Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Emma
october
Rob
Something came up tonight. Raincheck, okay?
Emma
Sure!
Rob and I met at the gym. Both of us regulars on Wednesday nights.
He has a daughter named Jade, and he’s maybe a little younger than Alex but older than me.
He’s attractive in a different way. His nose is crooked, and he isn’t ripped like my husband.
But when someone is nice and can make you laugh, they immediately become a ten.
I don’t know why he canceled on me, but I realize I’m only disappointed that I’m not actually disappointed.
It’s obvious I wasn’t that interested in dating him, but I was willing to try.
He seemed normal, and again, he could make me laugh.
A normal life with someone who can make you laugh doesn’t seem so bad.
What does seem bad is being stood up for the second time in a row. Once is a fluke, twice has me wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.
I’m already dressed and ready to go, though. I mean, there’s still a few hours before the game starts… Knowing I’ll probably regret this, I send him a text.
Emma
I know it’s last minute, but I have tickets to the State game tonight. Wanna go?
It’s truly a shot in the dark. If Alex doesn’t want to go, I doubt I’ll go alone. There’s no use fighting traffic and crowds when I probably have a better view of the game at home. Not that I’ll watch it.
The smarter play would have been to invite Sarah to come with me, but the thought of her bringing chia protein balls to snack on for tailgate is a turn-off.
Not that her chia protein balls are crap.
They’re tolerable, but I was hoping to go all in on the experience.
Beers, BBQ, shenanigans. I’ve never been to a college football game before.
And the last time Alex and I hung out, it was fine. Good. Better than good.
It reinforced what I already knew: I miss him. I’m not proud of that.
The first 20 minutes were awkward, but once we were outside, walking the dogs, it was the same as before. Before, he reminded me that he was still in love with someone else. Before he crushed me.
We talked about my course schedule and the four people I now knew. That number didn’t include Rob. I left Rob out of the equation on purpose.
He told me about adopting Delta and how they’re working on building up to a long backpacking trip. He even shared a picture of Delta wearing his own pack. God, it was so fucking cute.
He’s cute. And I loved seeing him love something unconditionally and have the love returned. He deserves it. Regardless of what happened between us, I still think he’s a good man.
I still think he never deserved half the awful things that have happened to him, either.
He told me Constantine misses me, which I think might have been code for: I miss you.
But he didn’t say that, which is fine. I wouldn’t have said it back, even though I would be thinking it.
I know what it means to love Alexander Palomino now, and I don’t think I’ll have the courage to ride that ride anytime soon.
Be his friend? Sure. Root him on, support him? Absolutely. Date him? Can’t. Unless I feel like hurting myself again, I can’t. And he isn’t exactly asking me, either. He told me he loved me too, but I have a feeling he meant like a friend.
I love you like a friend, Em. I can practically hear his deep voice saying it aloud, ruining me.
Because his ‘I love you’ is certainly not: I’m in love with you, desperately.
It isn’t: wear my ring, carry my babies, you’re fucking mine.
Which is what I want. It’s all I have ever wanted, to be claimed.
Alex has already staked that claim on someone else.
To be clear, I’m not sure I want Alex to love me like that.
I love him, but being with him might kill me.
His presence, his demons, it can be all-consuming.
I worry it would consume us. Well, at least me.
He would take up so much space that, eventually, I would be snuffed out.
And I have my own demons. I’m still broken, too.
It hasn’t escaped my notice that he never asked about my past or my story.
He asks me things in conversation, but it’s just about the here and now.
Crap, I shouldn’t have invited him. The knot in my stomach is already forming, the pangs of regret ringing.
But life is short. Next month, I’ll be 27, nearly a third of my life already gone. Maybe more. I can’t spend the next sixty years sitting inside alone.
Table 19
Yeah, I’ll pick you up in an hour and fifteen. That work?
Emma
Yep, see you then.
Out front.
I grab the bright red sweatshirt and my crossbody bag and head downstairs, expecting to find an old Jeep parked out front.
No, no, no. My nipples harden at the sight in front of me.
Alexander Palomino on a motorcycle is like the steamy porno of my dreams. I’ve always imagined that I’m the type of girl who could have made it as an old lady.
Also, Jax Teller has been the star of way too many wet dreams. Well, Alex has, too.
“When did this happen?” He’s just full of surprises lately.
He outstretches an arm, holding a helmet out for me. “Christmas present from Blanks.” Blanks. I swallow hard, biting down on my lip so I won’t ask about him.
While I adjust and buckle the chin strap, it slips out anyway. “How is Blanks?” I don’t want to know. I really don’t.
“Fine. Last I heard, he’s dating another model.” Right. Of course, he is. He would always be dating some model.
I force out a laugh and say, “Good for him,” plastering on one of the fakest smiles I’ve ever mustered.
Luckily, I don’t have to hold it for long because I’m climbing on the back of the motorcycle, my legs hugging his hips, my chest against his hard back, and with my body pressed against his, it’s impossible to think of anything but him.
“Wrap your arms around me, Em.” I do, and it feels comfortable. Natural. My hands slide against his dark hoodie, taking hold. He’s wearing a black hoodie and dark jeans, and somehow, he’s perfect just like this.
Even though it’s October, the valley hasn’t cooled down yet. The heat hangs in the air tonight, but on the motorcycle, with the wind whipping around us, I get a chill and hug Alex a little tighter. Maybe it’s for warmth. Maybe it’s because I miss having someone to touch.
“You good?” He places a large hand on my thigh at a stop light. I nod against his back and fist my hands in his sweatshirt a little tighter. It’s dangerous, getting this contact high off him.
At the next stoplight, I adjust how I’m sitting, moving my hips against his backside, and a hand comes back to hold me. His hands holding me are a weakness. I knew it the first time he touched me. In the back of a black sedan on the way to our wedding.
I want to beg him not to do it and, in the same breath, beg him to never stop.
In the end, I say nothing. But each time we stop, the hand comes back to hold me.
To give my knee a squeeze, to rub my calf.
I don’t think he has any idea what he’s doing to me.
More than likely, he’s just as touch-deprived as I am.
The sexual tension eases as we get closer to the stadium, and I start watching the debauchery unfold on fraternity row. I thought it was only like this in the movies, but as it turns out, the movies don’t hold a flame to real life.
I’ve driven past the strip of what looks like old motels turned into fraternities and sororities nearly every day this semester, but they never looked like this before.
People are drinking on roofs. Kegs bob, floating around in pools.
Every house has a DJ and some sort of extravagant balloon installation.
College hasn’t been like this for me. At all.
For one, I’m almost always the oldest person in my classes.
Not in community college, but at State, I’m like a pariah.
The weird girl who works in the library and is too old to hang out with.
I don’t think 27 is old in general, but when my classmates aren’t even legally old enough to drink, the gap feels vast.
We wait in a long, slow-moving line to turn into the main field for parking, but it’s not boring.
Not in the least. I watch as the sea of red seeps into the field from every direction.
College students, but also families. Older people and people somewhere in between, too.
I love that all these people have a reason to belong here.
To come together. It’s not something I’ve seen before.
I’m not counting the times I’ve gone to my mom’s shows. She’s a degenerate, and so are the crowds that follow her around. Like every person at the bottom of the barrel has been attuned to Darla Strait’s siren song.
Eventually, the start and stop become steady forward movement, and we enter the tailgating field after Alex shows the attendant a special pass. We drive down the grassy, makeshift roads towards the tent village that’s amassed outside the stadium.
The air smells like tri-tip and BBQ sauce. Smoky and sweet.
He eventually pulls behind one of the tents into a reserved area and puts the kickstand down. I take a look around and realize the proximity to the stadium is far above my cheap seat general admission.
“This is the brothers’ tent,” he motions to the left while he unbuckles, then hangs up both our helmets. The Brothers. That’s how Alex refers to Max, Niko, and Silas. I know there’s one more, but he doesn’t talk about him.
I hadn’t met the brothers, but I heard about them plenty, and I’ve seen pictures at Constantine’s house. Meeting them in real life feels like unlocking another layer to Alex.
“Cool, can’t wait to meet them.”
Taking my hand in his, he leads me through the slightly bumpy grass to the front of the tent. There’s a large sign for “The MS Group” out front, and inside are rows of long tables covered in red and white checked tablecloths. They’re mostly full, too.