Chapter 12
ELLA
It’s been less than forty-eight hours, and I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind. I’m surprised I made it through the school day without cutting class to drive out here. If it weren’t for a stupid math test, I probably would’ve.
And Ella Hill does not cut class.
Can you imagine what the school administrators would say? My classmates? My parents? Why being the talk of the town isn’t what sweet little Ella Hill should be known for. Avoiding drama means I get to avoid my parents, and avoiding them works way better for me than pining after them with unrequited love.
Besides, why should I skip class? Ry and I parted with no promises. No plans to see each other again. No commitments of a relationship.
Sure, that kiss was… well, it was everything.
And sure, I’m almost positive I heard him whisper, ‘My Lulu’, against my swollen lips. But that doesn’t mean anything, right?
And yet, here I am. About to show my hand. About to be the weaker link. I figure anger is the easiest way to follow through with this asinine plan, so that’s what I choose.
I spot him—well, half of him—the second I walk through the bay of the garage. He’s lying underneath a car on one of those rolling cots with just his legs poking out when I walk up. He knows I’m here. He senses me. I know he does because the clanking noise he was making when I pulled up has stopped.
I fold my arms across my chest. “You’re gonna kiss me like that , and I don’t even know your full name?”
He pushes out from underneath the car and shields his eyes from the bright, overhead lights. He has a grease stain streaked across his cheek. So freaking sexy. I shake my head to clear my thoughts.
Standing up, he leisurely grabs a towel from his back pocket and wipes his dirty hands. He takes a step toward me. “We kiss like that , and knowing my full name is your only concern?”
Well, of course, that isn’t my only concern, but it became the most plausible reason for me to come here this evening. To see him again. And holy hell, did I want to see him again.
Anger, I remind myself, think anger.
We’ve already established I’ve been acting like a lunatic for the past day and a half, my brain completely monopolized with thoughts of him.
Five different times yesterday I found myself sitting in my vehicle, ready to trek all the way across the county to see him. To be near him. To kiss him again.
But I didn’t.
Each time, I begrudgingly climbed out of my SUV and sulked back into the house. We ran into each other at the coffee shop randomly. Me, driving out to see him on purpose, that’s a completely different situation. And it’s not like I can wait on him to come see me. He doesn’t know where I live. And that’s assuming he even wants to see me again.
Ry tosses the rag to the side and steps even closer to me. Close enough that his body grazes mine. I freeze. I’m afraid that any slight movement will disconnect the tether pulling him to me.
Bending his head, he whispers against my earlobe. “Because my only concern is when can we do it again. ”
Shivers run down the base of my spine, swirling deep into my stomach, wetting my panties. All these feelings are foreign. And wonderfully delightful.
Kiss me. Kiss me forever.
I pray he can read my thoughts.
My lips part…
And we’re interrupted.
“Well, hello, there. Anything I can help you with, miss?”
I quickly step back from Ry, squaring my shoulders and standing straight. Not because I’m embarrassed to be next to him, but because I can’t think when I’m that close to him. He eats away at my brain cells, like my own personal drug.
It’s obvious that I’m more of a junkie than my sister.
One simple taste and I’m hooked.
Ry notices my change in demeanor and chuckles before turning away. His arm moves in front of him, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s adjusting an erection. That thought really makes me feel like a woman. Not a girl. But a woman.
Our intruder can only be Harlan. I don’t have to think too hard about that because his mechanic’s shirt does have ‘Harlan’ embroidered on it. He’s a couple of inches shorter than me, with white hair and kind blue eyes.
“Hi, sir. I’m a friend of… Crutch.” It takes me several seconds to actually remember the name everyone else calls him. “I just came here to visit him. I’m sorry; I didn’t ask if he was allowed to have visitors at work. I hope it’s okay.”
He grunts. “How good of a friend are you if you can’t remember his name?”
I glance over at Ry, who’s leaning against the car with a very bemused look etched on his face. Evil bastard obviously likes it when I’m tongue tied and out of control.
“Well, I can’t say aloud the name I usually call him in private. It’s not suitable for the ears of elders.”
Harlan doesn’t smile.
Shit. I’ve gone too far. My parents would die if they heard that.
I’m about to profusely apologize when Harlan bursts out laughing and wrestles me into a hug.
I don’t get hugged by adults often. My Uncle Ray and Aunt Teresa hug me. Detective Marcum hugs me on occasion. And the truth is… I secretly love hugs. Well, I love hugs when they come from the right people. And something tells me Harlan is the right kind of person.
“He didn’t tell me you were so funny,” Harlan says.
I glance over my shoulder, catching Ry in a rare moment of embarrassment. Pushing away from the car, he pretends to busy himself, but the only thing he can think to do is lift his baseball cap, fuss with his hair, and settle it back on his head.
He talked about me?
Harlan squeezes my shoulder. “The kid’s just finishing. Come with me. I’ll get you a cold drink while you wait.” We walk through the garage and a small, cluttered office, winding around to a small kitchen. There’s a fridge, microwave, and oven with a range. He motions for me to take a seat at the table and joins me after grabbing two Diet Cokes from the fridge.
“A friend of Crutch’s, huh?” he asks.
“Yes, sir. We met just the other night.”
“Well, he mentioned meeting a lady. He used the word friend too, but I gathered there might be more to the story.”
“Oh.” I take a sip of my drink, trying to stop myself from asking questions that I shouldn’t. The stall tactic doesn’t work, and the words come out of my big fat mouth without any hesitation. “So, does he have a lot of friends who visit him here?”
“No one has ever come to visit Crutch at work. Unless you count that worthless brother of his. And sometimes his parents will come, asking him for money. But no other ladies, if that’s what you’re trying to hint around about.”
I point my chin in the air. “Yes, that’s what I’m trying to ask about.”
Harlan laughs. “No beating around the bush, huh?”
“Ry likes it when I get to the point.”
“Ry? That’s what you call him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what’s your name, honey?”
He doesn’t get Lulu. No one but Ry gets that. “Ella. My name is Ella.”
Harlan looks over my shoulder, and I swivel, following his gaze. Ry’s standing in the doorway, watching us. His ballcap shades his face in the most delicious of ways. He’s carnal and masculine and everything I never knew I wanted.
Or needed.
He smirks, enjoying the way I’m staring at him. “I’m gonna get a shower.”
Harlan’s voice catches my attention. “You have really good posture, you know that,” he says, nodding at my ramrod straight back and shoulders.
Ry’s laugh echoes down the hall.
“I say something funny?” Harlan doesn’t wait for an answer. “Well, it’s past my quitting time. I’ll leave you two kids to it.”
I politely stand, but Harlan shoos me away. “No need for the pleasantries, sweetie. Make yourself at home.”
I take a few more sips of my soda and meander my way through the rest of the building. Off the kitchen is a hallway. The door on the left is closed, and I hear running water. Bathroom.
The door on the right is closed too. So, of course, I open it.
It’s a very small bedroom. Twin-size bed, neatly made, with a blue plaid quilt on it. A scratched-up chest of drawers with a small TV on the top. An end table with a lamp. Some men’s boots and sneakers are neatly stacked in the corner.
I lightly run my fingers across the bed.
Ry’s home that’s not his home.
It’s sad. But it’s not sad. I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone so strong. So brave.
A wave of sorrow and worry knocks the breath from my lungs. I pray Carrie is that strong. That brave. So brave that she’s surviving wherever she is. And if my deepest, darkest thoughts are true—the thoughts I’ve never spoken aloud to anyone—I pray that she was brave, was strong.
Before I know it, I find myself outside in the dark, staring across the large, asphalt parking lot at the lit gas station. Its lights are so bright, it completely overpowers the dollar store and fast-food restaurant across the street.
How many people in there right now are buying drugs? Is there anyone in there right now who knows what happened to my sister?
Because if I know anything, it’s that someone knows something.