Where the Road Takes Me

by Jay McLean

  “You’re pissed?” His voice came from behind me.

  I kept pouring, my eyes fixed on the seven glasses on the counter in front of me.

  “You’re really good at the whole ignoring thing.” His hand clamped down on my wrist while the other removed the pitcher from my hand. “Did I do something wrong?”

  I had to laugh. “Your—” I cut myself off and lowered my voice. “Your girlfriend walked in on us sleeping tog— Not sleeping—”

  His chuckle broke through.

  “You know what I mean, and it’s not funny, Blake.”

  He set the pitcher on the counter and held my hands, turning me around, and bending his knees to look me in the eyes. He still had a smug smile on his beautiful face. “First, we weren’t doing anything wrong.” We had been, but I let that slide. “Second, my girlfriend walked in on us not doing anything wrong. If you should be mad at anyone, it should be her.” He straightened up, but he didn’t let go of my hands.

  “That’s ludicrous. I can’t be mad at her. She didn’t do anything! She caught her boyfriend in bed—”

  “So really . . . you have no reason to be mad at anyone?”

  My eyes narrowed.

  He laughed again.

  I wanted to stay mad, tell him that he was being a dick and that he was wrong, but I just couldn’t. Not when he was this close, laughing that same boyish laugh from last night. “You’re an ass.”

  “Maybe.” He shrugged. “But you like me, regardless.”

  “Is he your boooooyfriend?” Amy teased when we were back out in the yard. Her cap fell forward over her little seven-year-old head and covered her eyes.

  “No. And stop being a child,” I joked back.

  Then Dean chimed in. “Yeah, Chloe, is he your boooooyfriend?”

  Blake’s chuckle was enough to make me turn and glare at him. “No, Dean,” I retorted, my eyes never leaving Blake’s smug face. “Hunter has a girlfriend.” His smile fell. “She’s the head cheerleader and the hottest girl in the entire school,” I sing-songed.

  That shut everyone up.

  We sat on the porch steps outside and watched the kids while Mary and Dean cooked dinner.

  “Are all these kids . . . ? I mean, are they all adopted?”

  I glanced at him quickly, but he was gazing at the kids playing. Amy and Sammy were attempting to build a fort with branches and a bed sheet while Harry, the eldest at fourteen, was screwing around on a shitty old skateboard. “They’re all fostered. Mary and Dean haven’t adopted any of them yet. At the moment, they’re trying to get approval for Harry, so that will hopefully happen soon. But, no. Sammy, the youngest, he’s only been around for a few months. Amy has been here for over two years now.”

  “Dean and Mary? They don’t want their own kids?”

  “They can’t.”

  “Oh,” he said quietly.

  “Yeah . . .”

  I watched him as he looked around the yard. It wasn’t much, and the garden wasn’t maintained like his was, but no one had the time for any of that. “What—?” He cleared his throat. “What happened to their parents?”

  I sighed. “Another time, maybe?”

  “Okay,” he answered. But his tone was sad.

  “Blake?”

  “Mmm?”

  “We’re fine. We’re happy. Are you worried about something?”

  He sniffed once, but his eyes never left Harry on the board. “What happens to them? I mean, if no one wants them?”

  I tried to laugh. Tried to find a way to soothe his worries. “They become me.”

  His eyes snapped to mine. And I saw it then—a side to Blake I doubted he shared with anyone. This sad, vulnerable boy who cared. Our eyes stayed locked and the seconds felt like an eternity. The thumping of my heart against my chest began to ache. But I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t fight it—what it was that was happening to me. To us. To my entire world.

  “Blake . . .”

  He blinked once, breaking the connection. Then his gaze moved to Harry again. “Dude,” he yelled, standing up and walking toward him. “You almost had it that time. That was awesome! Do it again.”

  I’d watched and listened to Harry enough to know he was attempting a kick flip. He did it a few more times while Blake circled, one arm crossed over his chest and the other with his hand on his chin. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he took in Harry’s form. “Is it cool if I try to help you out a little?”

  “Sure.” You couldn’t have wiped the smile off the boy’s face if you’d tried. The other kids stopped what they were doing and made their way over so they could watch. I joined them and stood next to Blake. He’d winked when he’d seen me coming. I wondered for a second what the hell he was doing there, hanging out with my broken family and me. But it was only a second before I decided that I just didn’t care.

  “So I think if you move your left foot back a little and put your right foot on more of an angle, you’d be good.”

  Harry’s eyes narrowed in concentration as he looked from Blake to me. I encouraged him with a nod of my head.

  The cheers he got when he nailed the trick were so loud Dean came rushing out the front door. His body visibly relaxed when we told him what had happened. “Wash up,” was his response. “Dinner’s ready.”

  I watched the kids run up the porch steps while we trailed behind. “That was really nice, Blake, you helping Harry like that.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “It meant something to him.”

  He put his arm around my shoulders and brought me closer to him. “Did it mean something to you?”

  “Yes.”

  He kissed my temple, longer than what was necessary but shorter than what I wanted. “Then I guess it means something to me, too.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Blake

  It took two minutes for me to devour my plateful of food. The others were still going, slowly chomping away while entertaining themselves with conversation.

  “You can have seconds,” Chloe whispered up at me.

  I looked down at her plate. Her food looked untouched. “It’s okay.”

  The scraping of a chair got my attention. Dean leaned over, grabbed my plate, and proceeded to fill it with a little of everything from the smorgasbord on the table. Three different varieties of pasta, steak, chicken, salad, everything. “You’re a growing boy,” he boomed, setting the plate back down in front of me. “You need to eat.”

  “Thank you,” I said quietly. I was a little uncomfortable and out of my element. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a home-cooked meal . . . and we never really sat down at a table like this.”

  “Your parents don’t feed you?” Mary asked.

  “Um . . .” The words caught in my throat. Looking around the table, I decided that my self-pity wasn’t valid, not in this situation.

  “His parents are busy,” Chloe answered.

  “You speak for me now?” I joked, looking down at her.

  She smirked, her eyebrows raised in a challenge.

  Then Dean chimed in, “Get used to it, Hunter. That’s what girrrrlfriends do.”

  She dropped the knife and fork on her plate, the sound of it almost as piercing as her frustrated grunt. “He’s not my—”

  My phone rang, interrupting her. Will’s stupid rap ringtone. I fumbled for it in my pocket, trying to silence it. “Oh yeaaahhh!” Sammy yelled, hopping off his seat.

  “Don’t drop that booty booty!” the other kids sang, their hands moving up and down above their heads.

  “Oh no,” Chloe said through a laugh. “This is not good.”

  The ringtone continued to play. Sammy was standing to the side of the table now . . . twerking. I started to laugh, but then the ringing stopped.

  “Again,” Sammy whispered, his ass sticking
out midtwerk. I chuckled as I searched everyone’s faces. The kids just smiled. Mary shook her head, giggling to herself. Dean nodded enthusiastically. “Do it.” It almost sounded like a dare.

  Then I turned to Chloe. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned, but she was smiling, too.

  The music filled the room the instant I tapped the screen. Amy and Harry got up and started dancing. “Do it!” they yelled at Sammy. Sammy smiled from ear to ear.

  Then his shirt was off.

  “No!” Chloe laughed.

  And then his shorts were gone.

  Mary’s giggle turned to a guffaw.

  “Always with the clothes off!” Chloe yelled over the music. “Dean. Do something!”

  Dean slowly stood up, a stern look on his face.

  I turned to Sammy, now completely naked. His tiny body shaking from side to side. “Drop that booty booty!”

  “You bet your ass I’m going to do something.” Dean turned his back to Mary . . . Then right as the chorus hit and the kids’ singing got louder, he stuck his ass out and copied Sammy’s dancing.

  “Oh my God!” Chloe pushed her plate aside, folded her arms on the table in front of her and dropped her head on them.

  I stroked her back and laughed as I took in the sight of her family. Even Mary got up and joined in.

  Leaning down, I whispered in her ear, “What’s wrong?”

  “They’re crazy,” she whispered back as if her answer should have been obvious.

  I leaned in closer so she could hear me. “They’re not crazy, Chloe.” I shifted my eyes and continued watching them. “They’re kind of perfect.”

  I swore I heard her say, “You’re kind of perfect,” but when I glanced back to ask her to repeat it, she was sitting up in her seat, all emotion gone.

  “My cheeks hurt from laughing so hard,” she said as she led me up to her room.

  It had been Dean’s idea that she show me. I’d almost high-fived him on the spot before I’d remembered that he was kind of like a dad to her and it would be a little inappropriate. I’d wanted to spend time with her alone since I’d arrived.

  She opened a narrow door on the second floor that exposed an equally narrow staircase, leading up to what I assumed was the attic. “So this is it,” she said, standing in the middle of the tiny space and motioning her hand through the air. There was a bed with a nightstand on one side pushed up against the corner, a desk, and one of those temporary wardrobes, which had a few clothes hanging in it. And about two feet of free space. The room made mine look like a mansion.

  Her laugh pulled me out of my daze. “I know it’s not much, but I survive.”

  “I know that . . . but you can’t take one of the bedrooms downstairs?”

  She shook her head. “The kids have them.”

  “They can’t share?”

  “They can, but they have nightmares sometimes, so Mary likes them to have their own space.”

  I nodded, but I found it hard to imagine what life was like there. I glanced quickly at the tiny window, the only one in the room, the one she had stood behind and watched me leave from the first night we met.

  “You should be careful. You’re gonna hit your head on the ceiling.”

  I looked up at the beam a few inches in front of me. “Shit,” I breathed out. “You’re lucky you’re short.”

  She laughed at that.

  “So, my mom—” I took a step toward her, hitting my head on the beam.

  “Oh my God,” she squealed. “I just warned you.”

  Pressing my hand against my forehead, I tried not to curse. “I know.”

  “What is wrong with you?” She grasped my forearms and pushed me back until I felt her bed behind my legs. “Sit!”

  I sat.

  “Let me see.”

  I let her see.

  “You’re such a baby. There’s barely a lump.”

  “You’re mean.”

  “Cry to your mama.”

  Then her face fell, and she frowned.

  “Speaking of my mom . . .” I raised my eyebrows in question.

  She stayed silent.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out my keys to show her my new key chain: Mom’s six-month-sobriety chip. “She came and spoke to me when she got home.”

  She looked down at the object in my hand, and her frown turned to a smile. “Really?”

  I nodded, my eyes fixed on her lips. “Yeah. She said that you gave her the courage to talk to me. Apparently, she’d been wanting to for a while, but she was afraid of how I’d react. She thought I hated her.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “No,” I sighed. “I really don’t. I think that I was disappointed in her. And it may have made our relationship worse because I think she should’ve at least seen how I was feeling. That’s what I told her. But no, I don’t hate her. Honestly, I kind of miss her.”

  Her smile widened.

  “She didn’t go into too much detail, though. She said she needed time, but hopefully soon. There’s a family thing at her AA meeting coming up. She asked if I wanted to go. I don’t know if I’m ready for that. It seems like a big step. What do you think?”

  “Me?”

  I laughed. “Yeah you.”

  “I don’t think I know your mom or your relationship well enough—”

  “But you know me,” I interrupted. “And your opinion matters to me.”

  She chewed her lip, her gaze looking past me, into the distance. “I don’t know,” she said so quietly I almost missed it. “It’s your mom, Blake. I know that I wouldn’t walk away from an opportunity to get closer. Maybe this way you can stop missing her?”

  It took a few seconds for me to find the words. “Thank you, Chloe. I don’t think you actually realize how long it’s been since my mom and I have had a decent conversation. One car ride with you and it’s . . .” I shrugged. “It’s just nice.”

  Chloe

  I continued to chew my lip and looked down at him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Did I say something to make you uncomfortable?”

  I shook my head.

  He spread his legs and pulled me forward by the fabric of my dress until I was standing between them. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” No. He hadn’t said anything. His presence alone was reason enough to make me nervous.

  “What’s going on?” He sounded concerned. Maybe it was because I was no longer able to form complete sentences. I had to do something to take my mind off the fact that we were in my room. Alone. With his hand on my hip, gripping me tighter with each passing second.

  I couldn’t look into his eyes. Or at his lips. Especially not his lips. So I zoned in on where the lump was beginning to form on his head.

  “What are you thinking?” His voice was hoarse.

  Then I made the mistake of looking into his eyes. Fire.

  I cleared my throat. “It’s hot.” I tried to pull away, but his grasp on my hip intensified. His other hand settled, gentle but firm, on my bare thigh. I sucked in a breath and held it, waiting for some sense to be knocked back into me.

  “Chloe,” he said with the same huskiness in his voice. He let his head fall forward onto my breast. The warmth of his exhale spread across my skin. I tried to swallow, but the lump in my throat prevented it. My hands raised of their own accord. I laced my fingers through his hair. He pulled back slightly and looked into my eyes. “Chloe,” he said again. He removed his hand from my thigh and curled it around my neck, pulling me down to his waiting mouth.

  I let out the breath.

  Game. Over.

  But he didn’t kiss me. He just kept pulling me down, farther and farther, until he was lying on the bed, and I was on top of him. He moved the strap of my dress off my shoulder with his teeth. I let my head drop into the cro
ok of his neck. Then his lips were on my shoulder, skimming the skin lightly, moving so slowly, up to my neck. His tongue darted out, leaving a trail of wetness behind. Then his mouth was on my jaw. Soft. Slow. His fingers tangled in my hair, and he pulled slightly until I lifted my head, and we were face-to-face. He rubbed his nose across mine, then pulled my bottom lip between his teeth. I moaned, breaking the silence that filled the room. He didn’t stop with the small, torturous kisses. Not until, finally, his tongue swept between my lips.

  My teeth clamped shut. My breath caught. I was scared. I was so frickin’ scared of what it meant to have him there, doing what we were doing.

  “Please let me kiss you,” he begged.

  And I couldn’t stop myself. The moment my mouth parted for him, he was there. His tongue brushed against mine. But it was different. I’d made out with guys in the past, but never sober. It wasn’t just that, though. He was different. He wasn’t at all what I’d imagined. His kisses were slow and passionate, yet controlling. He demanded so much attention, from his kiss alone, that I forgot who I was. Who he was. And who we were together. I couldn’t bring myself to fight him anymore. I let my body relax into his.

  “Holy shit,” he moaned into my mouth, deepening the kiss. He thrust up. Just once. But enough that I could feel his hardness pressed against my stomach. He pulled back quickly, searching my eyes. Contemplating. Then just as fast, he flipped us over so I was on my back, and he was on top of me. “I’m losing control,” he mumbled.

  My chest rose and fell with every short breath. I was gasping, trying to level my breathing. But he kissed me again, and I knew I was losing control, too. He shifted onto his side but never stopped kissing me. His hand lay flat on my stomach, the heat of it matching the heat between my legs. And then it moved. Lower, until it settled on my thigh, past the hem of my dress.

  He pulled away, allowing us both to catch our breaths. “You’re so beautiful, Chloe,” he whispered. My eyes drifted shut. He kissed my lips once. Then his hand moved higher. I felt the material of my dress slipping upwards. “I want you so damn bad.”

  I parted my legs. I wanted him, too. I wanted him everywhere. His mouth moved to my neck, sucking lightly, while his hand moved higher until it was where I wanted it. His single finger brushed the space between my legs, over my panties. I knew I was wet. He moaned into my skin—he knew it, too. His mouth sucked harder while his fingers pushed the material aside. The cold air hit my wetness. Then a single finger slid up, and then painfully, slowly, down. My body tingled all over. I’d never experienced this before. Not when I was sober. A clear head magnified the intensity of what I was feeling. Not just physically. Then I felt his finger slide slowly inside me. My back arched off the bed. I refused to open my eyes when I felt the throbbing ache begin.