell and scrambles for the sidewalk. I quickly climb into the driver’s seat, and my knees bang against the steering wheel. Right.
Pushing the seat all the way back, I readjust the rearview mirror, then peel away from the curb.
With ease, precision, and speed, I quickly back the Nova into the tight spot in under ten seconds and kill the engine. Parallel parking is a fucking breeze for me. It’s one of the first things I learned just a few months into working at Sal’s. Marco wanted to see who could do it better, and I wasn’t going to let him beat me at it.
Hopping out of the car, I glance over and catch sight of Reese gawking at me. More importantly, she’s biting her bottom lip. My amusement only grows. “Aw, that turned you on, didn’t it?”
A heavy blush blooms across her face. “Shut up.”
“Oh? On second thought, I won’t give you any refreshers,” I tease. Before she can say anything, I throw my arm around her waist and wrench her to me. “I like the idea of my Reese’s Pieces getting all hot and bothered because I can park like a champ for her.”
“You are so embarrassing,” she chides, pulling away before I can hoist her into the air for a well-earned and much-deserved kiss. “I think we should save the kissing for midnight.”
“Aw, baby, you’re gonna make me wait until next year?”
“Never mind. You are so cheesy.” She rushes back and rises on her tiptoes to sneak one on my jawline.
My hands drop to her hip bones, and I tug her in close. “You like it, though.”
“I like everything about you,” she corrects with a gentle laugh. Her smile broadens as she reaches up and brushes aside a strand of my hair that’s fallen over my forehead, her touch lingering.
For an instant, all I can think of is the night we met. The first time those dark brown eyes peered into mine in a moment just like this. The first time in ages since I’ve let anybody into my personal space like that.
“You’ll definitely like me more tomorrow when I parallel park like a champ for you,” I say, and she lets out a long-suffering sigh.
Wriggling herself out of my embrace, she offers me a tiny smile. “I like you the best when you’re softer around me.”
“Baby, I’m hard around you all the?—”
“I walked myself into that one, so that’s on me,” she laughs, tugging on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. A regular, navy blue Belford U sweatshirt .
It’s nothing fancy—it’s clearly well-worn and two sizes too big for her—but the scoop neckline does little to hide the harsh scar between her collarbones.
I avert my gaze elsewhere, suddenly invested in the craggy shoreline that awaits us. I know better than to be a dumbass right now and make a big deal out of it. I will be on my best behavior. I won’t draw any attention to her willingness to go out in public— with me —without hiding any part of herself.
My girl trusts me.
She fucking trusts me.
Sure, we’re at a hidden beach—a small, secluded cove shrouded in tidepools. I know we’re most likely the only ones here tonight since the residents who live in this area are wintering someplace else for the New Year, but still.
It fucking means a lot to me.
My heart swelling with pride, I take her hand and run my thumb over the bumps of her knuckles. As I carefully guide her down the sandy stairs, my focus remains on her.
There’s a wintry flush to her cheeks and upturned nose while she studies the cliffs with genuine interest. Her eyes crinkle when she catches me staring and beams. Her giggle is low and husky while the rising tide laps at our feet.
“Did you find this place joyriding?”
“Nah. I’ve known about this place my whole life.” Amusement threads through my veins as she tilts her head back to peer up at the evening sky. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
With haste, she whips her phone out, turns on selfie mode, and lets out a cute laugh when I crouch on the sand and tug her onto my knee. She’s all smiles and sunshine as she finds my gaze, and then she breaks into a grin when I capture her lips with a kiss she eagerly responds to.
“It’s New Year’s somewhere,” I murmur, stealing another one.
“Probably in Australia,” she agrees, shifting closer.
“What I meant”—I groan into her mouth—“is that you should take a photo of the sky.”
“This is better.” She tugs my bottom lip between her teeth, and my eyes pinch closed.
As much as I want this to continue—and God knows how much I want it to—I reluctantly break away. A protesting whimper sounds from her throat, and she buries her face in my neck and nips at my pulse point.
All the blood rushes from my head. “You don’t want a picture of the stars and the moon for your fiesta?”
“I want a picture of us for me.”
“Damn, Reese,” I grumble. “Make it a little easier for me to give you a gift.”
“A what?” She rears back a few inches, furrowing her brows. “Why? It’s New Year’s Eve.”
“Then consider it an early Valentine’s Day present.” How I manage to shrug my backpack off while my girl’s still on my knee is nothing short of a miracle. Grabbing the box inside, I hand it to her.
Her mouth parts on a soft inhalation. “Did you wrap this?”
“I’m not that talented,” I snort. “I got the lady to help me with it. This was the closest shade to iris she could find.”
She swallows audibly. “You shouldn’t have?—”
“You haven’t seen it yet.”
“It’s heavy,” she observes tentatively. “It better not be something expensive.”
“It didn’t cost as much as the Nova,” I confirm, and her frown doesn’t let up. She squints at me for a drawn-out beat before she tears into the wrapping paper.
Immediately, she shoves the box toward me, and I catch it before it topples into the sand.
“Dane, I can’t?—”
“Sure you can.”
“ This is expensive,” Reese protests, springing to her feet. Her fingers delve into her hair as she paces, refusing to meet my gaze. “I can’t accept this.”
“Baby, it’s for Valentine’s,” I say, and in answer, her nose wrinkles at me. I suppress my chuckle. “We have to register for classes soon. I figured you might wanna try photography or something this semester. Or take high-quality pictures of onion rings for your fiesta. Either way, it’s yours to do whatever you want with it.”
Contemplative silence falls between us. She reluctantly glances over, her eyes stormy with emotions.
“I can’t get you anything as nice as this,” she says, her voice low and rough. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to chase away the flicker of guilt shining across her slender face. Do what I can to hear her husky laughter sweetening the air and see her starry eyes and sweet smile out in full force.
“Reese’s Pieces, it’s not about the cost; it’s the thought that counts. You like photography. I like seeing you happy,” I assure her. “If you want to make it up to me that badly, take a photo of the golden hour every day for me.”
Her gaze continues to hold mine. The guilt is still there, but it’s gradually growing duller by the minute. “Like a New Year’s resolution?”
“Well, no,” I say flatly. “Like a plan people actually follow through with.”
A husky laugh slides free, and the corner of her lips tips up into a wobbly grin. I’ll take whatever I can get.
“I don’t want to get sand all over it, so I’ll look at it later.” Her expression gives way to something bashful, and her voice lowers to a whisper. “I can’t believe you got this for me.”
“Oh, come on,” I say gruffly. “Don’t make this a big deal.”
“To me, it is.” The gentle vulnerability working across her features makes my throat feel tight. “I like this softer side of you. I wish everyone else could see it, too.”
“Nah, Reese. I’m a fucking dickhead.”
“No, you can be very sweet,” she insists, and her sincerity has me rooted in place.
The thing is, I want to believe her. I want to see this version of me she wholeheartedly believes in. Maybe she’s reading too much into every little detail, or maybe… that side only exists for her. If that’s the case, she’s the only person I want to be that guy for, anyway.
Neither of us says a word. It’s just the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore in the background.
“Can you hold on to it for safekeeping?” she finally whispers, bridging the distance between us. “My pockets aren’t big enough for it.”
“Say no more.” Unzipping my bag, I fight my smirk when she takes the camera and handles it like a precious newborn as she places it inside.
Her brow immediately hikes up an inch. “What’s with the… Pinot noir?” With wide eyes, she snatches the bottle and squints at the label in the dim moonlight. “I know we’re ringing in the new year, but we’re not getting publicly drunk. We have to drive back to BU.”
“Always gotta be a good girl, huh?” I tease with a wink, and my heart takes a sudden nosedive when the air turns palpably rigid. The bottle slips from her grasp, and she goes utterly still. “Reese?”
Genuine panic clouds her eyes. Her hand flies to her neck, her fingers clutching the material of her sweatshirt like it’s a lifeline in a turbulent sea. Her breath comes in shallow pants.
Dread grips me by the throat as I take one step closer, only to halt mid-stride when she visibly shrinks before me. “Reese, baby?”
It demands all my conscious effort to keep my voice soothing and low. To refrain from letting my emotions show. I want nothing more than to pull her to me. Promise her she’s safe with me. Swear on my life I won’t hurt her.
But she keeps retreating into herself. And it kills me to see her like this. It fucking kills me.
“I’m okay.” She gasps raggedly for air. “ I’m okay .”
“Oh, fuck, baby. I’m so sorry,” I breathe, and my movements are deliberately cautious as I close the gap between us and bring my hand to her face. She tenses, then trembles as the pad of my thumb wipes away the tear tracking down her cheek.
What the fuck happened to her? My stomach tightens as my thoughts go to the worst-case scenario. One where good girl could even come up. One where those words could be uttered.
My blood pounds deafeningly in my ears. Anger claws through me, vicious and raw. I want to find the fucker who did this. I want to make him hurt. I want to make him twice as afraid of his own pathetic shadow. But there’s nothing I can do at this moment. The only thing I can do is remain calm and try my fucking best to help her ride out her panic.
“Did he say?—”
Her whimper splinters my heart, and every muscle in my body screams in protest as I force myself to remain still. Resisting the urge to ball my hands into fists, I gently stroke the line of her jaw with my palm.
“Never again,” I swear to her. “I won’t say those words ever again.”
“I almost died.” Her voice is so soft that I almost don’t hear her over the water.
Any few inches higher and… I might have lost my voice or…
My lungs give out on me as her words echo in my head like a broken record and reroute my focus to her scar. The gentle moonlight catches on the harsh line, sparing no details.
“It was my senior year of high school. Lili was away at college,” she says, the words merely a decibel over a whisper. “It… was really hard not having her around when she was there for me my entire life. Our childhood wasn’t the best, but she did everything she could to take care of me and protect me.
“Dad left us when I was three, and Mom was never home. She’d disappear with her boyfriend, and we’d go an entire week or two before she showed up again.”
Jesus. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know how difficult this must be for her. Especially when she won’t look me in the eye.
Her lips press together, and she shakes her head. She doesn’t say anything else, though. She remains silent for a long, long minute. I patiently wait, regardless. It’s all I can give her.
“With Lili gone, I was by myself a lot,” she finally continues. “People… caught on. Someone must have been waiting for my mom to run off to God knows where before they…”
Her voice breaks, and my heart sinks like lead. Suddenly, it all clicks. All those times she’d freak out over the locks and deadbolts make too much sense, and I find myself overanalyzing every detail—poring over every little moment and wondering if I’ve ever fucked up. Or rather, how many times have I fucked up already.
“Do you want me to hold you?” My gruff words nearly stick in my throat.
“Please.” She doesn’t have to ask twice.
Keeping my movements slow not to spook her, I draw her into my arms. Her cheek nestles against my chest, and she shakes when I soothingly stroke her back.
“T-they broke into the trailer,” she stammers. My shirt’s getting soaked with her tears, but I pay it no mind. “I-I was asleep when it happened. There were two of them ransacking the place and looking for anything valuable. I woke up when I heard glass breaking and— There was this man. In my room. He had a hoodie on and a knife in his hand .”
The reality of her words set in. My chest coils tight. So fucking tight that I can’t breathe. I have to remind myself over and over to remain calm, but I’m struggling as it is. I’m barely keeping myself together, clenching my jaw to stave off the overwhelming amount of anger surging through my every vein.
“I panicked and b-bolted for the bat Lili kept under her bed, and he”—she breaks into a low sob—“g-grabbed me from behind and p-put the blade to my throat. T-told me if I stayed still and remained q-quiet, I’d live.”
“Baby, if this is too much,” I begin, and she clings to me harder. There’s nothing I want more than to find this bastard and give him a taste of his own medicine. I want him to cower in fear—to piss himself when he hears the fucking wind blow; to breathe through a fucking straw—for the rest of his pathetic life, but that’s not the pressing matter at hand.
My girl needs me. She’s opening up to me. Right now, I have to focus on her. I must make sure she knows I’m here for her. I’ll always be here for her.
“No. I want t-to tell you,” she sniffles. “I—I just remember freezing… and him whispering…”
Good girl.
“W-what they didn’t know was t-that my neighbor had j-just gotten home,” she continues. “She saw t-them breaking in, so she c-called 911. They were spooked by the sirens, and he…” Her hand presses against her neck. “He c-cut me by accident, and I was left bleeding on my bedroom floor while they escaped through the window.”
“Tell me they found them,” I growl.
In response, she offers me a strained smile. “My mom was pissed?—”
“That they did that to you?”
“That I got hurt.”
“ Good ,” I say bluntly.
“ Because I had to go to the hospital,” she tacks on. “Not only were the medical bills outrageous, but she was mad the doctor reported the injury. It got her in a whole lot of trouble with the state.”
“What the fuck?” I exhale sharply. “You went through something terrible—Shit. Fuck .”
“W-what?” She jerks back, her eyes flying wide with alarm and concern.
Fuck. Way to fucking go, dumbass.
“I shouldn’t have done that to you.” I swallow thickly, and my guilt is insuperable and scours me raw. “Behind your apartment that one night. Holding you up against?—”
“Oh.” A faint blush creeps onto her cheekbones. “I didn’t mind. I mean, I trust you.” The words come out so irrevocably firm and sure that my heart squeezes tight.
“Didn’t people tell you I was dangerous?”
“You’ve never hurt me before,” she whispers. “Why wouldn’t I trust you?”
Aw, hell. Her earnest sincerity has me in a fucking chokehold.
I will find whoever hurt you and make him pay , I silently promise as I look steadily into her expressive eyes. I fucking swear on it.
With a quiet sniffle, she musters up a tiny smile—something reassuring, as if she’s trying to appear brave. My heart pangs.
She’s so fucking strong. I should know.
I know how fucking terrifying it is to be attacked and left for dead. I know how long it takes to put yourself back together, and all the bullshit you do to cope. You don’t fully move on from your trauma and all the shit that comes with it; you learn to live around it the best you can.
I just hate that she’s gone through it, too.
“Your mom sounds like a fucking piece of work,” I grunt. “High offense to her.”
“It’s okay. She’s not in my life anymore,” she admits. “The second I got my high school diploma, I took a bus out here and never looked back.”
“My girl’s a fighter.”
“I don’t think cutting people out makes me much of a fighter.” She taps her forefinger against my knuckles. “I’m kinda conflict-avoidant.”
“My girl’s so fucking strong.”
“I don’t feel that way most of the time,” she whispers, peering up at me through her wet eyelashes.
“My girl’s so damn brave.”
A dry, shaky laugh bursts free from her. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?” I feign confusion, and she pokes my nose.
“I know I’m being a buzzkill.” Before I can object, she pulls away from me, drying her tears with the sleeve of her sweater. “Let’s go get drunk and liven up the mood.”
“I didn’t bring you here to get drunk,” I tell her. Genuine concern courses through me as I gauge her profile. I know my girl doesn’t drink. It must have taken a huge toll on her to tell me about her past. Hell, it’s taking all of my conscious effort to remain calm and be her steady rock after everything she revealed to me.
She blinks slowly, as if she’s having trouble processing my words. “You didn’t?”
“Nah.” I hesitate for a moment. “This is for my mom.”
“I thought your mom—” She sucks in a quiet breath, her gaze drifting to the ocean. “Oh, Dane.”
“It’s-it’s nothing,” I say gruffly. “It’s just something I do every year.”
“On New Year's Eve?”
“She, uh, died on New Year’s morning,” I admit, and her attention snaps back to me. “Car accident.”
Her long, sorrowful gaze pierces me down to the marrow of my bones, and my chest winds tight with every second that lapses between us.
“Not around here.” I swipe the bottle from the ground and roll my eyes with a scoff. “This was her favorite. Always ended a night with a glass of this. Figured it’d—Never mind. It’s stupid. Let’s just forget about this and?—”
“ Dane . It’s not stupid.” Her words are utterly gentle as she closes the distance between us and buries her face into my chest. “Thank you for letting me be a part of this.”
“It’s nothing,” I mumble, swallowing roughly as I prop my chin against the crown of her head.
She only hugs me tighter in response. I don’t push her away. Instead, I breathe in her familiar shampoo and listen to the incessant thrum of my heartbeat in my ears. Then I slowly wrap my arms around her with no intention of letting her go.