Luna and the Lie

by Zapata, Mariana

  Sure, he’d been.

  His mouth went so tight, it was edged in white. “I was messing with you,” he insisted, seriously.

  He was messing with me.

  Those long fingers flexed again. “You that mad at me?” he asked.

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  “Upset with me?”

  I didn’t look at him as I said, “No.” I wasn’t. I wasn’t. “I just…” What could I say? “You don’t ever joke around with me. I’m just surprised.” I started to crack my knuckles but stopped. “Okay, maybe I am a little upset with you, but I’m almost over it.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him glance at me again, and I could barely hear his voice when he spoke again. “I joke around outside of work,” he said softly.

  I wasn’t going to overthink it.

  Did that come out defensively, or was it my imagination? “That’s good.” I was such a sucker. I really was. He was trying, and I didn’t have it in me to brush him off. “You can joke around with me whenever you want,” I replied just as softly as he had. “I wouldn’t tell anybody. I know it doesn’t mean anything, and I’m really good at keeping secrets. It can be another one of ours.”

  I doubted I would ever forget the way he turned his head to look at me, slowly, so slowly, those eyes like hot freaking coals, raking me over. Seeing me. His eyebrows were knit, like he was deep in thought, and he just—

  “RIP!” I shouted the second I spotted the car pulling out in front of us all of a sudden.

  The brakes he slammed were instant. So instant, so unexpected, so forceful, I barely had time to suck in a breath and throw my arms up over my face. I closed my eyes just as the seat belt jerked across my chest, and I felt something slap me right between my breasts as someone’s brakes screamed in the background. But I knew I hadn’t made a peep.

  I couldn’t have.

  My entire brain just… shut down.

  My upper body went forward…

  And the truck made contact.

  I wouldn’t be able to describe the sound of metal meeting metal. Of the truck careening into the car that had pulled out of what I would figure out later was a gas station. Even if someone had played me samples of crashes, I wouldn’t have been able to pick out what I had heard. It had just been noise.

  But I felt my body jerk. Felt the seat belt dig into my shoulder. Felt what I didn’t know until seconds later was a big palm right in the middle of my collarbones.

  Later, I would feel the painful fucking ache across my neck and shoulders.

  And just like that, it was over.

  The truck had stopped moving, the brakes had stopped squealing, and nothing but panting filled my ears.

  My panting.

  It was mine.

  “Rip?” I sucked in a breath as I opened my eyes and found a totally intact windshield in front of me.

  The weight across my collarbones moved, making me look down to see it had been a hand—his hand—there. Holding me back. There. Just there.

  Dragging my eyes up his wrist, to his elbow, to his shoulder and then his face, I noticed his cheeks were flushed. That not-thin but not-full mouth was parted. But it was the thin red slice across his upper eyebrow that held my gaze.

  “Are you okay?” I panted, not sure if I’d even be able to hear him above the roaring of blood and adrenaline and who the hell knew what flooding my ear canals as my brain registered that the danger was over and I was pretty sure we were okay.

  Rip blinked. Those curly black eyelashes just dropped, once and then twice to cover his eyes briefly. His nostrils flared.

  “You okay?” I asked again, the hand closest to him—which I’d tucked into my body by reflex—reached out. I set my palms and fingers on his forearm, only briefly feeling the goose bumps under them. “You all right?”

  He let out a sharp exhale and then nodded.

  I squeezed his arm again, just barely noticing that it was shaking. “They just pulled out of nowhere.” I sucked in a breath, trying to slow down my heartbeat. “I didn’t see them until it was almost too late,” I admitted, hearing that shaking in my voice as my brain refused to slow down and instead said you were in a car wreck in case you didn’t know.

  We had been in a car wreck.

  Shit.

  I sucked in a breath through my mouth and let my head fall back against the headrest, moving my eyes forward again to see that the truck’s front end was smashed up against the driver and rear side doors of a late model BMW. I’d detailed them enough over the years to recognize the body frame.

  “Holy shit,” I hissed, everything about me starting to tremble. We had been in a freaking car wreck. My heart was going to beat right out of my damn chest, it felt like. “Holy fuck.”

  I swallowed. Tried to take a deep breath. Then I swallowed again.

  I was fine.

  Rip was fine.

  That was all that mattered.

  Glancing down at the seat belt across my chest and waist… it hadn’t clicked until right then that Rip had done some restomodding, which meant he’d modified his truck. Which meant he’d added safer seat belts since his truck had been made before the age of airbags. And based on the screeching, he’d updated the brake system too. If he hadn’t….

  That wasn’t a nice thing to think about.

  Movement inside the sedan told me that the driver of the other car was fine too. The door seemed to be jammed from the way the person inside was moving, but by the time I managed to think clearly enough to decide to get out of the car, that driver had managed to get the door opened and thrown a leg out.

  The sound of a seat belt clicking had me glancing to my side to see Rip’s hand lingering over that part at my hip. He looked a little pale, and his hand wasn’t what I would call steady as it hovered there. I wasn’t sure what the hell I was thinking as I slid mine over and set it on top of his, everything going up to my elbow not much less shaky than his.

  He was watching me, and all I could muster up was a smile that was probably just as wonky and off as the rest of me was.

  “Son of a bitch!” a voice outside the truck yelled, and I didn’t need to look out to know that it had to be the driver of the BMW, who I had seen out of my peripheral vision circling his car.

  My heart hammered away inside of me. I was shaking a little. My shoulder was starting to ache, but I was okay, and so was the man next to me. That was all that mattered.

  “Motherfucker!” the driver outside yelled. I didn’t notice that Rip hadn’t answered me.

  But somehow, I managed to focus enough to say, “I’ll—I’ll call the cops, but let’s get out of the truck first.”

  Still, he said nothing.

  Pulling the seat belt off from around me and letting it fall to the side between the seat and the door, I tried my best to get my arms under control enough so that they would stop trembling. I had goose bumps everywhere too, but I ignored those as well.

  That had been close. Too freaking close.

  “Luna, get out of the truck,” Rip finally managed to say, his voice soft and… off.

  I nodded.

  I was fine. My adrenaline was just crashing. I was pumped up, and now I was falling. We were safe. Everything was okay.

  Not looking over at the man to my left, I got myself together enough to push open the door to the truck and climb out, only barely managing to remember my purse from where I’d left it right next to my feet. Luckily, I had zipped it, so nothing had fallen out and gotten strewn all over the floor. It only took a moment to fish my phone out and hit 911.

  It took all of me to pay attention and answer the dispatcher’s questions, watching as Rip stood at the front of his mangled truck, talking quietly to the owner of the BMW, a man in a heather gray suit who looked around the same age as Rip. The guy in the suit looked pissed, and Rip, he just stood there, a couple inches taller and a lot broader, with his arms crossed over his head, palms cupping the back of his skull. A few cars had pulled over, the drivers gett
ing out to make sure everyone was fine, but a couple lingered, those people saying something back to the man in the suit.

  In the background, I could hear the wail of a police siren, but I kept talking to the dispatcher who wanted me to wait until the police got there to hang up. My shoulder didn’t ache worse than it had a few minutes before, but it felt stiff.

  Deep breaths. Calm down. Everything was okay.

  The driver of the BMW started talking louder, and I heard him say something like “stupid-ass!”

  Rip didn’t even bother replying. He took a step to the side and walked away. Even with the sun blasting all over the road, I could see his eyes moving around the wreck, not lingering, but continuing to slide from one direction to the other until he spotted me off to the side, one hand holding the phone to my face but both my arms tucked in close to my sides and chest.

  Those long legs ate up the concrete as he headed in my direction, as the other driver kept raising his voice to argue with the three other people who had more than likely seen what happened and were telling him that he was in the wrong.

  Because he had been.

  I didn’t feel like putting in my own two cents and telling him that I’d seen the entire thing happen and that he was the one who was at fault.

  All I could do was stand there, watching as my boss stalked toward me with flashing blue and red and white lights somewhere in the distance, beyond the busy street we were on. When he was maybe ten feet away, I finally gave him a weak smile as I held the phone to my face. When he was five feet away, I noticed the frown that had taken over his features.

  It was right then that I noticed the muscles in his arms jumping, the twitching at his wrists, the veins popping at his temple and throat.

  Rip was shaking.

  Not kind of trembling like I was—and had been—but full on shaking. He was pale. Even his lips had lost their color.

  I said something to the person over the phone that I hoped at least included a “thank you,” but I would never know for sure, because the next thing I was aware of was ending the call and shoving my phone into my purse, which was sitting against my hip.

  That entire six-foot-four, two-hundred and something pound body was literally shaking.

  He looked like he hadn’t just seen a ghost, but a hundred of them.

  I didn’t intentionally set out to grab his hand or pull him toward me, but I did. Once, I had shaken the same way he was doing right then, and all I had wanted afterward was someone to hold me.

  And for me, there had been no one to do that.

  But I could be that person for someone else now.

  I led him to the curb I was standing on and watched as he sank onto it, those long legs bent at the knee, his hands loose at his sides, his nostrils flaring with deep, deep breaths that could have passed for pants on anyone else. He scared me. Right then, watching his normally tan face go so freaking white, watching the biggest and most no-nonsense man I had ever known shake, scared the hell out of me.

  “You’re okay,” I told him, ignoring everything else around us.

  His eyes were straight forward, on me but not on me, and I just barely noticed it.

  I squeezed his hand and got nothing but another bone-rattling shake.

  “Rip, you’re okay. That guy’s an idiot,” I said softly.

  He still just stared straight ahead, right at the top hem of my leggings since it was what was directly in front of him.

  Dropping into a crouch, my worry kicked up threefold, and I took his other hand, giving both of the much bigger palms and fingers a squeeze. He still didn’t react.

  I let go of one of his hands and raised mine to his face, only letting my fingertips graze his stubbly chin. “Hey, you’re good. Nothing happened.”

  Nothing.

  Even knowing I had no right and no business to touch him, and that he probably wouldn’t like it, I palmed his cheek, tiny whiskers grazing my skin. He was clammy and too cool. “Rip?”

  Nothing.

  I let go of his other hand and cupped his face between both of mine, trying to catch his eyes, but they were still straight ahead, unfocused and zoned out.

  What was I supposed to do?

  I could still hear the sirens coming from a distance, but I knew that other than the cut on his face, he was probably physically fine. The worst he’d have were some bruises and possibly his shoulder hurting just like mine was.

  I tried again. “Rip?”

  Nothing.

  “Hey, you’re okay,” I told him, still holding his cheeks. “I’m okay. Take a deep breath.”

  He didn’t. He didn’t do anything.

  I tried to think about what I would want if I was in his shoes, and I hesitated. But it only took one glance at his zoned-out face to know I was going to do it even if he pushed me off and cussed me out later.

  At least I’d be ready for it.

  So before I could talk myself out of it, I swept my hands from his cheeks toward the back of his head, then moving one hand to do the same gesture over the top of it too. When he didn’t flinch, I dropped to my knees, ignoring the shooting pain that the concrete sent through them, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, and I hugged him.

  I pressed the side of my cheek against his, and I hugged him even tighter, not letting go.

  But it still wasn’t enough. He still shook, these shivers that flowed from the center of his body down toward his fingertips.

  “You’re okay. Everything is fine,” I repeated, still hugging him. I swept my hands from the nape of his neck, across his trapezius muscles, over his shoulders and down his arms, applying light pressure. Then I did it again and again, before moving them right above his chest, starting there before going up to continue the route up to the base of his neck, across and down his arms.

  The shaking only got a little better.

  Screw it.

  My knees creaked as I got back up to my feet and then did something I had never done before. Nothing I had ever even dreamed of doing with Rip, ever. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

  I took a step closer to him and settled myself, my butt, my entire body, high up onto his right thigh, pulling his opposite leg in so that I forcefully made him sandwich me in between him, and I wrapped my arms and hands and as much of my body around him as I could. My palm went straight to the top of his neck and dragged my hand down his spine, making circles at the base while my other one held the back of his head.

  “Rip,” I whispered right beside his ear since I had set my cheek a millimeter away from his. “Everything is fine.”

  My hand circled his back again, and I hugged him tighter to me, his own shakes moving me too.

  “It’s me, Luna,” I told him. “You’re okay. Everything is okay.”

  I grazed my fingertips through the short, soft hair at the back of his head like he’d done for me outside of my sister’s apartment.

  “Talk to me, Rip,” I asked him. “You’re safe. You’re okay. Nothing happened. I need you to take a deep breath.”

  Nothing. He still gave me nothing.

  I ran my fingers through his hair again, hearing the near-desperation in my voice. “You’re scaring me. Talk to me, please. I don’t like you shaking like this.”

  I rubbed his back. I promised him he was fine. I told him I’d take care of him.

  Over and over again until the big man in my arms settled… a little more, but it was more than nothing. At least we were getting somewhere.

  “We can go get ice cream after this if you want.” I kept talking to him, not sure if that’s what was helping. “That sundae this weekend was pretty good, but I know this really good place close to the shop with the best ice cream. They make it in small batches every day. If we can’t go today, I’ll bring you some on my lunch break soon.”

  I slid my hand back up to rub the back of his cool but damp neck. The thigh under me flexed and tensed, and I put a little more force into rubbing the hard muscles on his nape. “You know, I alway
s imagined that if my mom had been around, she would have hugged me and rubbed my back when I needed her. I tried looking up information on her a few times, my mom, I mean, but there are so many people with the name Teresa Ramirez, it was like searching for a needle in a haystack. That’s why I’m on top of you right now in case you’re wondering. I bet she would have made me flan too.

  “One time, I bought those little packages of flan when I lived with my dad, and he found them and lost it. I figured my mom probably liked it and it set him off, but I don’t know. Everything used to make him mad. Maybe he just hated flan, but I think it was more than that. I don’t know,” I kept rambling, not even sure what the hell I was saying in the first place, but sensing it was doing something.

  “If you haven’t had flan before, I’ll bring you some from this bakery I go to sometimes. I’d say I would make it for you, but you really don’t want me to even bother trying. It would probably end up burning the pot and my entire kitchen down.” I dragged my hand up his spine and rubbed his neck, alternately. “Oh! Wait a sec.”

  I dug inside my T-shirt and undid the clasp of the necklace I had on. I’d seen it that morning and had a feeling about it. How about that? Even with my fingers still a little shaky, it only took a second to slip the chain around Rip’s neck and redo the clasp to keep it on him. I pulled back just enough to see the ice cream charm on it fall right on top of the notch of his throat. It looked ridiculous there, but I patted it down in place anyway. “Look. See? It has a little ice cream cone on it. To make you feel better.”

  His whole body tightened for a moment before a loud burst of a noise exploded from his chest. And in the time it took me to process the sound, it was gone, and his muscles had relaxed even more. I’d swear his breathing slowed too.

  “There we go,” I told him, putting pressure on his back and neck again. “You’re good. You’re all right.”

  For some reason, that only made me want to hug him tighter. He was so big, it was hard to try and wrap him up; my arms could barely reach. I palmed the back of his head and lightly scratched at his scalp the way Lily used to like when she was little. She had done it to me too every once in a while when she’d been falling asleep, and I had loved it too.