“Uncle Bryan would fire that kid before he fired you, especially after he heard what happened,” Fish reassures me.
“I don’t know…”
“He would,” he insists.
Then he keeps talking, and I stop listening, because Fish doesn’t get it, just like no one else gets it.
Carsen’s not a bad guy. He’s misunderstood, angry, and hurt.
He’s broken, but not irreparable.
“Anyway, remember what I said, Elliott, okay?”
“I will,” I lie, because I have no idea what he said.
“I’m heading to bed. You good?”
“As good as I’m going to get.”
“You working tomorrow?”
“Yep. Two until close.”
“Cool. Maybe I’ll come bug you.”
I mock gasp. “You’re going to drive?”
“Don’t get carried away.” He ruffles my hair. “Goodnight, loser.”
“Night, buttmunch.”
I grab a random book from the shelf once Fish leaves and make myself comfortable on my bed. I squish the pillows around until I’m comfortable and open my paperback.
I’m a few chapters in and getting into the storyline when my phone vibrates on my bedside table. I reach over and swipe at the screen, noting the new unread text message.
Unknown: I need to apologize. I was out of line. I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier.
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: Do you often need apologized to? What kind of people are you hanging out with?
Me: Apparently mean ones.
Me: My question still stands.
Unknown: Carsen
My palms begin to sweat and I nearly drop my phone. Carsen is texting me. Carsen is apologizing to me. He’s being nice again. Should I start counting down until his next mood swing? Should I ignore him?
No. He’s too intriguing for that.
Me: Oh.
Unknown: Oh?
Me: Oh. Um…thank you.
Me: How did you get this number?
Carsen: Employee records.
Me: You have access to those?
Carsen: Sort of.
Me: So you stole it?
Carsen: Sort of.
I smile at his non-answer because it seems so him, and because it’s kind of sweet that he’d go through the trouble of searching through paperwork just to get my number to apologize for being an ass.
I suppose that’s another a pro-Carsen mark on my mental list.
Me: I should apologize too. How are the balls?
Carsen: Sore, but I’ll live. And your apology isn’t needed. I deserved that and much worse. I treated you like shit today and I shouldn’t have. I’m a dick.
Me: I said I SHOULD apologize, not that I’m going to. But yes, you’re a dick.
Carsen: Please, don’t mince your words.
Me: I wouldn’t dare.
Me: Besides, I thought you liked that about me.
Carsen: I do. It’s unequivocally my favorite thing.
Me: Do you always use such big words? Does it make you feel smarter? Think it gives you an edge?
Carsen: It’s how I talk. Wasn’t aware it was a bad thing.
Me: It’s not. It’s…
Carsen: You don’t expect it from me because I’m a heathen, murdering dickhead?
That didn’t take long at all. Another mark for anti-Carsen.
Me: Wow. Took the words right out of my mouth.
Carsen: Bad joke?
Me: Was that really a joke?
A box floats across the screen, indicating he’s typing. The dancing dots then stop, only to return a few seconds later.
Carsen: No. It was me being an ass.
Me: Again.
Carsen: Again.
I begin typing a snarky response, but the dots appear again, so I backspace, curious what he’s going to say.
It takes a full two minutes before my phone vibrates in my hand twice, and suddenly I’m nervous to look at what he’s typed.
Carsen: I’m going to be honest here: this isn’t the last time I’ll screw up. It’s almost part of my MO at this point. (Though I don’t believe I, a person accused of murder and all, should use words like MO, but this conversation calls for it. I think.) I know what happened to me or what I’m still going through doesn’t excuse my behavior, but…shit. I don’t know where I’m going with this.
Carsen: I wasn’t always this way. It was different…before. I try to keep my anger in check. I do…things to calm my anger and my… Anyway. I wish I could take back my borderline violent actions today, my clipped words, but I can’t. I CAN own up to them and apologize. So, again, I’m sorry. I need to stop thinking everyone is out to get me, because that’s not always the case. (In my defense, it usually is.)
He wrote me a novel I wasn’t prepared for, an apology and a confession of sorts. Is it therapy he’s referring to? I hope so. I’m certain that after all he’s been through, he needs it, needs someone unbiased to talk to.
Me: Your anger and…? What else?
Carsen: You still have a job. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Me: You didn’t tell Bryan I assaulted you?
Carsen: You didn’t tell him I was a complete ass to you, so no. Secret’s safe.
Me: Well…thank you. I suppose.
Carsen: It was the least I could do. Besides, I doubt he would have fired you. Probably would have high-fived you or something.
Me: Yeah, that does sound like Bryan.
He leaves the conversation there, but it doesn’t escape my notice that he dodged my question. I want to know what else he was referring to.
Me: Carsen?
Carsen: Yeah?
Me: Can you tell me what the ‘and’ was?
Carsen: I could, but I won’t.
Me: Smartass.
Me: Thank you for apologizing. It means a lot.
Carsen: You’re welcome.
“Why are you smiling so big?”
I let out a yelp and throw a hand over my heart. “Oh shit, woman! You scared the crap out of me.”
“Don’t get it on the carpet.”
“Huh?”
“Your crap, Elliott. Don’t you dare stain my carpet.”
“My sides are splitting with laughter,” I deadpan.
She grins and folds her arms over her chest, resting against the doorframe. “You didn’t answer me. What has you smiling like that? Or…who? You seemed upset at dinner. Is it the same somebody?”
I pin her with a stare. “Why didn’t you and Dad tell me about him yesterday? There I was, asking questions, and yet you said nothing about Carsen working at Down the Lane for Bryan.”
“Reasons.” Mom shrugs, and I can feel like there’s a bigger picture here she’s not painting for me. “What’d you think of him?”
“Well, he’s the reason I’m smiling. He’s also the reason I almost lost my job today.”
She purses her lips. “Elaborate, please.”
“He was a dick and I nailed him in the nuts. That’s about the gist of it.”
“And now he has you smiling?”
“Yep. He apologized. Then he avoided personal questions with sarcastic comments. It was kind of cute—in a Carsen way.”
“He has his own way already?”
“Oh, Mom,” I say, shaking my head. “You have no idea.”
We chat for a few more minutes then she heads off to bed. I go through my nightly routine and bury myself under my blankets. As I’m reaching over to switch off my bedside lamp, my phone vibrates again.
Carsen: Are you busy around 12:30 tomorrow?
Me: No.
Carsen: Proposal: Have lunch with me?
Me: Why?
Carsen: Because I’ll buy.
Me: *swoon*
5
Elliott
“You came.” Carsen slides into the booth across from me at Vern’s. It’s the exact same one I sat in two days ago, the same one I first met him in.
Funny how
things can change so quickly. I went from flipping him off, to kneeing him in the balls, to having a truce lunch with him. It’s as if once he finally believed I wasn’t here to judge or belittle him, he did a one-eighty, and all it took was me assaulting him to get us here.
He sits opposite me with a slight frown, his eyes a dark gray. He looks tired and aggravated, but that’s nothing new.
“You had me at free milkshakes.”
Carsen bursts out in laughter as I watch in awe. I was wrong before—his smile is nothing special, not when he laughs like he does. Melodic and entrancing don’t begin to cover it. It’s dry, almost hollow and torn, yet the deep, scratchy sound is hauntingly beautiful.
I hate that I love it so much.
“What’s so funny?” I ask once he sobers.
“Nothing. I…had a thought.”
“Your definition of ‘nothing’ is interesting.”
“You remember that song? About milkshakes and boys and yards? Yeah, I immediately thought of that for some reason.”
Then he hums the beat and it’s my turn to nearly die amidst hysterical laughter.
A straw wrapper hits my face as he says, “Would you stop? You’re embarrassing me in my place of work.”
“You embarrassed yourself with that humming.”
“You enjoyed it.”
I hold my fingers up and pinch them close together. “About this much.”
“Better than not at all.”
“Fine. You win.”
He grins as he relaxes into the booth for the first time since he sat down, and his white shirt clings to his chest as he stretches his arms out. His feet follow suit and I hardly flinch as his legs brush mine.
“So…”
“So…”
Carsen motions for me to go first. “You like working here?”
He shrugs. “It’s a job. Not always the best, not always the worst.”
“Do the jackass customers keep it interesting?”
“You mean like your friend?”
“Jase.” I frown. “His name is Jase, and yes, like him. Have I apologized for that yet? I should. I’m sorry. He was out of line.”
“I’m used to it.”
“That’s sad.”
Carsen’s stare pierces me and his eyes flare with misery. “It’s my life, Elliott. It’s what I live with.”
I wrap my hands around my shake and mutter, “I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t do that.” His voice is quiet and neutral. “I don’t need that from you.”
The way he says it is like I mean something different than everyone else. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing. Everything. Nothing.”
“Makes perfect sense.”
He runs a hand through his already messy hair, making it stick out all over the place even more so. “I’m a difficult person.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“And yet you’re still here.”
“I’m still here.”
“Why?”
“Because… I…” I sigh. “Because we work together now. We have to get along.”
He regards me, knowing I’m not telling the entire truth.
Honestly, I have no idea why I’m here. He’s been a jerk, and I haven’t exactly been a peach, but…I don’t know. There’s something about it, about him. I like him even when he’s angry and mean. I especially like him when he’s nice—which he’s only been once. At the end of it all, I like him. Well, I think I do. I don’t know him well enough to truly like him, but I like what I know of him. He keeps me teetering on this edge of uncertainty. I haven’t had anything uncertain in my life for far too long; I feel like I need that, and Carsen seems like the guy to provide it.
Which probably makes me insane.
Whatever.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m always right. Get used to it.”
“I’m just going to glaze over that. You want something to eat?”
“Fries? A grilled cheese sandwich? And nacho cheese sauce.”
He scrunches his nose up in distaste. “What’s with the nacho cheese sauce?”
“Um, it’s delicious.”
“On everything?”
“Yes. Don’t question it.”
“Fine. I’ll be right back.”
He leaves to order us lunch and I peer out the window into the laundromat where this all started. A flip of the finger was all it took. Now look where we are: having lunch and hanging out like friends.
If that’s what we are.
“You look troubled,” Carsen comments as he returns to his seat.
“No. Amazed.”
“By?”
“This.”
“And what is this?”
“Do people stare at you often?”
“Um…” He shifts uncomfortably. “That was random.”
“I was thinking of how we met. Or, kind of met. Whatever. And then of how when I told my parents and my brother about you they—”
“Freaked?”
“No. Well, Fish sort of did.”
“Fish?”
I nod. “My brother.”
“Your brother’s name is Fish?”
“Nemo, actually.”
“No shit.”
“Shit.”
“That…”
“Poor kid? I know,” I agree.
“So your parents didn’t freak?”
“No. And Fish only sort of freaked, just so we’re clear. I think it surprised him more than anything. But my parents? The coolest parents ever, but don’t tell them I said so.”
“What did they say?”
“Nothing.”
His brows shoot up in surprise. “Nothing?”
“Nope. They are adamant that everyone is innocent until proven guilty, and they absolutely do not believe in gossip.”
“So, they’re unicorns?”
I chuckle. “Yes, very much so. Anyway, I was wondering how people… You said you’re used to…certain treatment. What’s it like working here? Or for Bryan? Both are very public places and I wanted to know—”
“If people treat me like your jackass did?”
Heat floods my cheek. “Yes.”
He hisses in a breath. “A lot of people stare or won’t make eye contact, or they’ll whisper behind their hands. They don’t come right out and say anything as eloquently as your friend did. Other people treat me with indifference. It’s not outright hurtful, but it’s not exactly…warm. It’s almost like I don’t exist.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
Carsen grins at my question, an obvious play on the whole therapist thing. I realize then that he hasn’t frowned or scowled since he sat back down. He’s relaxed and easy to talk to.
I like it.
“Cute.”
“Couldn’t resist.”
Then with all seriousness, he says, “Cold.”
“Cold?”
“That’s how it makes me feel.”
“That’s…sad.”
He shrugs. “Again, it’s my life.”
I frown and look out the window as we grow quiet. It’s a comfortable silence. I’m not sure if that’s because we’re both so stuck in our heads that we don’t notice the other is there, or if we feel that content around one another. I’d like to think it’s the latter, even though that scares me.
I can feel his eyes on me. They burn my skin in the most delicate of ways. Sweat begins to form on the back of my neck and the hairs on my arms rise. He’s lazy in his perusal and I’m squirming in my seat.
Suddenly—thankfully—the waitress from yesterday, Joy, arrives with our food.
“Can’t believe you willingly stick around here after your shifts, kid.”
“Had a date today, Joy.”
Joy peeks over at me. “Date, huh?”
“Not like a date date,” I insist.
Carsen smirks suggestively at Joy. “It’s a date date.”
She gives him a wink and drops my p
late down in front of me. “You two let me know if you need anything else.”
As soon as she walks away, I turn on him. “This is not a date.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“I meant what I said yesterday.” His words become clipped. True to his hot and cold nature, it appears annoyed Carsen is back, though this time, I’m not certain who it is he’s annoyed with—me or himself. “I’d never date someone like you.”
Before I allow my blood to boil over, I ask, “What’s so wrong with me? Not that I want to date you, but you make me sound repulsive.”
“Repulsive? No, Elliott, it’s not that. At all. In fact, I find you very attractive, which is part of the problem.”
“The problem being?”
“You’re pure.”
“Okay…”
His eyes find mine, his stare powerful and captivating. “And I’m polluted.”
***
It’s been exactly eight hours since I’ve spoken to Carsen. We have one hour left in our shift and I don’t plan on changing that any time soon.
Our conversation died with his confession. He stared at me while I ate my grilled cheese, scarfed down my fries, and ran off with my shake.
His comments from yesterday hurt, and even though I’ve forgiven him for being an ass, I’ve thought a lot about them, especially the way he so vehemently discarded the idea of dating me. Finding out it isn’t because he doesn’t think I’m attractive but because he thinks I’m too good for him… It’s a lot to take in.
You’re pure. I’m polluted.
The words linger in my mind, making it difficult to get my side work done. Down the Lane has two customers in here, one being Cal, so we’re trying our hardest to get things wrapped up so we can leave on time.
We’re also not speaking.
I’m not ignoring him because I’m upset with him; I simply don’t know how to approach any of it. I’m pure? Why? Because I haven’t been labeled as a murderer? And how does that make him polluted? He’s innocent. There’s no blood on his hands.
I wish he’d see that too.
My pocket vibrates and I fish my phone out, thankful Bryan doesn’t care if we text at work.
We Are the Stars Page 6
