by Rose Croft
Outside, the late afternoon sun was harsh on my eyes after we had been sitting in semidarkness. We walked through the parking lot, and I pulled up. “Wait. I need a cigarette. Don’t you?”
“I thought you didn’t smoke.” He grinned as he pulled out two from the pack in his pocket.
“I don’t.”
“Whatever, drunk ass.” He put both in his mouth and lit them, then handed one to me.
A thrill crept down my spine as I put the end in my mouth and felt the warmth where his lips had been. I knew smoking was one of the stupidest things you could do, but I felt like a bad girl sharing something forbidden with the only person to whom I’d told all my secrets.
We stood there, quietly; I scanned the area, taking a drag and exhaling. I sensed that he was watching me. “This is so weird.”
“What?”
“Seeing you smoke. You really have been corrupted, haven’t you?” He took a drag and ran a thumb under his chin as smoke curled out of his nostrils—studying me, unnerving me like he was trying to figure something out. I wrapped my arm around my stomach, holding myself together. “Yeah, I guess there’s no hope for me.”
He tossed his cigarette. “You ready?” I ground mine out and followed beside him. My ankle turned, and I almost toppled over, but I felt a firm hand around my arm.
“I see you’re still light on your feet.”
He led me to a black Porsche Cayenne, opened the door for me and helped me into my seat. “Damn. Nice ride, Andrew.”
When he started the car, I heard the song that Andrew and I had listened to in his room. “You’re listening to ‘The Fragile.’” I noticed the monitor on his dash was set to Bluetooth. He must’ve been listening to it on his phone earlier.
“Yeah.” His cheeks heightened in color as if he had been busted thinking about the past, too. He swallowed. “Do you remember the words?”
“Of course, I’ll never forget.” I started singing, apparently still tipsy enough not to care that my voice was off-key. I was also elated that he remembered.
I closed my eyes, losing myself in the music, this moment.
When the song finished I opened my eyes, and Andrew’s unguarded expression was filled with a pain and intensity that shot through me, piercing me in the heart much like the day my parents threw him out of our house. I wanted to hold him and take away the hurt. You quiet the anarchy in me. I laid my hand on his forearm. “I still have the sketch you drew that day. I framed it and have it in my room.”
“You do?” His face softened.
I nodded. “I’m not an art connoisseur, but your work always moved me. And, I still have your poem.”
He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling of his car. His jaw clenched. “We should get going.” He grabbed the wheel and shifted into reverse. “Which way do I go?”
“That way.” I pointed to the right. My chest felt like someone had dropped an anvil on it.
The ride was silent except for my giving the directions. I was a little apprehensive about him seeing my small house. It was an older home in a semi-decent neighborhood. The front yard was a bit overgrown, and the flowerbed had a few bushes, with weeds popping up everywhere. I had been so busy that I hadn’t mowed the lawn, and honestly yardwork wasn’t exactly my thing. I wasn’t going to win yard of the month anytime soon. I was certain he probably thought he was slumming it, seeing my place.
But, he didn’t comment on my house when we pulled into the driveway. “I guess I need to mow the lawn.”
“You do yardwork?” Did I just admit to starring in porn? You would’ve thought so by his expression.
“Yes, have you been living the life of the rich and famous for so long that you’ve forgotten how the other half lives?” I playfully chided, but it hit home how different our lives were.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice seemed laced with guilt, or maybe it was pity.
“No worries. I have a gas mower, but I can’t get it to start.”
“Would you like me to take a look at it?”
“Don’t worry about it. I can ask my dad.”
“Just let me look at it. It’s probably an easy fix.”
Oh, of course, I’d forgotten. Not only was he gorgeous and brilliant, he could also build and fix things. He used to build pools, for goodness sake. I shrugged. “Sure. If you have the time.”
We both got out of the car and walked to the front door. I patted myself on the back for cleaning up the house that morning since I had been so restless. We passed through the living room and kitchen to the door leading us to the garage. He looked around. “I like your place, Loren. It looks like you.”
“Thanks.” I ducked my head, smiling.
In the garage, he walked over to the lawn mower in the corner. I followed him.
“You might want to open the garage door,” he suggested.
I hit the button on the wall to open the garage and slipped off my shoes, replacing them with the flip-flops I kept right there. I glanced at Andrew; he was pulling the lawn mower out into the driveway. There was still plenty of light outside, as the early days of summer were knocking on the door.
He leaned in and gripped the cord and pulled hard. The lawn mower sputtered and stopped. He tried again; it almost started running but died out.
“When’s the last time you used the mower?”
“It’s been a while,” I answered vaguely, not wanting to admit it had been two months. In fact, I’d received a few letters from the city to cut the lawn.
“I think it’s just been sitting too long. When it sits too long, sometimes gas builds up on the carburetor. At least, I hope that’s all it is.” I didn’t understand what he was talking about, but I liked how his muscles rippled under his shirt each time he jerked the cord. The crackling of the motor brought me out of my fantasy. Finally, the engine was running steadily.
“You did it!” I cheered excitedly, happy that the mower wasn’t broken down. He proceeded to push it out to the grass.
I ran up to him and grabbed his arm. “You don’t have to mow my yard!”
“It’s a small yard. It won’t take long.” He pushed on as I watched.
What a sight his imposing figure made, dressed in his expensive clothes, pushing a mower across a run-down yard. I crossed my arms and started having insane daydreams about him doing yardwork for me naked. When he wheeled back toward me and our eyes caught, he gave me a half-smile showcasing a cute dimple. I wanted to run my tongue over it.
He had to make a couple of passes over the lawn because the grass was high. When he cut the engine and pushed the mower back into the garage, I could see the sweat beading on his forehead from the heat and humidity. He wiped his head with his shirtsleeve.
“Next time, try to use the mower more often.”
I conceded with a nod. “Come in, I’ll get you some water.”
He followed me into the kitchen, and I grabbed two bottled waters out of the refrigerator. He strolled to the sink and washed his hands and splashed water over his face. When he stood up, water dripped off his face and hair. He grabbed a paper towel and dried his face. I couldn’t help thinking again how having him here seemed so natural, as if no time had passed.
He was so beautiful. I just wanted to fold myself into him again. I wanted him to spend all his time with me. I wanted to turn back time. These thoughts wouldn’t stop. I needed to get control of my emotions. I took a long swig of water.
“Thank you,” I said, as I handed him a bottle.
He uncapped it and took a long gulp. My eyes were centered on his powerful neck, which pulsed as the water went down. My mouth went dry.
“Was this your plan? To get me to mow your yard?” He leaned against the counter causally and lowered the bottle.
Mow my yard. And, maybe rip my clothes off and have our bodies get reunited again. Profess your undying love to me. Marry me. “Yeah, when you invited me to lunch, the wheels were set in motion.”
We watched each other, smilin
g. It almost felt like it did when we knew something was happening between us so long ago. He broke eye contact and checked his phone, clearing his voice. “It’s getting late.”
I didn’t say anything, just stared at the floor. Tell him what happened before he walks out of your life again.
“Hey, can I use your bathroom.”
“Yeah, sure.” I directed him to the hallway. “I’m gonna change. Don’t leave before saying goodbye.”
“I won’t.”
I rushed to my bedroom, changing into a T-shirt and shorts in record time. I had to tell him why I couldn’t see him anymore so long ago. What my parents had done. Make him understand. It was now or never. I was anxious, hoping…for what exactly? That he would break up with Alyssa and be with me? Eight years later?
When I returned, I spotted him sitting down, obviously absorbed with whatever was on my laptop. As I stood behind him, I saw the document, my Word document, on the screen. Holy shit. He was reading my book. I must’ve left it up on the screen. I usually did because I wrote every day, and no one looked at my laptop. And why was he looking at my laptop?
“What are you doing?” I croaked, almost in a state of disbelief. Wow. This just happened. I was hoping to ease him into my story first.
He shifted in the chair. “Is this your work?” His voice was thick. Of course, it was my work. I glanced at the page, although I already knew what he had read. It was a love scene, the ménage scene. Words failed me. This was so embarrassing.
He looked back at me. “Is it?” His eyes had turned a deep green.
“Yes,” I whispered and felt ashamed. In his mind this probably seemed like I was some kind of freaky girl.
“Why are you embarrassed?” His voice was still low, gravelly.
“Because the material is probably not what you were expecting.” I looked around at anything and everything except at him as I spoke.
His hand closed around my shoulder. “Hey, look at me.”
I brought my eyes back to his.
“Don’t ever be ashamed of your work. It’s good. The writing is still amazing. Your words painted a vivid description of what the characters were experiencing.” The way he gazed at me made me feel like I was on top of the world.
“You don’t think it’s stupid?”
“No. The sooner you stop worrying about what other people think, the freer you’ll become, and the more the writing will flow. Trust me.” His hand moved up and down my arm in reassurance as he said the words.
“So, you still want to help me after reading what I’m working on?” He was the only person to read my book, like my poetry. And it seemed right, just like when he read my poems in high school and made me feel like anything was possible.
“Yeah. The offer still stands.” He dropped his hand. “Let me give you my email address, and you can send me any work that you want me to look at.”
Disappointed that he didn’t offer me his number, I grabbed my phone to put his address in my notes.
“So how does this work? Do you want a synopsis of the story first?”
“That would help, if you want me to understand where you’re going with it.”
“Okay. I’ll do it.” An old familiar excitement coursed through my veins.
He smiled and raised his hand to reach out to me, but checked himself. He stood up. “I’d better go.”
“Andrew, wait.” He paused. I took a deep breath. “I need to tell you something. I need to tell you what happened.”
“Let it go, Scout. It was a long time ago. I know your parents hated me, and I understand why you didn’t want to see me again.” He took a step forward, making a move toward the door.
“Just listen! Please.” Somehow, I had my hands on his chest restraining him from walking out. I was desperate to talk to him. Plead for his understanding. He glanced down between us, blinking several times before he sank back into the chair. And, everything that had happened that day eight years ago ran through my head as intensely as though it had just happened. I would never forget it.
“How could you do that?” For the first time in my life, I was in my mother’s face, screaming. I thought she might slap me for being defiant.
“That boy is in our house in your room half-dressed and you wonder how we could kick him out after you two did…did…?” She couldn’t finish because she was so furious. She jabbed her fingers into her lips and took a few breaths, trying to collect herself. “He’s lucky he’s not in jail.” She sneered at me. “And, look at you. You’re conducting yourself like a slut. How long has this been going on? How long have you been lying to us?”
“Don’t do this, Mom. I love him.”
She ran her hands over her temples and used her crazy tone that raked over my skin like nails. “Oh, this is wonderful. Our daughter’s in love with a psychopath with a murder scene tattooed on his arm. What’s wrong with you, Loren? Where did I fail as a parent?”
“You don’t understand him. He’s a caring and intelligent person, and we want to go off to college together. I’ve decided to go to UNT with him next year.”
My mother laughed, her voice ugly. “If you think I’m going to let you throw away your college scholarship to Rice University, the top university in Texas, over this…cretin, you’ve lost your mind.”
“I’m eighteen now, you can’t tell me what to do. I’ve been accepted to North Texas. Andrew and I will work and go to school.” I said it believing that I could figure this whole situation out.
“You actually believe this is going to work, Loren?” My mom held out her hand in a helpless motion as she peered over my shoulder. “Trey, talk to her.”
My father stalked up slowly, exhaling.
“Dad, please listen…”
“Enough, Loren!” His voice was harsh like he was beyond seeing reason. “I will not stand by and watch you throw your life away on that thug.”
Seeing the hate radiating off my parents’ faces made me sick to my stomach. I’d never gone against my mom and dad, ever. I’d hardly raised my voice to them. They couldn’t be serious, could they? Surely they would come around. Besides, I could work and support myself if I had to, right? “If I have to support myself, then so be it.”
Dad stood with his fists clenched, holding in a rage I’d never seen from him. “If you ever see him again, I will press charges against him.”
“For what? We’re both legal, and it was consensual. I love him!” Did my father think I was a complete idiot?
His face grew redder to the point it might burst. “I don’t care how old you are. You still live under our roof. Do you want to test me? I’ll make his life miserable if you choose to pursue this or speak to him again. And, I’ll cut you off completely.” My confidence was dropping more with each word he said. “Do you have any idea how much college tuition is? Or the cost of an apartment or wherever you think you might live? Car payments? Insurance? Food? You’re living in a dream world if you think you can find a job out of high school and pay for all that.” He took several deep breaths, grasping his neck as he stared at the ceiling. When he was somewhat calmer, he stepped closer to me. “Loren, be reasonable. Please. We are your family. We love you.” His face was now in concerned-parent mode, pleading his case. “You’re killing your mother and me right now. Do you want to hurt us like that?”
My father wrapped his arms around me. “Please don’t do this to us.” His voice was shaky. My mother was next to him, sobbing silently, and I knew I wouldn’t go against them. My conscience began to eat at me like a cancer. I couldn’t hurt my parents. Instead, I held in my pain, feeling like my heart had been crushed.
“My parents took my phone away, deactivated it, and monitored my every move during that summer. They gave me a new phone when I went off to college.”
“Jesus, Loren. I tried to call you several times. No wonder.” Andrew held his head in his hands. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I knew we got caught in a bad situation and your parents didn’t like me, but I thought it w
ould eventually blow over. It didn’t, obviously.” I shook my head, sitting down in the chair in front of him. He dropped his head, pinched his nose, and bit out. “I lied about getting over the past. I was fucking destroyed over this.”
His words hit me like darts. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and take away the hurt. My hurt. “I was, too, but I didn’t know what to do. I was scared of losing my parents’ support, affection…everything. And, I knew I couldn’t support myself.” And the words I wanted to say, should’ve said that day, came out. “I loved you, Andrew. And I’m so sorry this happened and that I never told you.”
He leaned back, gripping his head with eyes closed tightly. “I loved you, too, so much.” His voice was unsteady.
I swiped at my face because the waterworks had commenced again. “I was weak and didn’t stand up for myself. For us.”
He opened his eyes and took my hands in his. “Don’t cry. You did what you thought was best at the time. And, it was for the best. You had a great opportunity, and you have a good relationship with your parents, right?”
I tried to muster a smile. “Yeah, we’re close.”
“Good.” He ran his thumb over my cheek, stopping a tear, and I thought my heart would stop. “Thank you for telling me this. It gives me a sense of peace.”
“I thought you hated me.”
“I had a lot of pent-up anger over the past, but I never hated you.” He lifted his mouth in a half-smile. We gazed at each other as if we were back in my room that day, before hell’s wrath took over.
Andrew’s phone rang, and whatever spell was brewing was broken when he answered. “Hey, babe.” He stood up, running his hand through his hair. Alyssa.
My heart felt like it was cracking as he nodded and listened, barely getting a word in. He looked at me and mouthed, “Sorry.” When he finally clicked off his phone, he pressed his lips together. “I probably need to leave. I have an early flight.”
And the cracks grew bigger, spreading through me to the point where I might crumble into dust. I forced myself up. “I’ll send you my synopsis.”
