by McKayla Box
I look down at my lap because I'm afraid I'm going to start crying. He's saying all of the right things, and it's uncomfortable because the only parent I've ever known only says the wrong things to me.
“One last thing and I'll go,” he says. “I've already spoken to your grandparents about this, but I just wanted to tell you, as well. Your grandmother explained to me more of your mother's situation. I was sorry to hear about...everything.” He pauses. “But I'm going to contact her. My understanding is I probably can't speak to her on the phone, but I'm going to write her a letter and hope that she and I can have a conversation in the future. I think that would be good for everyone. But if you have any objection to that, I won't do it. I'd like to, but again, I'm trying to make sure that whatever I do is in your best interests. I don't want to upset you. So I'd like to know if you're okay with that.”
I nod. “Yeah. That's fine.”
He nods. “Okay.” He stands. “I don't want to take up any more of your time than I already have. I appreciate all of you talking with me.” He looks at me. “And it was good to see you again.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Let me walk you out, Jay,” my grandfather says, standing.
I watch the two of them head for the front door, then walk outside.
My grandmother looks at me. “Are you alright?” she asks anxiously.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I'm okay.”
“I was going to text you and give you a warning that he was here, but we started talking and I realized you were probably already on your way home.”
“That's okay.”
“He seems like a very nice man,” she says.
“He does.”
“But Nola?”
I look at her.
“It really is your decision,” she says. “It doesn't matter how kind he is. You don't have to force anything you don't want, and I think he's being sincere when he says the same thing. Thank goodness, because the last thing you need is someone showing up and demanding things of you.” She pauses. “But it is your choice, and your grandfather and I will make sure everyone respects that if it becomes a problem.”
“Thanks,” I tell her. “I just don't know what I want. Twenty-four hours ago, I had no idea who my father was. Now I've talked with him twice. It's surreal.”
“I'm sure it is,” she says. “So we want to make sure that no one charges into anything. We allowed him to come over because he called and promised that he wouldn't stay long, but wanted to let us know where he stood. We thought that was a good idea. But I don't want you thinking we are on anyone's side other than yours.” She smiles. “We're on your side.”
“I know,” I say. “Thanks.” I point to my backpack. “I'm gonna get my stuff put away.” I get up, grab my things, and head back to my room. I close the door behind me, drop my stuff on the floor, and collapse face-first into my bed. I lie there for a minute, then roll over onto my back.
I don't know what I want.
I think I want some relationship with Jay, but that also means a relationship with Heath, and that seems...bad. I'm trying to separate the two, but I'm having trouble doing that. I know that I need to give it time, but now I can't stop thinking about any of it.
I just don't know what to do.
Chapter 36
I eat dinner with my grandparents, finish a paper for English, take a shower, and I'm in bed early.
I am the most boring high school senior ever.
But I'm tired.
Tired of thinking, tired of feeling, and tired of wondering.
I just want some time off from all of it.
I've just turned off my light when my phone vibrates on my nightstand. I pick it up and see Archer's name on the screen. I slide my thumb across the screen.
Come to the hotel.
What?
Come to the hotel.
Think you texted the wrong person.
Nola.
Okay, so it's not the wrong person.
What do you want?
Come to the hotel.
No.
Yes.
I don't wanna do this.
You asked me a question today.
So?
I'll answer it. Come to the hotel and I'll answer it.
Right now?
Yes.
I lay my phone down on my chest. I am not in the mood for games. I don't have the energy or the patience.
My phone vibrates again and I pick it up.
You asked if I forgave them. Come to the hotel and I'll tell you.
Just tell me now.
No. Come to the hotel.
Why?
Because I want to see you.
I read that sentence four times to make sure I'm reading it correctly.
Why?
Just come.
It's late.
So?
So it's late. I'm in bed.
Get out of bed. Come to the hotel.
I know the smart thing to do is just end the conversation, turn out the light, and go to sleep. But I also know I'm not going to be able to sleep, and now I'm curious about why exactly he wants to see me.
And I still want an answer to my question.
I pick up my phone.
Give me half an hour.
Chapter 37
I get out of bed, get dressed, and listen at my door.
My grandparents go to bed early and I'm certain that they're already in bed, but I want to be sure before I try to sneak out. Technically, I'm not sneaking out because we've never established a curfew and they let me come and go as I please, but I know that's just semantics. Leaving the house after I've gone to bed without telling them definitely feels like sneaking out.
I listen for a few minutes and after I'm confident they are already in bed, I make my way out of my room, out the front door, and into my car with as little noise as possible. I turn my car on and jump when the music starts blasting through the speakers, a product of having cranked it up the last time I was in it. I grab at the knob and turn it all the way off, as if my grandparents might hear it. Once my heart stops racing, I pull out of the driveway and head toward the hotel.
It's weird pulling into the parking lot of The Veranda, the big pink hotel that serves as a landmark in Del Sol. I haven't been here since the beginning of the school year when Archer snuck me without explaining to me that the hotel belonged to his family. We were supposed to come here the night of the Winter Ball before everything went up in flames. I see the hotel all the time when I'm at the beach, but now it seems like a place I've never been.
I park my car and decide to use the back entrance because I don't want to go traipsing through the lobby so late at night. I walk all the way around the property until I find the door we used before. I get inside, find the elevator, and ride it up to the top floor. I walk right up to the door of the suite and knock twice before I can think better of it.
It takes him less than ten seconds to answer it.
He's in board shorts, a light blue T-shirt, and his hair looks like it hasn't been brushed. He steps out of the way. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I say and walk through the door.
And I'm immediately taken back to that first night he brought me here. The way things look, the way things smell. It transports me right back to that night.
I step down into the sunken living room. The ocean is a black sheet down below on the other side of the massive window.
“Wasn't sure you were coming,” he says.
“I told you I was.”
“Thought maybe you'd change your mind.”
“Thought about it.”
He steps down into the living room next to me. “You want something to drink?” He nods at the bar.
I look over and I see a glass and a bottle of bourbon and some sodas on the counter. “Looks like you've already started.”
He shrugs. “Been here awhile.”
I look at him. “Are you drunk? Is that why you called me?”
“I'd
say...buzzed,” he says, then smiles. “But that's not why I called.” He holds up his hands. “I got nothing planned here.”
I'm not sure whether I believe him, but I do know that I'm on edge and it would be good to take that edge off. “Vodka. And anything.”
He nods and walks over behind the bar. He pulls out a glass, then a bottle of Tito's appears, along with a can of Sprite. He fills the glass with ice, then pours the vodka and soda. He fills another glass with Jack Daniels and Coke for himself, then brings both glasses over. He hands me mine. “Cheers.”
I ignore him and knock back half the drink. The vodka burns its way down my throat and the heat filters into my whole body.
He laughs, then does the same with his drink.
I walk over to the couch and sit, holding the glass in both hands. “So. I'm here. Talk.”
He laughs again, then sits down next to me. He sets his glass on the table and puts his hands behind his head, leaning back into the sofa.
“If you aren't gonna talk, I'm out of here,” I tell him. “I mean it. I am so sick of everything and I don't need more bullshit right now.”
He looks at me.
And I can't deny that I have missed seeing those eyes up close.
“I had it out with my dad tonight,” he says. “You asked me that question today about forgiving them and I didn't have an answer because I've avoided thinking about it. But then I did, and I went home and we had it out. I told him everything that's pissed me off for so long and that I was still mad at my mom for going along with it and that I blame them both for shit I feel like I didn't get.” He pauses. “He was calm at first and then he blew up, telling me I didn't understand and all that shit. We just went at each other. And then I left. Came here.” He shrugs, leans forward, grabs his drink, and finishes what's left of it. He sets the empty glass on the table and leans back into the couch. “That was it.”
I swirl the ice cubes in my glass. “I'm sorry.”
He shrugs again. “Whatever. So that's the answer to your question. I didn't forgive them because I've avoided the subject. I didn't want to talk to him about it and I couldn't talk to my mom. So I've just been pissed off and I've been raging inside and it all came out tonight.” He looks at me. “So, thanks, I guess.”
“I don't think I wanna be thanked for that,” I tell him.
“Yeah, well, I'm blaming you.” But he says this with a laugh, with no malice at all. “You got the ball rolling. I just pushed it off the cliff.”
“So how do you feel now?”
He thinks for a moment. “I don't know. Definitely felt good to fucking yell at him. He probably felt the same way. I just thought if I stuck around we'd end up getting physical and I didn't want that.” He shrugs. “Best thing was to come here and get away.”
“You could've told me all of this over the phone,” I say. “You didn't need me here to tell me that.”
He looks at me. “I was a little buzzed and I was pacing around this place like a caged animal. I took a chance.” He pauses. “You settle me.”
“I settle you?”
The corner of his mouth ticks upward. “You settle me, Orleans.”
Hearing that lights a fire inside of me. “Don't fucking call me that.”
“Relax,” he says. “I was teasing you.”
“Don't fucking call me that ever again,” I tell him. “It doesn't apply.”
“It doesn't apply?”
I look into my glass, then down the rest of it. The vodka slides through me and the edge is gone. The nerves have abated.
But now I'm pissed.
“It doesn't apply because it was a bullshit story that my mom gave me years ago,” I say. “I wasn't conceived in New Orleans. I was conceived right here in Del Sol. She's lied to me for years. About fucking everything. That's why I wanted an answer from you. Because I don't know if I can ever forgive her.”
I set the empty glass on the table and we sit there quietly for a while.
“I'm sorry,” he finally says. “I won't call you that anymore.”
I nod.
“You wanna tell me about it?” he says. “I'll listen.”
I look at him.
I have missed him. I have missed being with him and everything that comes with that, even the stuff that drives me insane. But I've really missed these quiet moments when he drops his guard and I feel like we are the only two people on the planet.
And I want that again.
I stand up, turn to him, and get on top of him, my knees sinking into the sofa.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I lean down and kiss him, softly at first, then harder. I put my hands in his hair and tighten my fingers around it.
He's stiff, his hands at his sides, not kissing me back. He pulls his head back. “Nola. What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I'm doing?”
“I didn't call you over for this,” he says.
“I don't care,” I tell him, my lips brushing his. “I am so tired of the bullshit and I need a break. I don't wanna talk and I don't wanna fight. I just want you.”
We stare at each other for what feels like forever, our faces no more than an inch apart, like he's trying to read me.
“You're sure?” he says.
I nod.
“Because once I start, I won't stop,” he says, his lips brushing against mine. “I won't be able to stop.”
I snake my tongue into his mouth and pull on his hair. “Good. Don't stop.”
His arms wrap around me as he kisses me, harder than I kissed him. He stands up and I cling to him, lost in how he tastes and feels and how much I've missed him. We're moving across the living room and then into the bedroom. He lays me down, but I hold onto him.
He sinks down on top of me and it feels safe, secure. I rip off his shirt and dig my nails into the muscles in his back, reveling at the feel of his warm skin under my hands. He groans and kisses my neck, his face buried in my hair. I can feel him pushing against me and I want him more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.
He gets my shirt and bra off and his skin is like fire against mine as his mouth works his way down from my neck. I shiver and grab onto his hair again. I'm trying to reach for his shorts but they are just beneath my grasp.
“Get them off,” I whisper. “Now.”
He pushes off me and pulls my shorts and underwear down as he gets up. I'm naked on the bed, looking up at him. He stares down at me, then pushes his shorts down. He stands over me and every inch of me is on fire as I grab at the comforter and wait for him. He stands there for another second or two, his eyes glassy, then lowers himself back down onto me.
And into me.
I gasp as soon as he's inside of me and cling to him again, my arms locked around him. He moves slowly at first, his hips moving into mine. I let go of the vice-like grip I have on him and let my hands roam, determined to touch every inch of him. I can feel the heat and longing building inside of me and I push my hips up into his once, then twice.
He grunts in response and starts moving quicker, driving into me. The heat is like a volcano inside of me and my skin is covered in sweat. I can't catch my breath.
I cling to him and he pulls me into him, driving harder, faster.
Once.
Twice.
Then he slips out of me and groans, his body shuddering against mine. He groans again and his body vibrates again.
Then he collapses against me and we are still.
I close my eyes. My heart is still racing and my skin tingles. His back is wet with sweat and his breath is warm against my neck.
I wish it was always like this.
Chapter 38
My eyes open.
It's still dark in the room and it's still dark on the other side of the window. There's a blanket over us and I'm not sure how long I've been asleep. Archer is next to me and I roll toward him.
His eyes are open and he's looking at me. “Hey.”
“What time is?” I a
sk.
“No idea,” he says. “But you haven't been asleep long. Maybe half an hour.”
I'm so relaxed it feels like it's been hours.
“You passed out,” he says.
“You didn't?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Just watched you.”
“That's creepy.”
He laughs. “I didn't do anything.”
I sit up and hold the blanket to my chest. “I should go.”
“Already?”
“I'm not even supposed to be here,” I tell him.
“You haven't been here that long,” he says. “We haven't even talked.”
“I don't want to talk,” I say, sliding off the bed.
“You don't wanna talk?” he says.
I drop the blanket and pull on my clothes. I run a hand through my hair. “No. I don't want to talk.”
“So you just came over here to fuck me and leave?” he asks.
“You asked me to come here,” I remind him. “And you are the one who wanted to talk. That wasn't me.”
“Yeah, but…” he says, then bites off the words. “Fine. Whatever.”
“What? Now you're pissed at me?” I ask. “Because I did what you asked? You asked me to come over. I came over. You wanted to answer my question. You answered it. What else do you want?”
“Maybe some reciprocation?” he says, grabbing his shorts. “Maybe some answers about what's going on with you and Heath?”
“Don't make me think coming over here was a mistake,” I say. “Don't do that. I promised you nothing.”
