Watch Over Me

by Mila Gray

  “You tell your mom I came by to see her,” he says, and makes to turn away.

  “Why?” I ask, throwing the question at him in an attempt to stop him from leaving, willing the cops to arrive. “Why can’t you leave us alone?” I ask.

  “You put me in prison,” my dad says, turning back toward me. “Your lies took away three years of my life.”

  I didn’t send him to prison, I think to myself; his own actions sent him there.

  “You know what they do to cops in prison?” he continues before I can point this out to him.

  Whatever they did to him in prison, whatever he suffered, was just a fraction of what he deserved. Any sympathy I might have vanishes when I remember the crack of my mom’s cheekbone as it shattered, the wet smack of her head against the banister, the terror he put us through.

  “Leave us alone.”

  It’s Kate who says it. Her voice trembles, but she spits the words at him.

  He looks at her, half-amused and half-saddened. “Oh, Katie, what have your mother and your sister been telling you? Whatever it is, it isn’t the truth. They’re lying to you. Poisoning you and Cole against me. Your mom was having an affair. I got upset. It was that one time I lost my temper, and your mom was to blame. She was threatening to take you kids away from me. I didn’t mean to hurt her. I love her. And you. Don’t you want to hear my side of the story, Kate? Don’t you want to have your dad back in your life?”

  Kate’s mouth falls open. She doesn’t answer. Oh God, is she buying it?

  “We don’t want you back in our lives,” Kate says, her eyes flashing with fury. “You’re a liar, and I hate you, and I never want to see you again.”

  My dad’s face contorts. I move to block Kate, knowing that a blow is coming. My dad’s gaze whips to me. “You—you bitch,” he says. “You turned them all against me with your lies.”

  His hand is suddenly circling my wrist. He yanks me toward him, but instinctively I react the way Tristan taught me in our self-defense classes, twisting my arm, gaining my freedom in a move so fast it surprises my dad. He lunges for me, and I scream and shout at him to back off. I manage to smash him in the nose with the heel of my hand, and he grunts as blood sprays. But he somehow gets a grip on my wrist and starts to yank. I lose my footing. He drags me forward, away from Kate, who follows, hanging on to my other arm, screaming at him to let me go. I feel like I’m being ripped in two.

  Just then, the wail of a cop car siren cuts through Kate’s screams. My dad lets go, and Kate pulls me away. The cop car screeches into the parking lot, its blue and red lights swirling, as my dad takes off toward the back of the condos. Two cops exit the car and race after him.

  Shaking, Kate and I huddle against the car, holding each other tight. “It’s going to be okay,” I whisper to her as she sobs.

  TRISTAN

  I’m running down the dock at a sprint, bag slung over my shoulder, phone pressed to my ear, panic fueling me, when she finally picks up. “Zoey?” I shout into the phone at the sound of her voice. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  I’m so relieved, I almost collapse to my knees. “Jesus, I thought …” I trail off, fighting back tears. “I saw you on camera. Saw him grab you …” I relive that moment, watching her dad accost her and Kate by the car, the awful powerlessness of not being able to intervene, of having to watch him raise his fist to her, the utter terror and frustration of not being able to do anything. I’ve never felt so useless in my life. “I didn’t know what had happened.”

  “The cops arrived. They caught him. He’s been arrested.”

  I cover my eyes, feeling a welling of emotion from deep inside, a wave that feels like it might burst up and out of me. For the last twenty-five minutes I’ve been living with the fear that something had happened to her, something bad. I couldn’t get through to her or Kate; neither was picking up.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder and whip around. It’s Kit. Behind him are Walker and the others. She’s okay, I mouth to them, and see the relief spread across their faces. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I tell Zoey.

  “Okay,” she says, her voice so soft I almost can’t hear it. Then she hangs up.

  I stare at the phone for a few seconds. Did it sound like she wanted me there? In all the panic and confusion and fear, I’d forgotten our earlier conversation, our breakup. Either way, though, I don’t care. I need to see her.

  “What happened?” Walker asks.

  “They arrested him,” I say.

  “Thank God,” Kit’s father says. He pats me on the shoulder.

  “Why you still standing here?” Kit asks, staring at me like I’m a lunatic and pressing his car keys into my hand. “Go!”

  For a dazed second, I stare at him, and then I turn and run.

  ZOEY

  My mom arrives home with Robert and Cole just as Kate finishes giving her statement to the police and ten minutes after they took my dad away in the back of a patrol car.

  “What’s going on?” she asks in a trembling voice, clutching Cole to her side. Robert comes around the car quickly and walks toward us.

  “Officers,” he says, nodding at the police officers. “What happened?” He looks at me and Kate. “Girls, are you okay?”

  We both nod. My mom rushes over to us, pulls us into her arms. “He was here?” she asks, looking in terror between us and the cops.

  I nod. “Tristan saw him on the security cameras and called the cops.”

  “Who was here?”

  We both turn around. Cole is standing a few feet away, staring at us. “Was Dad here?” he asks.

  I break away from Mom and approach him. “Yes,” I tell him.

  “Where is he now?” Cole asks, looking around, his face lighting up with hope before he frowns in confusion at the sight of the cop car and the police officers.

  “They arrested him, Cole,” I say.

  “What?” he shouts. “Why?”

  “Because he shouldn’t be here. He’s not allowed to be. He broke the law.”

  “Why?” Cole asks again angrily. “How’s that breaking the law? He just wanted to see us.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. How does he know that?

  “You got him arrested!” Cole shouts, stepping away from me, his face scrunching up in fury. “It’s your fault. He didn’t do anything.”

  “Cole,” my mom says weakly.

  “I hate you!” Cole says, his eyes flashing so angrily they remind me of my dad’s and make me flinch backward.

  “That’s not fair—” I say as Cole starts running up the stairs to the apartment.

  I watch him go. He’s right on the one hand. I did get Dad arrested and sent back to jail. I’m not going to be sorry for it, though. I just wish Cole understood the reasons.

  My mom slips her hand into mine. “He doesn’t mean it.”

  Robert puts an arm around my shoulder. “How are you doing?” he asks.

  I nod, unsure what to say.

  “The police say he’ll be held overnight and arraigned in the morning.” He glances with concern at my mom. “Let’s go inside, make a cup of tea.”

  My mom lets Robert lead her upstairs, his hand in hers. I stand and watch them and Kate, feeling a strange light-headedness overcome me as Robert ushers them inside. A bubble of laughter rises up. I struggle for a moment to figure out what it is I’m feeling—shock, maybe? No. It hits me finally with a jolt. It’s not shock. It’s relief. I’m free. My dad is going back to jail. I don’t have to be afraid anymore. I don’t have to worry. At least, not for a few years. And my mom has someone who obviously cares about her. I won’t be abandoning her. I laugh out loud.

  “Zoey?”

  I look up. It’s my mom, standing by the door to our apartment. She’s beckoning me up the stairs. “Are you coming?” she asks.

  TRISTAN

  I tear into the parking lot in Walker’s Jeep, throwing it into the only available spot before jumping out and racing toward the stairs to
Zoey’s apartment.

  I’m halfway up when I hear her call my name. I spin around and see her. She’s standing in the doorway to my apartment. Seeing her is like seeing land after being lost at sea for months. It’s relief and wonder all rolled into one. I leap down the steps three at a time, not taking my eyes off her.

  As I get closer, I slow down because I don’t know what to say. I don’t know where we stand. I thought I did, but now, seeing her there, looking so unsure and unsmiling, I’m on guard again. But then she takes a step toward me, saying my name and reaching for me. The next thing I know, I’m pulling her into my arms, feeling her fingers digging into my back as she clutches me so tight her body is pressed into mine, as though she’s trying to burrow into me.

  I can feel her shaking in my arms, and when she lifts her tearstained face to mine, I kiss her before she can get a chance to say a word. She kisses me back, trying to talk between kisses, saying my name, saying sorry, saying words I don’t hear because all I want to do is run my hands over her, make her stop shaking, let her know I’m not going anywhere, ever. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to her, and that thought makes me want to hold on to her and never let her go.

  We tumble back through the door into my apartment, tangled in each other’s arms. I kick the door shut with my foot, and Zoey pulls me back with her onto the sofa, kicking off her shoes as she goes, tearing at my shirt and my pants as I do the same to her dress, until we’re both breathless and naked and she’s pulling me inside her. “I love you,” I tell her, kissing her, needing her in a way that feels desperate and out of control. But when I try to slow down and pull back, she locks her legs around me, clings to me tighter, her mouth on mine, swallowing my words.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” I murmur against her lips.

  She shakes her head, strokes my face.

  “I can’t lose you,” I tell her.

  She pulls me in even closer, deeper, holding me there so I can’t move. “You’re not going to,” she whispers.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her, holding my weight above her on my arms and looking down on her. She’s still shaking, her eyes welling. “I’m staying right here,” I tell her, wanting to reassure her.

  “No,” she says, shaking her head at me.

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “No,” she argues. “I’m coming with you. We’re going to Florida.”

  I stare at her. “What?”

  She nods, and before I can respond, she pulls me back down, my full weight on top of her. I can’t process anything more than her last words. We’re going to Florida.

  But then all thoughts flee from my mind until all that’s left is right now.

  ZOEY

  I do.”

  There is not a dry eye in the house, except for the ring bearer’s—Jessa’s nephew, little Riley Jr., who pulls a face when Kit’s dad, officiating the ceremony, tells his son he can kiss the bride. Kit pulls Jessa into his arms, lifts her veil, and kisses her to everyone’s delight, except little Riley’s, who says a resoundingly loud “Yuck.”

  We all laugh and cheer. I turn to Tristan, and he pulls me into his side and kisses me on the lips. For some reason, ever since Tristan and I got back together, I haven’t been able to keep my hands off him. And it’s not like I had an easy time of it before. Every single second I’m with him or even close to him, I feel an ache deep inside me, one that often needs to be filled there and then. And he’s been more than happy to oblige. Every night we fall asleep in each other’s arms, only to wake again an hour or so later, reaching for each other, and then again, before dawn.

  It’s not a hunger, because hunger can be satiated. It’s a need. I think it’s because I’m no longer afraid. With my dad locked up until he can be tried on further charges of assault, I feel for the first time fully free of fear. The shackles are gone and I’m making up for lost time.

  I’m smiling all the time too, as are Kate and my mom. It’s only Cole who acts surly and angry, even more so than before. With Robert at her side, my mom is more able to handle Cole, but still, he blames me. He calls me a liar, refuses to talk to me, and mutters under his breath when I try to talk to him. It hurts, but Tristan says he’ll get over it in time, when he’s older and can understand the truth. I still wonder how my dad was able to communicate with him and fill his head with so many lies. Cole refuses to say, but I’m hoping now that Dad’s in prison it will stop. I’m also talking to Didi about arranging some therapy for him.

  Kit finally breaks away from kissing Jessa, and they turn to the assembled guests. Behind them, the Pacific glitters like a million diamonds have been sprinkled on its surface. None of them could outshine Jessa, though, who looks like a Pre-Raphaelite painting, her long hair hanging loose in waves, her dress a beautiful, romantic lace-and-silk creation.

  Kit shakes hands with guests who rush to congratulate them, while refusing to relinquish his grip on Jessa with his other hand. He beams with pride, glancing every few seconds at his bride, as though he can’t quite believe she’s real.

  Behind them, Didi and Jo, Jessa’s sister-in-law, are dressed in dusky pink bridesmaid dresses. Didi wipes away a tear, and I see Walker, Kit’s best man, squeeze her waist and whisper something in her ear, which makes her gasp and press a hand to her heart.

  I wonder if they’ll be next. I look at Tristan, and even though we’re way too young to talk of marriage and there are so many things to do first—graduate college and start and finish pilot school, for a start—I know that there’s a chance that one day it will be us. I can see it, silly as that might seem. There’s a deep sense of knowing that this is it, that we belong together. I’ve heard people talk before of soul mates, usually in books, and I never believed it was real. Love for me always seemed dangerous, but now I know it doesn’t have to be that way at all.

  We take our seats at white-linen-covered tables set under flower-strewn pergolas dangling with fairy lights. As the sun sets into the sea and the band plays, we eat until we are stuffed and drink until the laughter can probably be heard all the way in Malibu. I lean back into Tristan’s arms, looking around the table at all our friends, and feel like the luckiest person alive.

  “Are you all packed?” Dahlia asks us as we toast the happy couple.

  “Yes,” I tell her. I was packed days ago. I can’t wait to leave, to finally head off into the horizon. There’s freedom beyond it.

  After Kit’s speech, when he calls Jessa his North Star and reduces everyone to tears by mentioning Riley, Jessa’s brother, and how much they all miss him and wish he were here, they cut the cake, and the party gets into full swing. Tristan pulls me to my feet and leads me to the dance floor. I’m self-conscious at first, but soon the dance floor is crowded and the joy is infectious, and I kick off my shoes and throw back my head and decide to let go. Dancing is a lot like sex, I think to myself: the less you’re inhibited, the better it feels. Tristan, it turns out, is a great dancer, which shouldn’t surprise me when I think about how good he is in bed.

  He has pulled off his tie and undone the first three buttons of his shirt, and by the time a slow song comes on and he reaches for me, we’re both slick with sweat. As soon as I’m in his arms, I start thinking about getting somewhere private, somewhere we can be alone, and he does too, because he bends his head and nuzzles my neck and whispers in my ear, “Want to get out of here?”

  I nod, catching the glint in his eye, his desire fueling my own. And suddenly the need becomes urgent. I start pulling him off the dance floor. It’s past midnight. Jessa and Kit have slipped away, heading off on their honeymoon. Walker and Didi are dancing in each other’s arms, Didi still clutching the bouquet she caught earlier.

  I spot Dahlia and Emma sitting under a bower of flowers, heads pressed together, taking a photo, and I smile. Dahlia waves at us and blows a kiss in our direction.

  Tristan leads me to my car, walking at a fast clip. He offers to drive and we jump inside. He starts the engine, th
en pauses. It’s a thirty-minute drive home, and I know he’s wondering if he can wait that long. I lean back against the door and bite my lip. His gaze falls to my body, becomes glassy with desire. “God, I want you,” he whispers.

  “Drive,” I tell him.

  He puts the car in gear with a sigh. The wedding venue is a private estate on a bluff over the ocean, and once we’re through the gates and onto the road, there’s not a single car for miles. It’s a straight run, and Tristan drives at seventy—not too fast but fast enough. We’re both in a hurry to get home.

  “Shit,” Tristan murmurs.

  “What?” I ask.

  “There’s some guy riding my ass,” he says, frowning as he looks in the rearview mirror.

  I turn around. He’s right: there’s a maroon-colored truck right on our bumper, practically on top of us.

  “What’s he playing at?” I ask, my heart beating fast and adrenaline flooding my system.

  The road is empty. If he wanted to overtake us, there’s nothing stopping him. “Why don’t you pull over?” I say to Tristan.

  Tristan’s slowing down, trying to move to one side to let him pass. “He’s driving like an idiot,” he mumbles.

  “Pull over,” I say again, feeling my anxiety build. “Let him pass.”

  Tristan moves his hand to the indicator, but before he can press it, we lurch forward violently as the truck rear-ends us. There’s a screeching, grinding sound of twisting metal and smashing glass.

  “Oh my God!” I scream, and grab for Tristan across the divider.

  “Shit!” he yells, stamping on the gas, trying to put distance between us and the truck.

  I turn around. The truck is on our tail, matching our acceleration, its bumper touching ours. “What’s he doing?!” I shout in terror.