19. Dipshits
CHAPTER
DIPSHITS
ADAM
“I swear to fuck,
Adam, if we lose one more time because of you, I’m gonna lose my shit.”
“He’s distracted as fuck today.”
“Leave him alone. He’s getting laid tonight for the first time in forever. That takes a lot of mental prep.”
“I’m not—no, I’m—that’s redic…” I sigh, my TV screen splattering with the blood of my character as I die yet again, disappointing my teammates on the other end of my headset for the umpteenth time today. “Yeah, I’m definitely kinda-sorta thinking about it.”
I mean, fucking sue me. As Emmett said, it’s been forever. And also, Rosie is Rosie. Have you met her? She’s got the kindest, most patient heart I’ve ever known, and being with her makes me feel alive. Of course I can’t fucking think straight right now.
“He’s doing it again,” Jaxon mutters. “Buddy, you better hop in the shower and rub one out before your girl comes over. Otherwise Rosie’s gonna need to finish herself off tonight when you bust your nut five seconds after you get your dick wet.”
“Fuck you.” Definitely squeezing in a shower.
“What time is she coming over?” Garrett asks.
“I’m waiting for her to text that she’s ready to be picked up. She had to go into school to meet with one of her teachers.” My Apple Watch vibrates, and I chuck my Xbox controller in all my eagerness. “This is probably her.” I frown at the number, swiping the call away. “Never mind. Not her.”
“Who else would it be? Do you have other friends you’re not telling us about?” Carter accuses.
“With your larger-than-life personality? I don’t have room for any more friends.”
“You’re damn right you don’t.”
The same number jumps at me from my watch face, and my brows tug together. I don’t know it, but I recognize it as being the same one that called last week when Rosie and Connor were over. I decline the call again and sit forward on the couch, rubbing my eyes.
“I’m gonna get going.”
“He’s gonna go jack off in the shower,” Jaxon clarifies.
“Hey, Jaxon?”
“Yeah, dude?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Oh shit.” He chuckles. “Watch out, Rosie. Daddy Adam’s feeling fiery tonight.”
I toss my controller and headset to my coffee table, patting Bear’s head before I stand, stretching my arms overhead.
“Where’s Rosie, huh, Bear?” I scoop my phone off the kitchen island. Her last text message came in two hours ago, right before she dropped Connor off at Brandon’s.
Trouble
Do you think I’m getting kicked out for being a bad girl?
Me
You’re a good girl, but if you wanna be bad later, I can make sure you’re punished accordingly.
We should call you Trouble, not me. I’m an angel, and you’re a bad influence.
You can call me whatever you want as long as your eyes are rolling back into your head while you do it.
The most trouble, and the baddest boy.
Am I catastrophizing?
Maybe. But the best of us do sometimes. I’m sure it’s nothing.
I hope so. Can I still be a bad girl later?
You can always be a bad girl, just as long as you’re mine.
*smile emoji* Thanks for making me feel better and taking my mind off this. I’ll call you when I’m done. Can’t wait to see you.
I smile down at the messages, rubbing my hand over my chest, the way it puffs with pride, with happiness, with fullness. Because Rosie makes me feel all those things, and it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything but disappointment.
I shoot off a quick text, asking her if the meeting went okay, and jump in a quick shower.
It’s not quick because I don’t jerk off—because I absolutely do.
It’s quick because Jaxon was fucking right—it’s been too long, and I’m way too worked up over this girl to last longer than a few minutes thinking about her body below mine.
There’s no response from Rosie when I step out of the shower, and when I call her, it goes right to voice mail. Standing at my kitchen island, I tap my truck keys against the marble, trying to ignore the prickle of unease that makes the back of my neck clammy.
“Fuck it.” I toss my phone in my pocket and my hat on my head before I head out the door and climb into my truck.
Something feels off, and the closer I get to the school, the more I worry. Rosie’s phone is still off, which isn’t like her. She always keeps it on and close by when she doesn’t have Connor.
Driving slowly down the road, my gaze roams the grounds, looking for Rosie. I don’t know what my plan is if I can’t find her. I don’t have a clue where she might be in this building, and I can’t very well just stroll through it and hope no one recognizes me.
I’m about to try her one last time when I catch a flash of wispy blonde and rose gold waves beneath the shade of a towering oak.
Rosie sits by herself on a bench, and I know.
I know something’s wrong by the defeated slump of her shoulders, the hang of her head, the way she clutches her bag to her stomach.
I throw the truck into park, cut the ignition, and rush across the lawn without so much as a care about who might recognize me, only that Rosie’s alone right now, and I need to fix that.
“Rosie,” I murmur when I reach her. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
She doesn’t flinch, not a bit, like she knew I’d find her.
I almost expect her to say nothing. To sit here silently, unable to find the words she needs.
But she doesn’t. She has the words, and she gives them to me. Quietly, and so easily, like they’re the only truth she knows.
“My parents died in a house fire when I was eleven. My house was destroyed. My entire life was lost. I was the only one who survived, because my dad chose to save me first. He chose me.” Slowly, Rosie’s gaze lifts to mine, and the never-ending grief that shines in her eyes like shattered glass, far too fractured to be repaired, rocks me to my core.
“That was the last time I was anyone’s first choice. ”
The murmured, broken words snap the last of my resolve. I sink to my knees, right there before her, and as the dam breaks and those tears pour down her face like rain, I sweep her into my arms, clinging to her just as much as she’s clinging to me.
* * *
I can’t take my eyes off her, the way she’s snuggled up beneath the quickly fading sun and a warm blanket, my dog curled up at her side, refusing to leave her.
I don’t blame him. She’s different tonight, and she has been since I loaded her into my truck, ditched our dinner plans to pick up her favorite takeout instead.
She’s quiet and distant, and the silence is ear-splitting and painful in an earth-shattering way.
My world isn’t right without her laughter.
Stepping through the patio door, I make my way to her, replacing her wine glass with a mug of her favorite blueberry tea. She takes it with a small smile, red-rimmed eyes peering up at me, and when I sit beside her, she wastes no time folding herself into my side.
Squeezing her to me, I kiss her head. “I think you belong right here.”
“With you?” she asks, chin on my chest.
“Where else?”
She lays her cheek over my heart, her words soft. “I’ve wanted to belong to someone for a long time. So long, I’m not sure my brain will let me believe it now.”
“I’m a patient man. I don’t mind needing to prove it to you every day.”
Rosie smiles, and for the next few minutes, we sit in the peace of the evening, the quiet breeze rustling through the trees, the buzz of the cicadas, the fading song of the birds settling in for the night.
And then Rosie tells me her story.
“I woke up in the middle of the night to my mom screaming my name. My bedroom door was closed, but it felt so warm in there. I remember the glow coming from beneath the crack in my door.” A tear slides down her cheek. “I just thought the hallway lights were on.”
I pull her tighter against me, rub her back while I listen.
“My mom kept screaming, telling my dad to get me. It made me scared, and I started crying, calling for my parents. Then my dad came into my room. He knelt next to my bed, told me to wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. And he told me to close my eyes.” Rosie’s eyes find mine, shining with tears beneath the light of the moon.
“I listened. I always listened to my dad.”
“Such a good girl,” I murmur, swiping the tears from her eyes before they can fall.
“Even with my eyes closed, I knew. I could hear it. Feel it. My dad held me so tight, he left bruises. It was so cool when he ran outside. It was September, and the weather had started turning. It felt like such a relief to be outside, but I could feel the heat at my back as my dad kept me turned away from the house.”
Rosie looks up to the sky, pulling in a shaky breath.
When she releases it, her tears spill down her cheeks.
“‘Stay right here,’ Dad told me. ‘Don’t move. Wait for help.’ He told me he had to go, that he had to get my mom.
I asked him if he was coming back, and he looked at me for a minute before he promised he would.
‘Right back,’ he said. ‘I promise, I’ll never leave you.
’” Her eyes flutter closed, and she sits in the moment, the memory, while I kiss her forehead, smooth back her hair from her wet cheeks.
“I knew he was lying. He wasn’t coming back, and he knew it too. He kissed me, hugged me so… so
tight. Tucked my hair behind my ear and told me he was proud of me. And right before he disappeared inside the house, he looked at me one last time over his shoulder and told me he loved me for the last time.”
My chest pulls tight, I feel like it’s breaking wide open as Rosie buries her face in my neck and cries for the parents she lost, the good-bye she should have never had to say, not at eleven years old.
I press my lips to her shoulder, over and over, any words that might make this better completely lost to me.
Is there a better? I really don’t know, but I don’t want her to feel alone.