His body is hot behind me, and my knees almost give out. I straighten up and kiss him over my shoulder, letting his hands explore their location. It feels so good, and I haven’t been this pain-free since…
No. I push Jordan’s image from my mind.
“Let’s forget about the toilets,” I say, turning to face him.
His hands are on my bottom now and warmth is pulsing through me. I give him a quick kiss and then turn my back to him to climb onto the passenger’s seat.
I feel his hand on my back and smile, but he shoves me forward, pinning me on my stomach. He’s leaning against me, pressing hard on the back of my legs while he kisses my neck. I’m too short for this position. My face is rammed into the seat, and I’m having trouble breathing.
“Colt,” I struggle from where my face is buried in leather. The metal step side is pressing into my shins. “This isn’t working.”
But he doesn’t seem to hear me. He doesn’t let me up, and instead, he pushes my legs apart with his. Pain sears my bones as the metal scrapes across my shins. The good feeling’s gone, and now I’m afraid I’m bleeding.
“Colt!” I say louder. “Stop—it hurts!”
But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t answer as he grabs one arm and then my other, pulling them hard around my back and holding both my wrists in one hand. Pain shoots through my shoulders, and I try to struggle.
“Ow!” I yell. “Stop it—you’re hurting me!”
“Fight,” he breathes in my ear, and I can hear him smile. “Fight me.”
I try to stomp on his arches or throw back my head like they say to do in self-defense class. I’m hoping to hit his nose, but his hand grasps the front of my throat. He holds my head back against his shoulder, beside his face, and for a moment he squeezes. I can’t breathe until his grip relaxes.
“Breathe,” he whispers in my ear before pressing his mouth against it.
My heart is pounding, and I’m terrified. I’m also furious. I can’t believe he’s trying to rape me when I already said I wanted to make out. I fight against him more, but he isn’t removing my panties. His hand still holds my arms behind my back, and I’m pressed hard against his torso. I can hear his labored breathing, but he’s simply wrestling with me, holding me down, and kissing me as I struggle to get free.
I start to panic. I’m about to lose it when I finally manage to get an arm away. I grab the roll bar on the door and pull it while I kick back at the same time, hard as I can, landing a solid hit to his stomach. He lets me go and falls back with a grunt, sitting down on the step side.
I keep pulling until I’m inside the cab, and he’s watching me with those green eyes, grinning and holding his stomach. Both our masks are off.
“Good shot,” he says.
I’m shaking all over, and I hug my knees into my chest. I’m trying not to cry, sitting on the floor of the passenger’s side.
“What was that about?” I snap, unable to stop shaking.
“You said you didn’t want tame.”
“Take me home.” I put my forehead on my knees. I won’t cry. I refuse to cry.
“You’re not into the rough stuff?”
“I want to go home. Now.”
He stands and tries to reach for me, but I pull away.
“What about our prank?” he says.
“I don’t give a shit about your stupid prank. Take me home, or I’m walking.”
He doesn’t answer, and for a moment, the only sound is the constant scree of the crickets.
“You weren’t scared?” he has the nerve to sound concerned.
I don’t answer. He waits a moment longer. Finally, he exhales and picks up the sticks and the messenger bags, throwing them in the bed of the truck. He shuts my door and walks around to the other side. I take the opportunity to climb up onto the seat and quickly fasten my seatbelt.
I’m facing out the side window, my knees to the door, when he gets in. I don’t turn to look. Anger is surging through me. He starts the engine in silence and backs out of the bushes. We’re back on the highway when he finally breaks the silence.
“I thought you girls were all into that now, getting tied up and held down and all that S&M shit.”
I don’t answer. I just continue staring out the window.
“I know you love an adrenaline rush.” He tries to catch my eye, but I won’t look at him. “You didn’t think I was going to hurt you?”
“You held me down and wouldn’t let me go. Even when I said stop,” I snap. “How the hell do you think I felt?”
“Sexy? Excited? It was just a little wrestling.”
I straighten my leg in front of me and inspect my shin. It’s bruised but not bleeding. I can tell it’s going to turn all shades of red and purple.
“What about this?”
His lips press together, and he has the nerve to look uncomfortable. “I didn’t know that was happening. Next time, I’ll bring shin guards.”
“There’s not going to be a next time.”
We’re back at my house and I reach for the door, but he leans across and stops me. “Wait. Ashley, come on. You didn’t really think I wanted to hurt you?”
He slides closer and wraps his arms around me, over mine. My back’s pressed against the seat and my heart’s beating fast as he leans into my hair by my ear. “I thought you’d get off on it,” he whispers.
He kisses my neck. Then he kisses my jaw. As if by reflex, my body responds, but I’m still mad. His mouth covers mine, and he relaxes his hold on my arms. I’m free to get out now, to storm out of the truck and slam the door in his face, but I don’t. I open my mouth and let his tongue meet mine, but I don’t embrace him. I don’t pull away either. He kisses me one more time and then pulls back.
“We good?”
I don’t answer. Instead I turn and lift the door handle, slide out, and slam the door before running into my house. Into my dark, quiet house filled with sadness. I can still hear the truck engine idling out at the road after I go into my room and fall across my bed. I lie in the darkness and listen to him sitting at the curb for what seems like a long time before he finally drives away.
I curl into a ball and pull the blanket over me. I don’t know how I feel about what just happened, whether this is part of my new, rebel persona or something different. I don’t find an answer, and at some point, I finally fall asleep.
Chapter 11
Colt’s not at my locker the next morning, but Jordan’s there. I slow my pace as I approach, but he’s leaning with his back against the wall, holding his books at his side. I know he’s waiting for me. I study him dressed in one of the blue shirts I picked out for him, in the jeans that fit him exactly right, his dark hair just hitting the top of his collar, his bangs pushed to the side. I’m still trying to get over my late-night wrestling match with Colt, but one thing I know for sure, Jordan would never hold me down in a truck against my will.
Not going there. I pick up the pace.
“Hey,” I say, quickly spinning the dial on my lock. The sooner I get what I need, the sooner I can get out of here.
Jordan pushes off the wall and stands beside me. “You okay?”
“Sure, Jordan, what do you want?”
He presses his lips together and studies me a second. I glance up at him quickly and then wish I hadn’t. That stupid, warm concern in his blue eyes makes my insides weak. I clench my jaw and move faster.
“Remember how we talked about that news story?” he finally says. “Any chance you’d still be interested in doing it?”
I pause. “I thought journalism was out in favor of missionary man.”
“The journalism is what I’ll be doing with the missionaries. I like to write, so Dr. Andrews suggested I report on what they’re doing for the Presbyterian newsletter. Sort-of give the inside view.”
“Oh.” I finish grabbing my books and slam my locker door. “Okay, then. Sure. What were you thinking?”
He exhales, and his shoulders drop in relief. “Well, s
ome time’s passed. I was thinking… would you be up to revisiting the topic of your dad?”
Charlotte’s at the end of the hall, walking alone, and my mind flashes back to the first time Jordan asked me this question. She was the only one I could talk to about Dad without falling apart back then.
“Okay,” I say. “I think I’m up to it.”
“We can take it as slow as you need,” he says. “He’s a great subject, though. Want to meet up at lunch and plan?”
Charlotte disappears around a corner, and I think of lunch and Colt. We didn’t break up last night, but I’m not ready to see him again. At the same time, we weren’t really a couple. He just said we were dating, which we haven’t even done.
“I’ll meet you in the quad,” I say.
The bell sounds. Jordan smiles and squeezes my arm before taking off for class. I’m at the door to chemistry when I look up and see Colt at the end of the hall. His eyebrows rise over his green eyes, and he looks like he wants to catch up with me. I turn and go quickly into class. My hands are shaking when I sit down, not out of fear or excitement. I’m not sure what I feel.
At lunch, I meet Jordan outside, and we sit under a tree to plan out his feature.
“Thanks for doing this for me,” he says. “I’m sorry about what happened in the hall.”
“You forgot pastors don’t fight. Or swear.”
He pulls a little memo pad out of his backpack, and I watch his hand move as he writes the date. Then he puts down the pen and looks me straight in the eyes.
“You’re right,” he says. “About all of it. I care about you, Ashley. A lot. And it’s probably best we’re not dating or anything. Because I would forget all of that for you.”
My chest squeezes, and I take a shaky breath. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” I say softly.
“Nope,” Jordan’s voice is all business again. “We’re doing this. I need it for my resume, and that’s the last time we’re going there.”
“Going where?” Colt walks up behind me, and the sound of his voice makes me jump. “Hey, girl. You ran off in the hall this morning. What’s up with you and Stretch?”
He drops to a squat right beside me, his thigh touching my upper arm. I scoot away. “Jordan and I are working on a project.”
Colt leans over to look at the memo pad now lying on the grass. “Ashton Lockett, A Life? What’s that about?”
“Ashley’s dad, you jackhole,” Jordan says, and my eyes flash to him. “He died.”
I feel Colt tense beside me, and I quickly stand up. “Come with me,” I say.
“You know I let that pass because of her.” He’s smiling back at Jordan, and I pull him away by the arm. “But try it again and see what happens.”
“What are you waiting for?” Jordan yells after us.
I keep pulling Colt’s arm. “What do you want?” I say when we’re around the building.
“Found this in my truck.” He pulls my silver band out of his pocket.
“Oh!” I quickly take it from him and slip it on my middle finger. It’s so loose now. “It must’ve come off…”
“No problem.” He slides his hands to my waist. “And, I wanted to be sure we’re okay. That you’re still my girl.”
I push his hands back. “I’m not your girl, and I haven’t decided if we’re okay.”
My eyes go to his, and there’s an unexpected softness there. “I’m sorry,” he says.
I don’t answer.
“You didn’t tell me your dad died.” His voice has that concerned tone I’ve been hearing for weeks. It makes me mad. I don’t want this from Colt. I don’t want pity and sympathetic gestures. He’s ruining everything.
“I’m not talking about that with you.”
“Only with Jordan?” he lightly slides a piece of hair off my cheek. I reach up and push it behind my ear.
“Dad was kind of a local celebrity, and Jordan’s doing this story for his resume. That’s all.”
“His resume?”
“Jordan wants to be a journalist. Or something.”
Colt’s lips press into a smile and he nods. His swagger’s back, concern gone. “Well, as long as it’s just business, I guess I don’t mind.”
My eyes flash to his. “You don’t mind? What’s that supposed to mean?”
He catches me around the waist again and pulls me to him. “Means whether you’re my girl or not, I care what you do.” He leans down and kisses my temple. In spite of it all, my heart beats faster.
“I don’t like how you show it.”
His lips move to my ear, causing a shiver. I think about the beginning of last night—me sitting on his lap in the truck, his hands under my shirt. My hands under his. The good feeling. That’s what I want.
“Next time, I’ll give you the heads up,” he says in my hair.
“No next time,” I whisper. “I don’t like it.”
He pulls back and looks at me. “Okay. No next time. Unless you ask for it.”
I push his arms down and walk away. He doesn’t follow me, and I go back to where Jordan’s waiting in the quad. Just as I get to him the bell sounds.
“That guy…” Jordan starts, but I pick up my stuff and start to leave. He catches up to me quick. “Fine, walk away, but that guy’s bad for you, Ashley.”
“Just like I’m bad for you.”
He sighs and drops his hand. I keep walking.
* * *
Will’s home when I get there after school. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since the funeral, and he’s buzzing around the kitchen pulling down ingredients for dinner. He doesn’t turn around when I walk in the front door, and for a moment, I watch as he opens cabinets, pulls down a box of pasta, opens the refrigerator, takes out an onion, a green pepper, a clove of garlic, a block of parmesan cheese. He goes to a cabinet and takes out a jar of tomatoes. I’m amazed at how much he’s like our dad. My brother doesn’t look like him physically, but as I watch him circling the kitchen preparing a meal like Dad always did, I see their rhythm and movements are exactly the same.
I remember the day I saw Colt running on the track and it reminded me of Dad. But that was based on appearance—the blond hair, the slim, athletic build. And of course, the running—Dad’s and my favorite hobby.
Before I go into the kitchen, I step into the foyer and look in the huge mirror hanging there. It’s the first time I’ve done it since the day of the memorial service. I squint my eyes and try to see his face. It’s fuzzy, but it’s still there. His face in mine.
“Is that you, Ash?” Will calls to me. I hear a cabinet door close.
I stop squinting and look at myself. My face is washed out and tired. Will’s going to comment on it, and I try to think of an excuse he’ll accept.
“Come in here and help me make dinner,” my brother yells. “Or at least keep me company.”
I walk through the foyer into the kitchen, and he stops moving when he sees me. He freezes in the middle of taking a jar of olives from the fridge, and his expression tenses.
“Mom said you weren’t doing well,” he says. “I see why.”
Then he crosses the room to where I’m standing and wraps me in a hug. I don’t fight him. Will’s taller than me and thin. We’ve never been super affectionate with each other, but when he hugs me, I feel like I’m going to break down.
“I’m doing okay,” I manage in a thick voice. “It’s just been hard to get over.”
“She said you don’t go to church, you’ve dropped off the cheerleading squad, you barely leave the house…”
“Exaggerations,” I say, getting control of myself. “I went to the luau last Friday.”
He steps back and studies me. Then he nods and goes back to assembling his ingredients. “Sit at the bar and talk to me. Split a glass of wine?”
“Are you trying to get me grounded? Then I really won’t be leaving the house.”
“You look like you need it. Just a few sips.”
I nod, and he pours a large glass o
f red. “When Mom gets home, this is all mine.”
“She won’t be home.” I take a small sip and squint. I don’t really like the taste of wine. “Bitter.”
“A few sips and you won’t notice. You need to relax.” He takes a sip and then goes back to work. I watch him pull out a large knife and start slicing the onion into tiny pieces. “Tell me about this guy you’re dating.”
I frown. “Who?”
“Mom says she met a guy? You’re going out with him?”
“Oh,” I mutter. Jordan fills my head, from the first day I saw him in those ridiculous glasses to the day he slammed Colt into the locker and swore. To today. I take another, bigger sip of wine.
“That was a long pause,” my brother says watching me. “Must be love.”
“Good grief, Wills, it is not.” I take another sip.
“Okay, last sip. You’ll be drunk, and then I’ll get grounded.”
“Do you still get grounded in college?”
“Yes.”
“It was your idea,” I mutter, leaning across the counter and picking out a piece of dry pasta.
“So tell me about him,” Will says, taking the pepper and starting to chop.
“You know, you reminded me a lot of Dad in here just now. Doing all this.”
My brother smiles, and I see his eyes glisten. The sight of his tears makes my own eyes grow hot. “God, I miss him,” he sighs.
My throat is tight and painful. I grab a paper towel to wipe my nose. “Strong onions,” I say.
“Yeah,” he laughs, touching the corner of his eye with the back of his wrist. It’s the onions. “So about this guy?”
“Jordan.”
“What’s the deal with Jordan?”
“No deal. I went with him to the luau, and that was it. We’re not dating or anything.”
“But he met Mom?” Will lifts the cutting board and slides all the minced pieces into a large sauce pan. “That’s kind of major.”
“Only because she decided to come home for once, and it just happened to be at the same time he was here.”
He stops and holds the knife butt on the bar. “Ease up on her. She’s covering a lot right now.”
The Truth About Letting Go Page 11
