Chapter 19 #2
What? To Queens? No way. I swing back toward him. “Oh no, that’s not necessary! I need to talk to my mom about Jake turning up here. It might take a while.”
His eyes narrow. “That’s okay. I’m happy to help. Have you got much to bring back?”
His body is long, shoulders broad and imposing. There’s something so sexy about how he stands, resting one foot on top of the other. He does that a lot. His T-shirt is molded to his lean frame.
What the hell do I do now? “A bit of stuff … but really, James, my mom …”
He holds up a hand as he turns toward me, hip propped against the countertop.
“If you think I’m letting you go back to your mom’s apartment where your stepdad lives, the same stepdad who hit you and is somewhere outside this office right now,” he waves a hand at the window, “then you’ve got more screws loose than Mr. Karen. ”
How can I talk to my mom about money and what Jake’s up to if James comes along?
I shouldn’t have said anything about going home.
I should have just gone up there. Error number one was James meeting Jake, though, to be fair, that wasn’t my fault.
Then there was error number two: moving in with him and all his hotness. This is number three.
I gaze down at the cup of coffee in my hands. “I can’t take you to my mom’s, James.”
“Why not?”
I raise my eyes to the logo on his T-shirt.
“You grew up in a nice, middle-class life. You probably had music lessons, and your parents no doubt saved hard to send you to college. A place like Des’s apartment is a step up for you, but it’s not so different or so far outside your frame of reference that you never even knew people lived like this.
When I moved in …” I swallow and look away.
“I don’t think you understand how rough and bad it can be. ”
He steps closer, taking my coffee from me and setting it on the countertop, then he wraps his large palms around my hands and places them on his chest, pulling me right into him.
Suddenly, I’m looking up into clear blue eyes behind tortoiseshell glasses.
I only realize that I’ve licked my lips because his eyes track the movement.
His touch is warm, the callused pad on his thumb pressing into the skin of my hand.
“I understand what you’re saying, Sadie.
My parents are both teachers, and they did do that for me, though I did reject the music lessons in favor of electronics.
But despite that, I’m not letting you go to Queens on your own.
My mom works in a disadvantaged school district, and the one thing I have learned from her is that you always need backup. I’m your backup.”
Damn. He’s not wrong. I’ve been taken unawares by Jake far too often over the last few weeks.
“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“It’ll be fine.”
Like I said, he really has no idea.
I finish my coffee, and once I’ve gathered my stuff together, we walk across to Broad Street.
There’s no sign of Jake. On the J train to Parsons Boulevard, James pulls the battered copy of The Sands of Mars out of his pocket, and I read the same part of my book over and over because I can’t stop looking at his fingers wrapped around the spine or the way he flicks the page.
I surreptitiously examine his wide shoulders in his faded blue T-shirt, his dark hair shining like coal embers in the setting sun, floppy strands at the front brushing the tops of his glasses.
The ghost of his hands on mine as he pressed them into his chest makes me ache.
The smell of soap and James made me want to lean in and press my nose into his neck.
James starts talking about Arthur C. Clarke as soon as we step off the train and head up the escalators to the familiar area by the station. We pass the mural and the entrance to York College, duck under the railroad tracks, head down 160th Street, and skirt the playing fields.
“York College seemed like an impossible dream to me when I was young,” I say.
He smiles down at me. “Is this where you went?”
Oh shit. Oh shit.
Fuck, Sadie. What are you saying? I always kept my mouth shut. When did I get into the habit of talking to James? A hot sweat breaks out across my back.
“No, I … er … went into the city ... for that.”
His eyes scan my face, and heat starts to build in my neck and my cheeks, but he nods as we carry on past the cemetery. I let out a long, slow breath. Suddenly, we’re at the corner where Jamaica Houses start.
“Did you do this walk on your own every night after you joined us?” he says, looking around.
“Uh … yeah.”
His jaw tightens, and he glances back up the road. “It’s kind of deserted.”
I follow his line of sight. “I guess I’m used to it.” I give him a small smile. “Let’s go to my mom’s.”
We take a right and head down 159th Street to the familiar apartment building, through the downstairs door with the busted lock.
James raises his eyebrows at the elevator, but I shake my head as we walk up the battered tiled stairwell with its yellow and blue paint.
A familiar smell of urine and something sickly, like pot, rises as we pass the familiar beaten-up doors, the blare of a television, and the sound of a couple arguing.
I don’t dare look at his expression. Shit.
What must he think of me? Five stories up, we’re at number 52: I slot my key in the door.
“Hi, Mom!” I shout.
“Hey, Sadie.” My mom appears in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a dishcloth, and her eyes widen when she spots James right behind me.
Crap. In all my panic about him coming along, I didn’t warn her.
“This is James, from work,” I blurt out. “He’s come to help me move some stuff.”
“Oh, Sadie!” she exclaims. “You should have said something! I would have tidied up.” Her eyes dart over the hallway as she presses her palms to her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry—this apartment …” She trails off as she gazes around.
“I’m being rude.” Her hands land on her apron as her eyes lift to James’s. “It’s lovely to meet you, James.”
When I turn to look at him, his eyes are twinkling behind his glasses. “Likewise, Mrs. Turner.”
My eyes sweep over the clean but battered walls and carpet. “It’s fine, Mom. This place is spotless.”
“Less so now I’ve lost my helper,” she grumbles.
I step forward and pull her into a tight hug. “It’s good to see you,” I murmur, and when I move back, her eyes are a bit glassy as she blinks at me. I peer into the living room. Shit, I didn’t think about Jake coming back here after I saw him outside the office. “No Jake?”
“No, he went to work.”
“Work? He got a job? Where?”
“Security. Downtown,” she says.
Was that why he was outside the office? He thought he’d come and hassle me first? Aside from that text and turning up today, I haven’t heard from him for a couple of weeks. I was hoping that meant he was fixing whatever the problem was with that debt of his.
She nods, fiddling with the dishcloth as her eyes flick to James. “Would you like something to drink? A hot tea? A coffee?”
“A coffee would be amazing, Mrs. Turner.” And my mom turns and we follow her into the kitchen as she fills the kettle with water, placing it on the stovetop.
“I messaged Jake about why he turned up at your office today, and he said it was nothing to worry about; he just stopped by on his way to work.”
I snort. What a load of hogwash.
She stretches to take a cup out of the cupboard. “I’ve told Jake that he can’t stay here no more, that he’s got to move out, or I’m going to report him to the cops for touching you.”
Jesus Christ, Mom, don’t tell James that!
James’s eyes go wide and swing to mine. “What?”
This is going from bad to worse. “We’ll talk about it later,” I say through gritted teeth.
My mom’s gaze flits between the two of us and comes to a rest on me. “Are you going to press charges?”
Christ, what is James going to make of all this?
His eyes are fixed on the side of my face.
I can’t talk about money, whatever the hell this debt is, or what Mom has found out about Jake being involved in anything more nefarious, now can I?
Never mind what the threat might be to her. I look down at my hands. “No, I’m not.”
James sucks in a noisy breath next to me, and I don’t dare look at him. How does it help my mom if I press charges? Jake’s still living here; he could take it out on her. He’s on a bank account with both of our names on it. She could end up paying in all sorts of ways.
My mom’s eyes scan over me as she gives James his coffee, and I step forward and grab a cup from the cupboard, busying myself by making some tea.
“Do you know he hit Sadie, Mrs. Turner?” James says suddenly, and my mom’s hand stills from where she’s smoothing down her apron, her eyes sweeping over my face and down my body.
I gawk at him. I wasn’t going to tell her that!
Goddammit, I should have had a conversation with him before we got here.
I was so embarrassed at the prospect of him seeing the place that I forgot there’s some stuff he knows that I wish he didn’t.
That he hasn’t been imbued with the lessons of keeping quiet about things.
“Did he really do that?” my mom says, her hand fluttering up to her chest.
Well, I guess it’s out now. I pull up the picture of my bruised face on my phone, and she takes it from me, running her finger across the screen. Red climbs up her neck. “Jake did this to you?”
“Yeah. He’s been turning up and asking me for money.”
Her eyebrows rise. He never gets off his ass to do anything, so when I think about it, it’s surprising he turned up at the office at all, never mind twice, three times if you include the first time James met him.
“Has he ever hit you?” James asks, swinging back to my mom, and my eyes bug out, fixing on the side of his face. He can’t ask her that!