Truly

by Carmel Rhodes

  We stopped in New Mexico, where we gorged ourselves on Tex-Mex and tequila, bought tiny UFO keychains in Roswell, and spent an entire day exploring the Carlsbad Caverns.

  After that, we made a brief stop in Phoenix where Noah made love to me after our trip to the Grand Canyon. The next night he fucked me until I couldn’t walk straight because he overheard me and Becca talking about how hot the pitcher for the Diamondbacks is.

  I stare down at the camera screen, absently flipping through photos. It’s only been two weeks since we packed up the car and left Newton. Two weeks and nothing is the same. It’s strange how quickly time passes on the road. Maybe it’s because we are immersed in each other. Forced together by proximity, bonding out of necessity, but what happens when we get back home? When we no longer share a bed or meals. When the world infiltrates our little bubble. What happens when I see Devin again?

  It’s easy to get caught up in the Noah Tedesco storm when you’re standing in the eye, but what happens once it passes and all you’re left with is the wreckage? Am I strong enough to weather the storm? Momma always said God got her, but it hasn’t felt like God had me in so long, it’s hard to have faith.

  I glance to the backseat. Becca and Ethan are both sound asleep. I take the rare moment alone to ask Noah the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue since Texas. “What happens after this?”

  His grip on my thigh tightens. “What do you mean?”

  “When we get home. When you’re back with your friends who think I’m a slut. Will I go back to being the weird girl with the purple hair that you all laugh at?”

  “Nothing changes when we get home.” There is a finality to his tone that sends a chill down my spine. “You’re mine, you’re always going to be mine. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks about it.”

  I return my attention to my camera and mumble, “You’re very possessive over someone you’ve been dating for five minutes.”

  “The fact that we’re dating at all means you’re special to me. Of course, I’m possessive over you. Have you ever known me to date anyone?” he asks, flicking on his blinker to pass a semi-truck.

  “If the rumors are true you’ve slept with half the female student body.” I don’t mean to pout, but just the thought of his track record sours my mood.

  He cuts his eyes in my direction before returning them to the road ahead. “I graduated with a 4.0 GPA and offers to play collegiate level ball at three different schools. It would be physically impossible for me to have done all that and take down half the girls at Newton.”

  I purse my lips. “Have you ever heard of hyperbole?”

  “Did you miss the part about my GPA? Of course, I have. But just because I fuck someone doesn’t mean I dated them or invested any real time in getting to know them.”

  “So why me? Why am I special? You say it isn’t because of some revenge plan against Devin, but I don’t get how you could go from barely acknowledging my existence to, the one with the purple hair belongs to me.” I say doing a pretty spot on Noah impersonation. “Is it because you feel bad about the treehouse? Is this some subconscious way to make amends?”

  I’m nagging him. I can see it in the set of his jaw and the darkening of his eyes, but I don’t really care. I’m falling for this boy, this monster who has done nothing but steamroll his way into my life and claim me as his.

  “Why are you pushing this?”

  “I’m just trying to make conversation,” I mutter. Though, if I’m being honest that isn’t entirely the truth. It’s like the closer we get to the finish line, the more I start to worry about what’s waiting for us back at home. If my Instagram is any indication, it’s going to be ugly. Since Noah posted the photo of us on the lake, I’ve gotten almost two hundred new friend requests and have had to disable the comments on three different posts, because they were flooded with people trolling me for “Tedesco hopping.”

  “Just drop it. We’re together now. I’ll straighten the social media shit out once we get home. Let’s just enjoy this last week without over analyzing it to death.”

  I suck in a tired breath. Doesn’t he know that I over analyze everything to death? Pressing my eyes closed, I will myself to let it go. “Just tell me this isn’t some sort of cruel joke.”

  He’s silent for a beat, then answers. “I don’t joke.”

  We pull up to a roadside motel a few hours later to stay for the night. The plan is to get on the road early and drive straight to Santa Monica where Becca is originally from. We’re going to spend a couple days there with her friends and family, make a day trip to UCLA, where my mom and dad met, then drive back east.

  I’m excited to see the Pacific Ocean, feel the sand between my toes, see the places where my parents fell in love, but something, namely the brooding asshole who has spent the last hour glaring at his phone, is keeping me from enjoying the moment.

  “Okay, you guys have a good night,” I say, handing one of the leftover pizza boxes to Ethan. We were too tired to explore after we checked-in, so we ordered pizza and caught the last half of Friday on TV.

  Ethan takes the box and glances over to Noah. “What’s up with him?” he whispers.

  “I don’t know. It’s like the closer we got to the state line the antsier he became.”

  “Are you good here tonight?” he asks me, his tone suddenly more serious.

  I smile up at him. “I can handle Noah.”

  “You might be the only one who can.” He grins.

  Becca bounces out of the restroom and wraps me in a hug. “Get some sleep, Tru. Tomorrow we make it to the finish line.”

  Once they’re gone, I head straight for the shower. Hoping some time and hot water will help me deal with whatever angst Noah is going to throw my way this evening. I stay there until the water runs cold, dry off, and reluctantly head back into the bedroom.

  Noah is on the phone when I walk in. I can only hear his side of the conversation, but I can tell from the look on his face that it isn’t a pleasant one.

  “No. Because I didn’t... Whatever... Yeah, tomorrow sometime, why?” He spots me walking towards him and pins me with his gaze. “No, we have plans, Mother…”

  Oh. The last time his parents called Noah fucked me so hard, I could barely walk straight the next day. My thighs clench in response, then I mentally kick myself. This isn’t about me. I refocus my attention on the conversation just in time to hear him say, “Fine. Text me the address.” Then he hangs up the phone and throws it on the bed.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, after he’s silent for a minute.

  “My parents are in Los Angeles. They want to meet up.”

  I swallow hard, not knowing how to feel about meeting his parents. Not only is this a new relationship, but his parents seem to bring out the worst in him. I barely make it out of phone calls unscathed, how will I fair after a face-to-face? “Maybe we can drop you off in LA on our way to Becca’s grandma’s and pick you up whenever you’re ready?” I offer, feeling like a coward and the world’s shittiest girlfriend.

  He grabs me around the waist and pulls me on his lap. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Is this why you’ve been in such a crappy mood today? Because you knew they were here?”

  His head falls onto my shoulders and he buries his face in the crook of my neck, nodding.

  Relief courses through me. “I thought you were mad about what I said in the car earlier.”

  “You asked me how I could be so possessive of you so quickly, and I was...embarrassed by the answer.”

  I pull back and gape at him. “I didn’t think Noah Tedesco did embarrassed. You’re always so self-assured, almost to the point where it’s too much. I’m like okay, we get it, you’re handsome, smart, and rich and good at everything.” I tease, well half-tease, because all of those things are true, and they all make me super self-conscious about being his girlfriend.

  “I was embarrassed the first time I met you,” he whispers against my throat.

  Wra
cking my brain, I think back to the first time I’d officially met Noah. I’d already been dating Devin for a month; it was right after I dyed my hair. Becca insisted I eat lunch in the cafeteria with her, and since I apparently broke best friend code and dyed my hair without consulting her first, I owed her one.

  Noah sat with Ethan and a few of the other guys from the basketball team on one end, and Becca and her cheer friends sat on the other end. As soon as I set my tray down, Noah glared at me, and yelled “My dickhead brother really made you dye your hair purple?” from the opposite end of the table.

  Everyone snickered. I grabbed my food and practically sprinted back to the quad, where I ate every lunch since.

  “You were an asshole.” I smack him on the shoulder for sophomore Truly. “Do you know that after that day, people started with the stoner groupie bullshit? I didn’t even realize you and Devin were brothers.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I mean the first time I met you. Not the first time you met me.”

  I arch a brow. “I’m confused.”

  He shakes his head again. “Maybe, I’ll tell you one day, but not tonight.”

  “Why is that always your answer when we start getting deep?”

  He pins me with a look that rips something in my chest. “Because the last time I shared with someone, they broke my heart, and I’m not looking for a repeat performance.”

  A million questions flit through my mind, but I know he won’t budge. So I inhale, and lift my t-shirt. “See this?” I run a finger across a thin brown scar underneath my left boob. Noah nods, ducking his head down and kissing me there. “When I was eleven, we went to New York on a girls trip, me and mom and my cousin Kai and my Auntie Monica.

  “We spent the first day shopping and I got to pick out anything I wanted. Well, I chose this gorgeous linen dress, it had pockets!” I grin. “We were going to see a show later in the week, and in my eleven-year-old mind, that dress was perfect for Broadway. Anyway, when the night of the show came, I pulled the dress out of the bag and it had one million wrinkles in it.

  “I wanted to cry. I think I did cry. My mom, who didn’t grow up going on family trips to New York and seeing shows on Broadway said, and I quote, Girl if you don’t stop crying, get that iron and press the wrinkles out of that damn dress, so help me God.

  “Mind you, I’ve never ironed a day in my life, but if Momma brought God into it, then it meant she was serious. So, I got the iron, whipped the dress off, and did my best. It took all of thirty seconds for me to burn myself.” I chuckle, taking Noah’s hand and running it along the discolored skin.

  I lift up, cradling his head so he’s forced to look at me. “You don’t have to be embarrassed in front of me.” I tell him. “We all have scars. I’ve seen yours, maybe not all of them, but I can’t imagine them getting any uglier than the ones you showed me that night in the treehouse. If I’m able to get past that, what’s one embarrassing story?”

  He gives me a small smile and taps my ass. “Not tonight.”

  “But one day?” I push, needing more.

  “One day,” he says kissing me sweetly.

  And I let the subject drop.

  When we arrive at a dock in Southern California, I look to Noah, who just sighs as he kills the engine.

  “A boat?” I ask with an arched brow.

  “A yacht,” Ethan clarifies with a grin from the front seat. I look to Becca on my left and she nods. My mouth drops open. I know Noah’s parents are loaded, but a yacht? That’s next level.

  “They were wooing a client. I was invited as an afterthought, probably because said client is a basketball fan or has a bored kid that I’m meant to entertain,” Noah says, pushing his way out of the car.

  I stare down at my clothes, a sundress and a pair of sandals I’d gotten from Target. It seemed like appropriate breakfast attire, but I’d been wholly unprepared for a ride on a motor yacht. I twist the gold band around my thumb nervously. As if I wasn’t anxious enough with the prospect of meeting Noah’s parents, now I must meet them on a yacht. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It’s not that big of a deal. One night, then we’re out of here and heading to Santa Monica.” He reaches for my hand and we walk down the dock, coming to a stop in front of the yacht named Prestige. A skinny blonde greets us with a plastic smile. She asks us to take our shoes off while a couple of guys grab our bags.

  The blonde takes us up to the main deck, where Noah’s parents sit around an oblong table eating breakfast. Their eyes snap in our direction as we enter. Mr. Reid, Noah’s stepdad, grimaces when he spots me.

  “I didn’t know you were bringing a friend.’’ His tone is casual when he makes the comment, but his eyes never leave me. It’s like he’s dissecting me in his brain, trying to decide my usefulness.

  “Yeah, well, we can go if it’s an issue,” Noah retorts, dragging a chair out from under the table. He glares right back at his stepdad, daring him to call his bluff.

  I kind of wish he would. I’d been so nervous about this meeting all night that I could hardly sleep. I built them up in my head, took the scraps of information I knew about them, and stitched together a picture of wealth and cruelty.

  His mother, with her bleached blonde hair, perfectly sculpted eyebrows, and bored demeanor. His stepdad, tall, with salt and pepper hair. He exudes the same charisma Noah does when he’s on, but there’s something more calculating about him. Something that makes the little hairs on the back of my neck rise in suspicion.

  “Don’t be silly.” Noah’s mom breaks the awkward standoff. She rises from her chair, comes around the table and wraps one arm around his shoulder, giving him an awkward, half-squeeze that makes me cringe. My mother used to hug me with her whole body. She held me close enough for me to smell her sweet floral perfume, and in those fleeting moments, all was right in my world. “Of course, we don’t want you to go. It’s just this yacht only has five staterooms, so once Richard’s clients come aboard, there will only be one room left.”

  Noah motions for me to sit in the chair he pulled out before taking the seat next to me. My hand drops to his thigh under the table, and I give him a reassuring squeeze. I’m here, it says. I’m not going anywhere.

  He drops a kiss on my forehead. “Tru and I can share the last room.”

  “That’s highly inappropriate,” Richard interjects.

  “Inappropriate?” Noah scoffs. “You’re one to talk about inappropriate.”

  “Listen,” his mom says, putting her hand on her husband’s forearm. It looks like a practiced move, like this isn’t the first time she’s had to break up one of their tit for tats. “What Richard is trying to say is that his client is a family man, which is why, Noah, we called you to join us. We just aren’t sure if having our son shacking up with his flavor of the week—no offense, sweetie,” she says to me with a syrupy smile, “is the image we want to project.”

  Noah hooks his arm around my neck, pulling me closer to him. “We can shack up or we can rejoin our friends for a day at the beach in Santa Monica. I don’t give a fuck.”

  “Watch your mouth, young man.” Richard’s stern voice makes me jump in my seat.

  “Well, this has been a monumental waste of time.” Noah’s tone is bored as he stands, and I follow his lead.

  “Sit,” Richard booms, and I plant my ass in the chair. “Fine, you may share a room, but no cursing, no PDA, and for fuck’s sake, lose the sullen attitude. You’re on a fucking yacht with a five-star chef and a fleet of water toys. Your life could be worse.”

  Noah’s chest puffs up and down, but he reluctantly sits. “They’ll be here at lunch. Jacob Montclaire, former pastor of a megachurch in Texas, has three New York Times bestselling books, a podcast that generates over six figures annually in ad revenue alone, and a smattering of other small investments. His wife, Ana, is his business partner and really the brains behind the machine. They’re bringing their two kids, thirteen-year-old Esther and seventeen-year-old Abel. They’ve recently decided
to relocate back east, where the wife is originally from, to be closer to her ailing mother. I found out they were in California for vacation and reached out. They agreed to meet up for a fun family excursion.”

  Noah nods and I can see his wheels spinning. He asks a few questions about the logistics and his role in this little gathering, and I am in awe. In another life, I can see this being Noah’s future. The ruthless businessman with the keen senses. Another piece to the Noah Tedesco puzzle.

  After they strategize, we have breakfast and head to our room to change into our bathing suits. I’m a little nervous about being here, but Noah insists that it will be fine, and we’ll be gone by morning.

  The Montclaires arrive a little before lunchtime. Jacob Montclaire is a force. Impeccably put together, shiny white teeth, perfect hair, chiseled jaw. He looks like a car salesman and speaks in scripture, but it’s bullshit. He’s monetized the church for his own personal gain. His wife is beautiful, and not at all what I expected. She isn’t the stereotypical Texas woman with big hair and boobs I’d imagined. She’s quiet and calculating. She notices everything, and I shrink whenever her eyes land on me.

  The adults leave us kids alone to go talk business. Noah leads us up to the bunny pad while the crew pulls out the water toys. Abel, the son, is a cocky asshole. He isn’t very tall, not that I’m height shaming him, but the way he carries himself, you’d think he was six-three like Noah. I would ascribe it to big dick energy, but his swim trunks aren’t doing him any favors. More like he’s a new money snob, who thinks his life has turned into a rap video.

  I cock my head and examine the daughter. She’s wearing a one-piece swimsuit that is as modest as I’d expect from a preacher’s daughter, and she has her head buried in a book. I flash her what I hope is a cheerful smile. She glances behind her to check and see if anyone else is there before returning her attention to me. “Hey.” She lifts three fingers and wiggles them in my direction.