Chapter 8 – Nalia #2
I don’t know who makes the first move, but one second we’re staring at each other, and the next his mouth is on mine.
His hand is cinched around my side, and my fingers are in his hair at the nape of his neck.
The kiss is soft, maybe even coaxing, as he slides his tongue across my lips, and when he hears my breath hitch, he groans and wraps his hand around my jaw, using it to tip my head to the side and take more.
I sink into the feel of him taking full advantage of having me at his mercy and ignore the little voice in the back of my mind that whispers we shouldn’t be doing this.
But I can’t ignore the horn when he accidentally presses into the steering wheel or my cell phone, which has started to ring.
Cursing, he pulls his mouth from mine, and it takes me an absurd amount of time to get my eyes open and my body and brain to start functioning under my command again.
Rather than address the fact that he and I just kissed and that I’m pretty sure it was the best kiss of my life, I unhook my seatbelt and clumsily move over to the passenger seat without using the door because he’s standing in front of it with his hands on the roof and his chest heaving.
Once I’m seated, I adjust my bag and dig out my phone, which is still ringing.
My stomach drops the moment I see Cole’s name on the screen.
Staring at it, I feel sick.
I just kissed someone else.
I feel Logan get into the driver’s seat and then his fingers under my chin force my eyes to his.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m a horrible human.”
“What?” His brows drag together.
“I…” I swallow over the lump in my throat.
“I have a boyfriend.” His fingers on my chin tighten.
“He and I we agreed to keep things fluid when I told him I was moving here but I think we are still together.” Despite what I told myself just a few hours ago I’m pretty sure we are still in a relationship; I mean neither of us said that we were breaking up. Right?
“What the fuck does fluid mean?”
“Does it matter? I just kissed you and…”
“I kissed you,” he says, and I shake my head.
“What?”
“I kissed you; you didn’t kiss me.” He lets his hand fall away. “How long have you been with this guy?”
“What?”
“The guy you’re dating, how long have you two been together?” The question is filled with disgust.
“A little over a year.”
“Did you live together?”
“No.”
“Are you in love with him?”
“No,” I say, then want to suck the answer back in. “We’re taking things slow.”
“Apparently, if you’ve been with this guy for over a year, you don’t love him, and when you told him you were moving, the solution the two of you came up with is to keep things fluid. Whatever the fuck that means.”
“It was his suggestion,” I tell him, then add, “And none of that matters, Logan, I just cheated on him.”
“But did you?” he mutters, and I realize that we are no longer parked in front of my house but pulling into the driveway of a two-story house made of white brick with black accents around the windows and creeping vines with red flowers crawling up the side of the house.
It’s beautiful, and an exact replica of the house I have on one of my vision boards on Pinterest. When did we even leave my house?
Parking next to his Jeep in the driveway, he gets out and walks around to me and opens my door.
“Here.” He hands me the keys to his mom’s car.
“Oh, now I can drive?”
“I’m not riding with you.” He reaches down, grabs my hand, and pulls me from my seat. “Follow me to Mom’s, then we’ll head over to the school.”
I want to tell him that I’ll walk to my house which I’m pretty sure is just around the corner because we didn’t spend forever driving unless I blacked out, and I don’t think that happened.
Do I do that? Of course, not, I instead get behind the wheel of his mom’s car and follow him to his parents’ house, then after he puts her keys in the mailbox next to the front door because she’s not home and neither is his dad, I get into his Jeep with him.
“Did you call him?”
“Who?” I ask a few minutes later as we park in line at the school.
“The fluid guy?”
“Don’t call him that; it sounds weird and gross. No, I’ll call him later.”
“And breakup with him?” I turn to glare at him. “Or is that even necessary when you’re not in a relationship with someone?”
“Don’t be a jerk.”
“I’m just asking questions so that I know when I can kiss you again.”
“That’s never happening.” My cheeks are so hot that I’m sure they are red.
“Sure it isn’t.”
“I’m serious, Logan, our kids are friends, and I’m not looking for a relationship or to make things complicated.”
“So, you’re admitting that you’re not currently in a relationship,” he says, and I groan because I did just say that, even though that is not what I meant.
“Can we stop talking?” I cross my arms over my chest and focus out the open window on the playground where the fourth graders are having their last recess of the day.
The entire area is open, with just a short metal fence that does nothing but act as a barrier between the playground and fields from the sidewalk and street.
Scanning through the kids, I search for Zuri and find her sitting in the grass with a group of girls, including Heather, all of them seeming to pick the yellow weed flowers from the grass.
I sent an e-mail to the principal and her teachers this morning explaining what happened over the weekend and asking that they keep an eye on her and that they try to insist that she not run around like she normally would at recess or during PE.
I also had a long talk with her about it last night and again this morning. I’m happy to see that she listened.
As I’m watching her, I see Cooper and a group of boys playing soccer near the girls, but far enough away that they won’t accidentally hit them with the ball.
Or I assume that they won’t be able to hit them with the ball until one boy seems to come out of nowhere, kicking the soccer ball before another kid can get to it.
The ball flies through the air and crashes into the back of the head of one of the girls sitting in the circle with Heather and Zuri.
The impact is so hard that her entire body goes forward.
As she clutches the back of her head and the other girls around her move in to check that she’s okay, I see the boy who kicked the ball run off laughing with Cooper and another kid chasing him.
“What the fuck?” Logan bites out beside me.
Unhooking my seatbelt, I lean over the side of the Jeep and shout.
“Is she okay?”
All the girls who were in the circle look my way, and I see that the girl who got hit is crying.
I’m not even a little happy that someone got hurt, but all I can think is that I’m glad the ball didn’t hit Zuri in the face because the obvious force of the impact could have easily opened up her stitches.
“She’s okay,” Zuri and Heather both say at the same time.
“You need to go tell the teacher.” I scan the field for an adult, and there are two that I see, and one of them is talking to Cooper and the boy he had been playing soccer with.
Hopefully, they are telling her what happened.
It looks like they are when I see the woman start walking to where the girls are sitting.
“Sit down, baby, I gotta roll forward,” Logan says, putting his finger in the loop in the back of my shorts and tugging down so that I have no choice but to fall to my bottom.
“I wonder if that’s the kid that Zuri said is a jerk,” I tell him, wiping my hand down my thighs.
“Matthew.”
“What?” I ask, distracted by the teacher who is now talking to the girls. We’re getting so far away that I can just barely see them around the edge of the building.
“Coop said the kid who is a jerk in their class is Matthew.”
“Zuri has never told me his name.” I fidget, wondering why she hasn’t.
I’ve asked her who he is, and all she ever says is it doesn’t matter.
The same way she seemed to freeze up, then brush off the question when I spoke to her about the boy who shoved her at the baseball game.
I’m worried about her keeping information from me.
I don’t understand why she would or why she is.
“You okay?” Logan asks, and I look over and find him studying me intently.
“Just...” I rub my lips together, then ask. “What do you do when your kids keep things from you?”
“There’s not much to do except be patient.
” He reaches his hand between us like he’s going to touch me, but stops himself.
I’m more disappointed than I should be. “I’ve found out the hard way that getting pissed doesn’t work, nor does pushing for information.
But if I wait them out, they’ll usually tell me what’s bothering them. ”
“I’m terrified of pushing too much and pushing her away in the process, and I never want to do that.”
“How long has she been in your care?” he asks after passing our cards over to the girl who stops at the door.
“A few months. Before that, she would just spend weekends with me or school holidays.” In truth, she spent more time at my apartment than she did at home, but I have always felt strange admitting that out loud, even though it’s not a reflection on me but on her mom.
“Can I ask where her mom is?”
My throat gets tight, and I’m not sure if it’s embarrassment or anger.
“Prison. She was selling drugs and got caught with enough narcotics that she couldn’t claim that she was doing anything else with them.
And since it wasn’t her first offense, the judge didn’t mess around with putting her away.
” I let out a long breath. “She’s supposed to get out in ten years, maybe sooner if she gets paroled for good behavior.
I hope she doesn’t.” I admit the last part on a whisper, then continue just as softly.
“She’s not a good mom. She might try, but she’s not, and I want Zuri to have a different life. ”
“Like you had a different life?” he asks just as softly, and stupid tears cause my nose to sting.
I never told him what happened to me or my brother, but I guess it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that something did.
Kids are not normally adopted when they are two unless there is some kind of tragic backstory attached to them.
“She left me and my twin brother alone when we were two so she could go out and party, and by the time the police were called, we were in need of medical attention. When she found out what was going to happen to her for what she did to us, she signed over her parental rights without even attempting to fight to get better or change her life.” I drag in a shaky breath.
“She could have kept us, the system is set up like that, it wants families to stay together despite how fucked up those families might be or how much trauma kids might experience in the process. I…” I shake my head.
“As messed up as it is, I think her signing over her rights for Sage and me proved in some way how much she actually loved us.” Or at least that is what I’ve told myself over the years, because the other option is she was just being selfish.
That she knew, without two small kids who needed things like love, attention, and basic necessities, she could live her life with zero responsibilities.
Which is exactly what she did when she was free of us.
“Jesus, baby, I’m so fucking sorry.” He starts to reach for me, but I know if he touches me, I’ll crack wide open.
“Don’t be. I got lucky.” I turn away from him and push open the door.
Once my feet are on the ground, I force myself to look in his direction but don’t make eye contact.
“I’m going to go wait by the doors for the kids.
” I don’t wait for him to respond; I slam the door and head across the double lane of parked cars towards the school.
I need some space from him and my own thoughts.
I’m not sure why I opened up to him, but it was either my past or the situation with my birth mom.
It’s not something I talk about with anyone, not even my family.
Then again, I’m starting to see that he has the ability to make me act out of character.