Voices are carrying through the house. I don’t know where they’re coming from, but I recognize them—mom, Cass, and . . . Kyle? What’s he doing here? I sprint toward the sounds, ending up in the kitchen to find Kyle sitting with mom and Cass laughing about something. Anger is rising up my throat, or maybe that’s just bile. I do feel like I’m going to throw up.
“Good morning, honey. How did you sleep?”
Well, she seems different now from when I got home. I can’t tell if she isn’t mad at me anymore or if she’s putting up a front since Kyle is here. I’m going to go with the latter; no way will she let me off the hook so easily for not coming home last night.
“Fine,” I say irritably.
Looking less than thrilled with my rudeness, she composes herself, more than likely adding this to my list of offenses to be dealt with later; if only she knew.
“Well, Kyle here has brought over your bag; he said you left it at his house after studying last night. I didn’t realize you were studying last night?”
That was smooth, mom; real smooth. I doubt anyone here noticed the implication in your voice when you said “studying” like that. She clearly thinks I was with Kyle all night. I shouldn’t care, but I hope he didn’t hear her suggestive tone.
Nope. No such luck. He’s smiling at me, knowing exactly what she meant. I grin, shaking my head in spite of myself.
The air shifts when Bruce walks into the room; he must have been smoking on the back deck, a nasty habit he picked up a year or so ago, a fact I point out every time I catch him doing it. His eyes lock with mine as if there aren’t three other pairs in the room, and my breath catches in my throat. I’ve never seen him look so mad, at least never at me before. This is going to suck.
He doesn’t speak as he shrugs toward the back door, eyes piercing mine, silently commanding me to follow him outside. The door slams shut behind me, causing a cold draft to prickle the hairs on my neck.
“Where have you been? Do you have any idea how fucking worried I’ve been? I mean, really, you couldn’t call your mother or Cass to let them know where you were? I get a call at two in the God damned morning that you’re missing, that you never came home, and that your phone is turned off.”
He’s never been like this with me before. I don’t know what to do. “You weren’t sleeping, were you?”
“What?” he shouts.
“Well, it’s just that you used to say that you didn’t sleep much because you were afraid someone would call you in the night, so I was just wondering if this time you were asleep?”
I see a faint smile shine through at my joke. I hope he’ll calm down a little now. I don’t like this side of him being targeted at me.
Putting his hand on my lower back, he guides me to the built-in bench seating on the deck. He sits by my side in silence for a long while. I don’t try to fill the void; nothing I say right now would help this situation.
“You still have my number, right?” he asks without looking at me.
“Yes,” I whisper. It just seems the appropriate thing to do right now. He’s still visibly shaken by my actions.
“Good. That’s good.”
I think he’s starting to feel like he did something wrong, like I purposefully didn’t call him when I needed him or just plain left him out of my life.
Guilt is a bitch.
Reaching my hand out, I place it on his knee, doing everything I can to get across how sorry I am. This probably seems strange, considering the age gap and the circumstance that brought us together, but he’s been with me through so much, seen me at my worst, that he’s more like family now than just some cop.
“Bruce, I never meant to hurt you. I wasn’t trying to leave you out of anything. I wasn’t hiding anything from you. I didn’t have my phone with me most of the night, though. I had left it at the coffee shop, and by the time I got it back, it was dead. I would have called you if I needed you; you know that. I always have, haven’t I?”
He nods, but doesn’t speak. I nudge his knee with mine and, when he still won’t speak, I do it a little harder; still no response. This time I push my shoulder into his. There’s a hint of a smile, but he’s being difficult. Finally, I do what’s sure to make him smile.
His head is hanging low, almost touching his chest. I drop my head down so he can see my face and I pout, an exaggerated pout, begging him to forgive me, lacing more “pleases” together than any one person should ever speak in an entire lifetime, let alone in a matter of seconds.
Soon I’m begging him to stop tickling me and to put me down when he throws me over his shoulder, threatening to throw me over the railing. It’s not a far fall, but still, I imagine that would hurt. After repeatedly promising never to put him through this again, he stops tickling me. He refuses to put me down, though. I can’t stop laughing, even as I’m slapping my hands against his back in an attempt to get him to put me down. He doesn’t set me back on my feet until we are back in the kitchen. I don’t think anything of this show, knowing mom and Cass won’t either. This is hardly the first time for an antic like this between us, but I’m at a loss for words when I see Kyle standing in front of me. I didn’t expect him to be here still. What is he doing here anyway?
Bruce makes no apologies as he extends his hand out toward Kyle, who looks between Bruce and me before stretching his hand out, giving Bruce a very solid looking handshake.
The room is silent for an uncomfortable length of time but I don’t say anything, I see the way Bruce is scrutinizing Kyle, he’ll be the first to speak I just know it. As if on cue . . .
“So, Kyle, how do you know Jess?” he asks, at the same time draping his arm loosely over my shoulder in a protective stance.
Kyle notices, seeming to assess the situation, figuring out who Bruce is to me. His face is stoic, until he directs his attention to me. His eyes soften. The seductive smile that does fun things to my belly is back, and when he speaks, his words are gentle and calm, nothing like I expected after what happened between us.
“We go to school together,” he responds coolly to Bruce but keeps his eyes gentle toward me. I want to smile, but I fight it.
Bruce seems to notice the change in my body. I can’t fight the nervous energy Kyle brings out in me, the way my skin flushes, my heart thrashes to get out, and my breaths begin to sound more like pants than breaths really.
My foot begins to tap against the floor, and my desire to get out from under the weight of Bruce’s arm becomes unbearable. I step out from under his strong arms, the very arms I’ve run to more times than I care to share, but the weight is too much. This is all too much. I don’t want to feel like an obligation; I just want to feel like a normal girl, living a normal life. Impossible, I know, but I need a moment to dream it into possible. It can be possible, can’t it?
I don’t know who’s surprised more, Bruce or me, at my distancing us. I’ve never left the protectiveness Bruce has offered, not since day one. As soon as everything was revealed to me, I turned to him for everything. I had lost Rogan, and mom and Cass seemed too fragile to handle my talking so frankly about how I was feeling, how my life had changed so irrevocably. They needed normal. I needed stability and comfort. Those two lines never crossed, but I found a balance of the three in Bruce. He really did become my rock, as cliché as that may sound, and has been since, since now, that is.
I stepped out on my own, and while part of me may have been drawn to Kyle, I didn’t step out for him. I stepped out because I’m tired of my feet floating so close to the ground, so close to walking on my own, but trapped between a world of fear and a world of possibilities. I stepped out because these last twenty-four hours have reminded me that, while I may not deserve to live, I’m living nonetheless. They reminded me that there’s still a bit of the old me left somewhere inside. They reminded me that I could feel, that I could feel amazing things, and, most important, they’ve taught me that I want to feel those things.
I miss Rogan terribly, but maybe it’s okay to m
ove on. I admit I haven’t exactly gone about this new awakening experience in a good way, but what’s done is done. I’ll have to live with whatever comes from all of these choices, and I think I’m okay with that. Life is messy. It’s complicated. It’s hard. I’ve been reminded, though, that it can also be beautiful. I want that beauty back. I didn’t realize how much I’ve been missing it.
Chapter Seven
Present day . . .
The energy in the room has shifted. As I look around, I take in four sets of eyes, four sets of emotions, and all of them different. Bruce looks confused, but also hurt. I never meant to hurt him, but he had to know I would grow up at some point, right? Is this me growing up? I hadn’t meant for it to be a big deal, but maybe it is.
Mom looks worried. I think it was a relief to her to know I had Bruce, that some of the burden of my “situation,” as she has referred to it in the past, was being carried by him. Now she may have to go back to shouldering the entire burden that is my life on her shoulders—not that she ever did, really. Bruce was always there; has always been there. What now? is probably the neon flashing sign of a question blinking in her mind.
It’s a legitimate fear, I suppose, but it still hurts to think she may feel that way, that she may see me as a burden. I’ll prove to her, to everyone, that I’m not, that I can stand on my own two feet perfectly fine, damn it!
Cass isn’t so easy to read. Maybe she’s confused by my seemingly sudden change in behavior or maybe she’s afraid that this sudden change is because of Kyle.
Speaking of Kyle . . .
He’s the easiest to read. It’s the same intensity, the same heat that had been there last night. Was it really just last night? It seems so much longer ago than that. It’s there, though, in those eyes that seem to hold answers to questions I never thought to ask. There’s something about him that I’m drawn to, a pull toward the answers I’ve been desperately seeking for three years now.
He isn’t my stalker. I don’t know how I know this, but I do. He’s going to be the one to help me find the truth, though. Another mystery as to how I know that, but for once I feel like I’m in touch with the Cosmos, or maybe it’s Rogan. Maybe he heard me last night, is here with me now, guiding me through this as if he were right alongside me.
It’s funny how I never used to believe in psychics, ghosts, and witchdoctors—and I suppose I still don’t, not really—but I do believe in Rogan, in the love we shared. I don’t care how many times people tried to dismiss our love as “young love that would never last”; it would have lasted had things been different. Maybe it’s still lasting, just in a non-physical way. Maybe spirits do exist.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
Who cares about the maybes? Right now, all I care about is pulling myself together. If Rogan is with me, so be it; if not, it doesn’t change anything. A new road has been paved in my world, and I intend to follow it to wherever it takes me. I’m not sure who I’ll be when I get there, if I get there, or if anything good will come of it, but I’m going nonetheless.
That was quite the pep talk my internal pieces seemed to have had with themselves, but it sounds nice. It sounds like a plan. It sounds like the first solid thing to come into my life since Rogan.
Kyle is quiet, our eyes still locked until he breaks the silence, asking to speak to me outside. Before I respond, his long strides have already put him in front of the back door, holding it open for me to pass through. I keep my head down on my way toward him, hoping beyond hope that Bruce doesn’t say anything.
No such luck.
“I’m not leaving before he does, so either make it snappy or expect me to be here all day,” he says in a hushed voice to me while holding firm to my elbow.
He’s not joking.
I don’t know what to do, what to say. I suppose there’s nothing to say. Keeping my head down, I nod reluctantly. My first day as an adult isn’t starting off so well. Shouldn’t I be able to stand up to him, tell him I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself? Oh, who am I kidding? Even if I can take care of myself, Bruce will always be here as my protector. It’s a given that I need to accept.
I pass by Kyle as he closes the door behind us. Resuming my position on the built-in bench, I sit and wait for Kyle to speak. I don’t have much to say, but I’m going out on a limb—a short limb—that he has plenty to say.
He stops pacing, something he’s been doing for the past five minutes or so, by the way, before coming to sit by me. I still don’t speak. His hands are resting on his knees, legs parted, head bent down, breaths slow and cleansing, as if he’s preparing for a big event. I want to touch him, reassure him in some way, but what reassurance do I have to give?
Finally . . . he speaks.
Head still hanging low, he begins by saying my name in a hushed voice, as if it causes him pain to say it. Who knows, maybe it does. His hand is resting on my knee now. “Jess, I’m sorry about last night. It should never have happened.”
An audible gasp on my part causes him to correct himself quickly.
“No, Jess,” he says with earnest while piercing my eyes with his intensity. “I didn’t mean that I didn’t want it to happen, just that it shouldn’t have happened like that. I told you already that I like you, that I’d like to get to know you more. I’m just really hoping you want that, too.”
It isn’t supposed to be a question, I know, but it deserves an answer anyhow. Tentatively mirroring his hand, I place mine on his knee, attempting to formulate a coherent sentence. “Kyle, before you go on, I want you to know that I don’t regret anything we did. But you’re right, it shouldn’t have happened like it did, especially considering Rachel found us like that. I’m not sure if you were aware of it before, but she kind of has a thing for you. Well, probably not anymore.” I nervously laugh aloud.
“I have to admit I was probably dense in that understanding before last night. I was always so focused on you, I admittedly never really paid much attention to her. I feel like an asshole even admitting to that. I know she’s your friend and all.”
A sound somewhere between a hyena and a hungry pig escapes my lips. “I’m thinking that’s not so accurate anymore. Girls are funny like that. For some reason going after another girl’s crush never fairs well with the friendship,” I declare in a sarcastic tone. “I’ll be lucky if she speaks to me again without words even Webster wouldn’t want in the dictionary.”
My heart sinks at the reality of that statement. So much for having a friend.
“I’m sure she’ll get over it. I’m not that great of a catch. Oh, who am I kidding; I’m an awesome catch. The awesomest catch anyone was ever awesome enough to catch,” he declares, with his arms above his head, seemingly cheering himself on in all his awesome glory.
I can’t help the snicker that comes out at his proclamation . . . and his introduction of the word awesomest to my vocabulary. I try, I really do. He doesn’t need his ego catered to any more than it already is, which I’m sure happens plenty, but he tends to bring the untroubled side of me that I thought was long gone out again. It’s refreshing, I’ll admit. No one wants to be in the dark forever; just happens that most of us aren’t strong enough to find the light switch.
“So, anyway, as I was saying, despite my truly awesome personality, she’ll get over the loss. You, however, I would like not to get over it. I think that maybe if we can just hang out, get to know each other, you’ll find I’m an okay gu—“
“I slept with someone last night!” I blurt out without thinking. I’m not sure why he deserves to know this; I guess it only seems fair that he know what a cheap slut I am—or have become in the last twenty-four hours anyway.
To his credit, he hides the shock fairly well. There’s a moment of rapid blinking, but otherwise no telltale sign of disgust.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen. I mean, I didn’t seek it out or anything. It just sort of . . .”
“Happened,” he finishes my sentence in an understanding tone.
�
��Yeah, I guess so. I was not okay last night, not at all. I’m not sure why I’m telling you. I just think you need to know the truth about me so you can walk away now. I’m not worth anyone’s time, trust me.”
All joking is behind us now, reality back with a vengeance. What happens next will undoubtedly be painful to bear and probably more painful to hear.
Firm hands close around my face, not allowing me to look anywhere but into thunderous eyes. He’s angry. Gripping my hands into fists at my side, I wait for the slew of insults to come tumbling at me.
Nothing. Nothing at all.
His hands are still unyielding, his eyes still clouded over, but no words are spoken. This silence is so much worse than any words I was prepared to hear. There’s a reason the silent treatment is such a horrible form of punishment. Whoever is on the receiving end, wants to be yelled at, screamed at, scolded, anything but ignored.
“You better listen to what I tell you. You’re not worthless. You’re not a waste of time. So you’ve done something you aren’t proud of; who hasn’t? That doesn’t make you a bad person. I can tell that you’re not. Sometimes shit happens that we don’t want to happen and that we can’t take back, just pick it up and throw it out. You don’t have to dwell on it as if it defines who you are now. I can’t say I’m not jealous, though,” he admits, straight-faced but lighthearted.
“Is there any part of you in there that’s listening to any of this right now? Nod if there is,” he says while nodding my head for me.
I try to speak, but my lips are squished together in his tight grip, so it’s just a bunch of mumbled noises intended to be words. His hands drop from my face, settling comfortably on my lap, when he realizes I’m trying to say something.
Thinking about what I’m about to say my heart does some sort of flippity, floppity thing that could either be from excitement or a heart attack, not too sure yet.
Stolen Page 10
