“You still there?” he asks a minute later. “Or did I lose you?”
“Are you still there?” I retort, opening my eyes.
He chuckles. “Yeah, I’m still here, Anna. Where else would I go?”
“I don’t know . . . Home? In fact, it might be wise . . . I’m a mess right now,” I babble as a spout of wooziness overcomes me again.
“That’s okay . . . I’m used to that kind of stuff.” He gives an elongated pause, hesitating over something.
“You’re used to dealing with people who’re a mess?” Exhausted, I kneel down in the gravel on the side of the road.
“Kind of . . . You’re okay, though, right?” His concern unsettles me because I don’t deserve it. Don’t need it. Don’t want it.
I kind of do, though.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask through a yawn.
“I don’t know.” His tone drips with sarcasm. “Maybe ’cause you called me up in the middle of the night to pick you up near a junkyard out in the middle of nowhere. Plus, that cabin . . . It seemed sketchy.”
“It is sketchy,” I agree, hugging my knees to my chest. I feel sick and beaten down and super freaking tired. I think I went overboard tonight. Too much alcohol or something. Or maybe what happened with Miller is twisting up my gut.
Miller. Tonight. His hands all over me.
I shift to my hands and knees, the phone falling to the ground as I dry heave again. By the time I’m finished, the ground feels like it’s an out of control merry-go-round.
“God, I just want to go to sleep,” I mutter.
“Anna, are you there?” Luca’s voice comes from somewhere on the ground.
I feel around until I find my phone. “Yeah, I’m still here,” I say, sitting back in the dirt.
“I thought I lost you for a moment,” he says, sounding worried.
Poor guy. I kind of feel sorry for him and the mess he’s about to walk into.
I’m just about to let him off the hook, tell him to turn around and go home, that I’ll find another ride, when I spot a pair of lights shining through the darkness.
Relief washes over me. I just want to go home. “I think I can see your headlights.”
“Okay . . . where are you? I don’t see you anywhere.”
“Sitting on the ground near . . .” I squint through the dark. “Mile marker six.”
The car screeches to a stop a few feet away from me. Hanging up, I trip to my feet, but frown at the height between the ground and the door.
The door opens on its own, and Luca is leaning over the console. “Are you going to get in or just stand there?” he asks in a playful tone. He’s not wearing his glasses again and is sporting a grey knitted cap. That cute, nerdy look he had going on the other day would be gone except for the goofy grin he has on his face.
“Where’s your car?” I ask, grasping onto the door.
“That’s my mom’s. The Jeep’s actually my dad’s.” His mouth sinks at the mention of his dad.
Clearly, Luca doesn’t have a fantastic relationship with his dad—I could tell that when he told me about the interview. But what I don’t get is why his dad was crying out on the porch.
I massage the side of my leg before reaching up and grabbing the top of the seat. Putting all of my weight on my uninjured leg, I bounce up and down on my toes.
“Shit. Do you need help getting in?” he asks, reaching for door handle to get out.
“I got it.” To prove it, I drag myself up into the leather seat. Pain surges through my leg, but my teeth clamp down on my lip, stifling the cry clawing up my throat.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks worriedly. “You look like you’re in pain.”
I close the door and the interior light clicks off. “I promise I’m okay. Always okay.” Liar. Liar. You’re anything but okay right now.
“Because you could tell me if something happened,” Luca says cautiously. “That guy you drove off with . . . He seemed really intense.”
“He is.” I rest my head against the cool glass. “But I swear, nothing happened.” Nothing I’m ready to talk about right now, anyway.
He studies me for a moment before driving down the road. Thankfully, he has the music turned low; otherwise, my crumbling night would end up in a pile of dust on the floor. Of course, the silence between us is extremely uncomfortable.
As the miles stream by, my nausea declines to drowsiness, and I almost pass out, my thoughts promptly drifting back to what almost happened. I can still feel where Miller’s fingertips pressed into my skin, hard enough to leave bruises. I feel like getting drunk until I pass out, getting so high until I can’t think straight, kissing someone until I’m so numb inside I feel dead inside . . .
My stomach muscles clench and vomit burns at the back of my throat again. Tears sting at my eyes as I choke it back, refusing to hurl all over Luca’s car.
“So, are you going to bite my head off if I ask what you were doing all the way out here?” Luca asks as we near the city limits, where the fields turn to closed shops, the grocery store, and the bank.
Inhaling and exhaling, I struggle to keep my tone even. “I was at a party.” I hunker down in the seat when a cop car zooms down the street toward us.
“Must have been quite the party for you to want to leave early.” His gaze flicks from me to the road. “What’re you doing?”
“Nothing.” I only breathe freely again when the cop car flies by us.
“Is there something I should know about? Like, am I harboring a fugitive?”
“I’m only a fugitive if you let me get caught. So really, the ball’s in your court. You can either turn around and hand me over or just let it go.”
He searches my eyes for something. “I guess that all depends on what you did.”
“That doesn’t really matter.” I drape my arm over my tender stomach. “It wasn’t anything major.”
“I think I should be the judge of that.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because you seem to overlook really intense stuff.”
“Like what?” Sitting up in the seat, I feel defensive all over again, like I did in the driveway.
“Like when you were roasting out in the sun, wanting to walk home like it was no big deal.” He counts down on his fingers. “Or when your boyfriend was yelling at you in the driveway and you just shrugged it off.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say, suppressing a moan as my gut churns. “And even if he were, he isn’t anymore. Not after tonight.”
“He did something to you, didn’t he?” His knuckles whiten as he strangles the wheel.
“No, he didn’t,” I say, surprised by his intense reaction. “Seriously, Luca. Nothing happened, so chill out.”
He turns his head and looks at me, still holding a death grip on the wheel. “But something almost happened.” It’s not a question, but a statement.
“Almost isn’t something you need to get all worked up about.”
“Yeah, I do. If he almost did something to you, then that means he tried.” He flexes his fingers and tilts his neck from side to side. “I seriously want to go back and kick his ass.”
“You don’t seem like the kind of guy that’d be very good at ass kicking,” I say. “And trust me. It’s not worth the risk of getting your ass kicked.”
He shoots me a dirty look. “Hey, I can hold my own.”
“You seem too nice to hold your own in a fight.”
“I can be mean when I want to,” he says sternly, but I can tell he’s struggling not to smile. "If you want, I can turn around, drive back to that cabin, and prove it to you.”
On the brink of smiling, I casually cover my mouth with my hand. “Fine, I totally believe that you can be a mean asshole when you want.”
“Then why are you almost laughing?"
“I’m not.” Collecting myself, I lower my hand to prove it. “And I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation. I never said anything happened, and even
if it did, it was probably partly my fault.” I swallow hard as tears flood my eyes.
“Anna, whatever happened back there, it wasn’t your fault.” He places a hand on my knee, and I suck in a breath.
Breathe. Air in. Air out. “You don’t know me well enough to make that assumption, and trust me, a lot of the shit I do is my fault.”
“Not what happened tonight, though.”
“You don’t even know what happened.” Inhale. Exhale. My belly aches. “Can we please talk about something else?"
He opens his mouth to say something else, but snaps his jaw shut. He flips on the high beams with his gaze fastened on me, his eyes meticulously scanning me over. “So, fess up. What’d you do?”
I’m so relieved he dropped the Miller subject that I end up answering his question without thinking. “You know the antique shop a couple miles back?” I ask through a yawn, and he nods. “I . . . threw a rock through the window.”
“Just before I picked you up?” His expression is unreadable.
“Yeah, it’s why I was walking down the road. And that’s probably where that cop was heading.”
“Interesting.” Musing over something, he turns up the volume of the stereo and drums his finger on top of the wheel to the faint sound of “Last Kiss” by Pearl Jam.
“Interesting?” I sit up straight in the seat, suddenly feeling very awake. But his nonchalant attitude isn’t what I was expecting. “That’s all you have to say, after what I just told you?”
He lifts his shoulders, shrugging while watching the road. “What do you want me to say?”
“How about ‘get out of the car.’ Or ‘I’m never talking to you again.’?”
“Why would I say that?” He seems to get his kicks and giggles off making me uneasy.
“Because you seem like a good guy who doesn’t get into trouble,” I say with a shrug. “And trust me, I’m trouble, even when I don’t mean to be.”
He presses his hand to his chest, feigning to be appalled. “How dare you accuse me of being a good guy? I thought we already established that I could be mean and that I know how to ass kick.”
“Yeah, that was more you saying that than me,” I say. “And I’m not joking. I really threw a rock through the window. Go back and look if you don’t believe me.” Why am I so dead set on him believing me?
“I totally believe you, but it’s not that big of a deal, and I don’t really think you’re trouble, even if you think you are. Although, I’m really curious why you threw the rock.” He watches me, testing my reaction.
My eyes narrow into slits. “Because I can’t stand the guy who lives there.” I bite down on my tongue as soon as I say it. What am I doing? Pouring out my secrets to him? Is this who I am now? Blabbering, semi-drunk Annabella.
His curiosity piques. “Why can’t you stand him?”
“No reason. Forget I said that.” When he doesn’t say anything, I flop back in the seat. “Can we talk about something besides my anger issues?”
“Sure, but FYI, this is the second subject change I’ve given you, so you owe me,” he says with a straight face, so I can’t tell if he’s kidding or not. “What do you want to talk about?”
I sweep my hair out of my eyes. “Anything, just as long as it has nothing to do with me.”
“Hmmm . . .” He taps his finger against his lip. “Did you know that Pearl Jam had five different drummers?”
“I actually did,” I say, confused by his choice of subject, but in the best way possible.
“Ah ha! I knew it.” He points at me, grinning from ear to ear.
I jolt in the seat, glancing around, startled. “Knew what?”
“That you liked classic rock. That the emo rock thing you were listening to earlier was just a cover up, like the purple hair.” He rests his hands on the steering wheel, smiling proudly.
“You’re so far from being right it’s not even funny,” I say, but it feels like a whopping lie.
“No, I’m so close to being right it’s frightening.” He winks at me, and I have to catch my breath.
We stare each other down, and then he busts up laughing, his eyes crinkling around the corners. His laughter is contagious, and I find myself plagued by it. A laugh tickles at the back of my throat, begging to come out, and I bite down on my lip, desperate for a subject change. I could try to kiss him as a distraction, but considering how madly my pulse beats just contemplating the idea of our lips pressed together, I don’t think it’s a wise idea. Luca clearly isn’t Miller and isn’t going to give me that same numbing sensation I seek when I kiss him.
“Why’d you guys really move here?” I sputter suddenly.
His laughter vanishes in a heartbeat. “My mom already told you why.”
I fiddle with a frayed hole in the knee of my jeans. “But it kind of seemed like maybe there was another reason.”
“Like what? We’re really criminals on the run?” he jokes flatly. “You really want to know, because I’m not really supposed to tell anyone.”
I hesitate. Do I really want to know more secrets? “I’m not sure.”
The conversation screeches to a halt when three more squad cars fly by, red and blue lights flashing. Luca curiously looks at me again, but doesn’t ask questions. I wouldn’t have answers even if he did. I’m as clueless as he is as to why on earth there’d be that many cops responding to a broken window.
“If you’re not sure, I think I’ll keep it to myself.” He focuses on the road. “So, how cool is it to own a bookstore? I think it’d be pretty freakin’ cool. Well, unless you don’t like to read. But in that case, I think I’d have to kick you out of my car.”
And the conversation spins right back to me again. “Fine, I really want to know why your family moved here.”
“Are you sure you’re sure? Because I got a whole bunch of fun music facts I could share with you.” He stares at me with hope in his eyes.
I’m twistedly glad that he’s the uncomfortable one now. “Nope. Fess up. What’s the real reason?”
He cracks his knuckles against the steering wheel. “Fine, but just for the record, I’m only doing this because it’s pretty clear you don’t want to talk about yourself, and since I’ve pretty much got you all figured out, I know I’m making you really uncomfortable.”
I open my mouth to protest, but shut my trap when I realize arguing is exactly how he wants me to react. “You’re clever, but I’m not going to fall for your subject-changing tricks this time.”
“Dammit, I’m going to have to come up with new tricks now.” He massages the back of his neck, sighing. “My mom wasn’t lying. She really did want a change of scenery.”
“But there was more to it than that,” I guess, sticking my hand into my pocket to silence my phone as it vibrates.
“A lot more. And most of it has to do with my sister.”
“But I thought you were an only child?”
“That’s the story my mother’s been feeding everyone, but my dad found out this morning and got super pissed, so now she’s switched it to she does have a daughter who’s away in college.”
“I’m guessing she isn’t in college, though?” My phone rings again, and I shut it off, knowing it’s probably Loki calling to scold me.
Luca laughs, but the hollow noise sends goosebumps sprouting across my flesh. “Not even close.”
I start to ask where she is, but trail off as he turns into the only twenty-four hour gas station in Honeyton. “What’re you doing?”
He parks in a vacant spot close to the entrance and flips off the headlights. “I need a caffeine and sugar run.”
I squint at the red, slightly burry numbers on the dash. “Right now? It’s almost midnight? Don’t you need to be home,” I say, because it feels like we’re hanging out now. If I wanted to do that, I would’ve called Cece.
He grips the door handle to get out. “Says the girl wandering down a dirt road just thirty minutes ago.”
I slouch back in the seat. “But I really
need to get home.”
“I’ll only be, like, five minutes.” He hops out and glances back into the cab. “You can come in if you want or sit out here, but I’m not bringing you anything.” A challenge dances in his eyes as he closes the door.
I stubbornly stay in the seat. But my stomach grumbles, reminding me that about an hour ago, I emptied its contents into the grass. I’m starving and candy sounds so good right now. And maybe a soda to wash the bitter taste out of my mouth.
The Illusion of Annabella Page 13
