by Jones, Ayla
“Shit.” What the fuck? Her last text to me had been some kind of a warning? Jesus Fucking Christ. It was a goddamn warning. For a moment, I laughed to myself, because if I were being really fucking honest here, I couldn’t have written a script this good.
“Honey?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Is Fallon in a lot of trouble?”
“Yes. It looks that way. She was arrested yesterday. One of the kids blew the whole thing up a few weeks ago. His dad caught him with drugs, he broke down and confessed, and they went to the police.” I bet it was Elliott. Had to be. He was a shitty enough dealer to get caught. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Not only had I probably been buying drugs from a fucking narc, but I’d also been stupid enough to turn Fallon’s drug dealing into a story. Couldn’t forget that part. I was screwed. I would probably screw Fallon in the process, too. Add that on top of almost poisoning one of the brightest lights in my life. Fucking shit. “According to Fallon’s attorney, the boy was just pissed because they wouldn’t let him into the popular group.”
“That’s all she admitted to?”
“She said he wanted to be a part of the popular kids, and that’s really what this is about. She said she doesn’t know anything about drugs. It just so happens that all the other kids who were arrested, too, are in this popular group. Anyway, the kid told his dad that he’d sold a few things only because they pressured him to—he gave him names and told him how he’d gotten some of the drugs. Somehow, it turned into a sting operation. Anyway, they nabbed six students. They’re probably going to charge them with distribution and conspiracy to distribute. We talked to the girls for an hour today, and they assured us that although they knew about the drugs at Prep, they played no part in it.” She sighed. “I was relieved, Charlie. And now…” She rubbed her temples. “I can’t even think straight. Please tell me this is all a big, complicated mistake.”
“My arraignment is definitely tomorrow?”
“Yes. We’ll hear the charges and hopefully get you out on bail.”
“Hopefully?”
“You remember Sheila? She’s going to take over the case. She’s good. You’ll get out most likely tomorrow or the day after.” I nodded. She couldn’t resist talking in legal probabilities. “Is this the trouble you were telling me about, Charlie?”
I wasn’t ready for her disappointment. “I should go. I haven’t slept much. I want to be ready for court tomorrow. I love you.” I signaled for the officer and I was led out of the room.
Chapter Seventeen
Nikki
You can’t imagine how I felt in the hospital when the memories from that night came back. You almost killed me, Nicole. You almost killed an entire family, too. We can’t pretend that truth won’t always be there. I’ve done my best to not treat you any differently as your father, someone who loves you very, very much. I hope that I have not treated you differently because I would be so angry with myself, but I do live with what you did. Every day. It doesn’t mean you don’t mean the world to Mom and me. It doesn’t mean I don’t cherish you just as much now as the moment the doctor handed you to me. You are everything to me.
Love you always, Butterfly,
Dad
I closed the card and took a deep breath. “I’ve been reading it over and over. It’s fair, right?” Dinner wasn’t horrible at all, and he did put this card in the mail. Hurt feelings wouldn’t go away overnight, on either side, but at least lines of communication were reopened. “It’s a start, right?” Lux, who was sitting on my lap, shook her head. “Oh, what do you know…you eat your boogers.”
“Wow, Nikki, that’s a lot of blush,” Samira said from behind me, and I spun away from the lighted vanity.
“Yeah, we got carried away.” It was chaotic back here as everyone tried to get ready for the musical’s opening night. Way too much amusement for a toddler who was quick on her feet, and my solution, of course, was to let a baby put makeup on me.
“You look like me in middle school.” Samira chuckled as she picked up her daughter and sat in the chair next to me. I grabbed a few sheets of makeup remover wipes and cleaned my cheeks. “He’s here. I passed him on the way to the bathroom.”
“Oh.” My hand trembled as I pushed small sparkly decorative combs through my hair on either side to keep it out of my face.
“Have you guys talked since he got out?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “Texting a little. Every other day. A phone call or two. Like friends. We were good as friends. But I don’t think I can go back to a friendship fully, Samira. I don’t really know what he wants and part of me is afraid to ask because maybe he doesn’t think there’s anything left here, especially if our time is limited. It’s awful to be thinking about rekindling a relationship when he’s got so much on his plate, but I miss him so badly.” There was also something he needed to hear me say, regardless of what the future held.
“He is stressed out,” she explained. “But I also think he’s just punishing himself a little right now with you.”
When the stage manager started shouting over the noise, I shooed Samira out, gave everyone in West Side Story a quick pep talk, and walked out to the audience. Opening night was almost a packed house. Tyler stood up and clapped like he was planning to start a standing ovation. I waved hard and mouthed for him to sit down. But I couldn’t stop smiling. Goddamn hope. It was inescapable.
Charlie rose from where he was sitting, and then he walked down the aisle toward me. “Hey.” I saw his grip on a bouquet of flowers tighten before he handed it to me. Then his hands moved around my waist, and he pressed me against him. “I have no doubt that it’s going to kick ass.”
“Thanks…” I said, smiling as he backed away. I shivered a little. Oh yeah, Friendship 2.0 with Charlie was going to suck. “Enjoy the…” I trailed off when he pulled me close again.
“Even though I am probably never going to stop being in love with you, I was going to let you go today,” he whispered, “and you were going to survive. But you deserve better than survival, Nik. You should have a world full of beauty, and kindness, and friendship, and love. You deserve all of that—everything you give and are, two-fold. I was the lucky one to have you love me back, so I must’ve done something right along the way. I hope those things outweigh all the wrong, and I hope my promise to do those right things better is enough in this moment. I just want the chance to put better love in the places where I hurt you, while I still have time. If I can’t, then just know that I’m so sorry for hurting you and no matter what, Nik, you’ll always be what forever looks like to me.” His lips brushed my cheek so close to my mouth.
Wow. Oh. Wow. Knees? Weak. Other bones? Nonexistent. And I guess he was still going to kiss his girl when he wanted to kiss his girl.
Oh crap.
I was definitely still his girl.
The auditorium lights dimmed and brightened repeatedly overhead before a voice on the PA system announced that the show was starting. Charlie rushed off before I could say anything.
I went backstage and watched the musical go by in a blur. I noticed a single mistake—one that only someone with a dance background would catch—but otherwise it was spectacular. At least the parts I saw when I wasn’t staring at Charlie. He sneaked out while the kids were getting a well-deserved second standing ovation. I was out of there, too, and it was completely irresponsible and unprofessional to leave, but I couldn’t stay. I went straight to the Dara house after Samira texted to tell me that was probably where he’d gone. He was trying to spend as much time with his family as possible. He opened the door after my fourth round of impatient and violent knocks, looking surprised.
“I expected a guy here to kick my ass the way you were knocking,” he said as he let me in. He walked to the couch and unpaused whatever it was he’d been watching.
My head was spinning. “Uh…hi. You didn’t stay. I wanted to thank you for the flowers,” I blurted out as I sat next to him on the couch.
“You hate flowers,” he said, smili
ng.
“You’re right…” Clearing my throat, I turned toward him completely. “Look, all I’ve done since we met is choose you, and I don’t plan to stop any time soon…” Charlie palmed my knee. A breath rushed out of me, and I drifted outside of myself. For a moment’s eternity not a thing moved. No blinks. No heartbeats. No breaths.
Then his fingers ran along my thigh. It was a light sensation, but I’d been hungering for it so much it made my skin buzz, like my blood was carrying electricity. The touch sparked a wildfire in my chest. “Please, keep going…” I whispered. “Don’t stop.” His mouth hit mine hard; his tongue was inside within a beat—and it tasted like every memory of us. I grasped the back of his neck with both hands. He grabbed fistfuls of my hair, arching me against him.
Oh fuck yes. None of that gentle shit. Ever.
With our lips crushed, we kissed roughly, until his scruff burned my skin; I liked the hurt. I didn’t like controlled pain, really. I preferred the kind that came from sudden, overwhelming need. Back scratches that stung and fingerprint bruises from a hard squeeze. Then legs that were wobbly for days and a pussy that throbbed every time you moved. Those reminders that you’d let someone fuck you that good. That hard.
And I was going to let Charlie fuck me that good and that hard.
I unbuttoned his shirt to the tail, trying not to rip it. He wrestled it off. His grip on my hair was even tighter when I clutched his dick through his pants.
Then button. Zipper. Boxers. Cock.
Reaching beneath my dress, Charlie pulled my underwear down. He was fingering me before it reached my ankles. When I brought his head to my chest, he licked my nipples, warming my skin through the fabric of my dress.
“Your family…” I whispered.
“Everyone will be out for a while…”
“No…the couch…their couch…” Still ruining things at people’s houses. My body didn’t give a fuck, though. My head tipped back until it hit the armrest. Charlie lifted me off the couch.
We made it as far as the staircase.
My back hit the carpeted steps, and he guided his dick into me in a dizzying push. I curled my leg low around his hips and gripped his ass. His mouth was mashed to mine, and we kissed each other raw. I didn’t want to hear how beautiful I was or how it felt to be inside me. I just wanted to be touched, and marked, and fucked. By Charlie. Only by Charlie.
He thrust slowly but hard. My legs quaked as viral heat swirled in my center, and I cried out in sharp breaths. Charlie’s forehead rocked against mine. He spread my knees wide, pushing his hips harder and plunging in farther as the tremors took over. I came and his body went rigid right away. I hugged him, legs folded around his back, absorbing his shudders against my chest. He held me, too, saying my name until he stilled.
“We really gotta figure out how to have sex in a bed again,” I said. My fingers skidded over the fading indentation from my teeth on his shoulder. Didn’t even remember doing that.
“Again. I like again.” Charlie laughed. He didn’t pull out of me right away but he kissed me softly. Cradling my face, he said, “Is it selfish that I want you to fall in love with me like you did before? That I want to be a person who deserves what’s in your heart again?”
“I already am. You already are. You think I really came over here just to thank you for the flowers?”
Charlie laughed again as he stood. “You want to come up to my room? You’d be the first non-relative girl ever. Don’t count Samira; she’s fam.” He lifted me to my feet after pulling his pants up.
“I don’t believe that for one second, Dara,” I said as he yanked me—panty-less—up to the second floor landing. I respected the Daras, so I wasn’t okay with leaving my Macy’s Intimates on their living room floor.
Charlie pushed a door open, and it was like being told an amazing secret: here was the place where the boy who would grow into the man you love slept and wrote, and was molded into the beautiful human being you had to get robbed to find.
“Uh…my parents updated the furniture for visiting guests, but it’s pretty much the same.” We sat on the bed. Side by the side, on the edge.
“I missed you so much,” I whispered. I collapsed against him, hugging him and crying.
“I’m so sorry. I love you and I’m so sorry.” He held me. He squeezed. He let me cry. God, crying like this after sex was just as fucking stupid as I’d always imagined it was.
“So…um…how are you?” I asked awkwardly when I finally settled down.
“I’m good, Nik,” he said against my forehead. “I’m good, for the time being. We’re filming the very last episode of How to Fuck up a Friendship. I’m still working through all my mental shit, aside from what else is going on. I’m better, though. Minding myself.”
“If it’s any consolation, your dick looked amazing in your full frontal episode.” We were both cracking up in seconds. I missed us so much, and I sighed when he kissed my cheek.
“I did something I think you’ll be proud of me for.”
“Besides showing your dick?”
He laughed. “Yeah. Besides showing my dick. I’ve been writing a scene about confronting Mauser, telling him everything I’ve wanted to say the past few years. It’s been cathartic.”
“Oh right. Fiction is the chance to do what you didn’t or couldn’t,” I said, remembering. “What about Deacon? You two work things out?”
“He’s trying to be a better friend. He always thought I wasn’t grateful for the things I have. He knows that’s not true. I wouldn’t expect a fully reformed asshole or anything, though.”
“No surprise there. How else would the douchey t-shirt market stay afloat? Hey, um, I have something for you. I’ve been carrying it with me a while now, wondering when I’d have a proper chance to give it to you and tell you why I have it. It’s especially important now.” I felt his quizzical stare on my back as I headed down to the living room for my bag (and underwear). He was still looking at the doorway in confusion when I returned. “Two years ago, I clipped my own wings. And since you met me you haven’t cared that I couldn’t fly. I realized that walking is okay, too. And that it doesn’t mean I’ll never fly again, either. Ugh. I’m not really good with words. All I mean to say is, I think you awaken so much in people. Your strength is the way you see straight through to other people’s essence—their goodness, what’s under all the armor and distance we build around ourselves, because you still think it matters to pay attention beyond one hundred and forty characters. But this is also your weakness. It makes you so incapable of seeing what you are, and what’s inside you.” I placed a journal he’d been keeping when he was younger in his hand.
“Whoa. Real throwback. How the hell did you get this?” he asked excitedly.
“All I do with your mom is talk about you. She’s been keeping this with her since you went to college. She didn’t want it in attic storage here at the house. She reluctantly let me borrow it. I’ve been reading it. So, you had a serious crush on Jennifer Lopez once, huh?”
He snickered. “Still do. Totally wanted to give her a cool action role.”
“Just that?” I teased.
“Uh…yeah…”
I flipped to a page. “‘Charlie, age ten. My plans: I will write a better script than The Godfather.’”
“Holy shit. I used to sneak and watch my father’s DVDs. God, I was ambitious.”
“I’ve enjoyed reading this. You should read this. I want your younger self to tell you everything your older self has forgotten, Charlie. That little boy was such a big dreamer. He was naïve. And a little arrogant. But he was ready to conquer the world. No one was going to stop him. You owe him, Charlie. He had high hopes for you. I don’t mean successes over failures. You owe him jumping in feet first. Blindly. You owe him not looking back and not holding back. You owe him to treat yourself the way you treat other people. You owe him to treat yourself better, period. He believed in who you are right now. Don’t let him down. Because you’re home to me,
Charlie Dara, but don’t forget that you’re home to you, too…” I let out a deep breath. He was silent, not smiling. “Are you mad at me for taking your diary?”
“Diary?” He burst out laughing. “What the fuck, Nik? The guy you like in that vampire show; he writes in a fucking diary. It was a life plan.” Charlie hooked his arm around my neck. “Of course, I’m not mad at you. Just wondering how the hell you’re even real…”
I hugged him. “You were mine, too. I protect mine, too.”
Chapter Eighteen
Charlie
“How long do we have?” she asked. “Before everything starts?”
She said we. It was the bright spot I needed. “Trial is set for about ten weeks from now. Prosecutor wants me to testify against Fallon; he thinks I know more about her drug business than I actually do because of Confessions. He can’t use it against her or me in court, but he’s using it to try to force my hand. Either I plead guilty to a lesser misdemeanor possession charge for the pot and agree to testify against Fallon, or I go to trial or plead on the more serious felony. Fallon won’t take whatever plea deal they’re offering her right now, either.”
“Oh, Charlie…”
“My lawyer says because the story is so scandalous and it’s media bait, and because the prosecutor is up for reelection, he wants to set an example and prove that he’s tough on drugs. She thinks the case against me is a waste of time since I only had twenty-three grams in my car”—which made it a felony, but it was just four grams over what would’ve made it a misdemeanor charge—“but the prosecutor wants to remind me that a drawn-out trial will disrupt my life and cost a lot of money. I’ll also have a felony on my record. There’s also the possibility of doing five years, the max the state can ask for…”
“And if you agree to help with the case against Fallon?”
“The state will recommend a year of probation to the judge, based on my lack of criminal history. I’ll get that and a lifetime of regret for turning on my friend.” I sighed. “You know the guys told me what you did when you found out I got arrested.”
