by Zoey Castile
And then what? Not see Patrick again? Have her or River or Kayli go retrieve my stuff like that one time I had such a bad breakup the guy wouldn’t let me in his place again and I had to send my neighbor Howey to go get my Fleetwood Mac record and my favorite shampoo?
It was expensive shampoo.
Now, after literally cooling off, I know I shouldn’t have run. Patrick shouldn’t have yelled at me. The hurt in his voice cut me deeper than anything else. I take in too many strays and this is the one that was rabid, the one that bit me back harder than I ever thought possible. How could he think that I would react to him that way? Then I think, what must it have been like to have me barge into his space? He was trying.
He wasn’t trying hard enough, another voice tells me. I think it sounds like my dad.
Then, I hear a hard crunch, the echoing snap of a branch breaking in half, and my scream as night birds take flight.
PAT
Jack’s voice echoes in my head as I race deeper into the wood. We’re alive.
Why did I tell him that? Why did I respond to my baby brother with, “No, I’m not.”
I could have said anything. I should have said I was sorry for getting us into that mess. For picking a fight with that guy that led to that race in the first place. When we came to during the accident, the first thing out of my mouth should have been begging for his forgiveness. Maybe I’ve been trying to heal something that has always been rotten. I am not a good man. But I can’t let that stop me from finding her.
“Lena!” I shout.
It doesn’t take an hour to get to Scarlett’s, but it’s pitch dark and freezing outside, though cold sweat runs down my spine. I know that if something happens to Lena I could never forgive myself. This time, I wouldn’t be able to do it.
“Lena!” My voice is answered by the caterwaul of an owl, or some sort of night bird.
Then I realize. No, not a night bird. Lena.
It’s her. She’s singing.
My heart swells with relief at the sound of her awful, truly terrible voice, leading me all the way to her. I stumble into a brush covered in leaves and fallen branches. There, nestled between the roots of a tree is Lena.
Her cheeks are tearstained, and her hair has leaves caught in the dark strands. Her dress is ripped and she’s hugging herself tightly for warmth. She screams when she sees me and this time, I know I deserve it. I will take all of her scorn, her rage, her anger. I accept all of it because I’ve found her.
I sink to my knees in front of her, holding my hands up so she knows I’m trying to help her.
“Oh, Lena,” I say.
She lets go of a strangled sob, but she reaches for me and I scoop her into my arms.
“I hate you,” she tells me, half a sob, half a laugh. But wholly, completely Lena.
I carry her back the way I came from, and as she rests her hand against my chest, I say, “I know.”
LENA
“I know,” he says.
Patrick is in the middle of the woods holding me. Patrick left the house. The same guy who couldn’t bear to walk down the hallway when we first met, or the idea of me seeing him, is carrying me into the open.
“You didn’t bring a jacket,” I say, holding tight around his neck. He’s hot to the touch, but he shivers.
“I wasn’t thinking,” he says, and grips me tighter.
I take the flashlight and hold it forward so he has one less thing to worry about. We continue the rest of the way without speaking, which is best for me since I can’t stop shaking.
I know when we’ve arrived on the other side of the trees when I hear Scarlett’s high-pitched scream of relief. My eyelids are heavy and I lift my head from Patrick’s shoulder and find her waiting for us at the clearing with a small open-frame Jeep.
“What in the world?” Scarlett asks. She’s fluttering like a butterfly, flapping her arms around me to make sure I’m okay. Then she looks at Patrick, her eyes wide and furious. “You haven’t stepped outside in nine months and you can’t put on a shirt? Are you crazy? Do you want to freeze to death, too?”
Patrick makes a frustrated, growling sound and maybe I’m delirious because I laugh. I let go of Patrick. Even walking on grass hurts, but I manage to get into the passenger seat. With the Jeep’s headlights, I focus on little tasks, like putting on my seat belt and turning off the flashlight on my lap.
“Lena,” Scarlett says, and when I look up at them, they’re waiting for an answer I didn’t hear the question to.
“Huh?” I ask.
“Scarlett said she’ll take you to her house,” he says. Somehow, he still looks as unreal as those old photos I found of him today. A beauty that is raw and brutal and makes my heart give a painful squeeze. I could stare at him forever.
I shake my head and reach for his hand. “Take me home. We have to talk.”
Pat and Scarlett exchange a nod, and she gets in the driver seat, still shaking her head and muttering like a mother hen. Patrick grabs on to the Jeep’s frame around back and then we’re bounding over a gravel path around the trees. If I’d taken this road, I would have surely broken an ankle.
“Do you have any idea what I thought?” Scarlett shouts over the breeze. “I thought you were dead! Frozen to death in a ditch.”
“I’m fine,” I say, but my teeth are chattering and if I could crawl into the fetal position, I would.
“Fine, my ass. I’m going to call Kayli to come check on you.”
“Really, Scarlett. I just need a hot shower.”
“I already messaged her,” Patrick says. “She’s on her way.”
I turn around. I can’t take my eyes off of him like this out in the open. He holds on to my stare with his own.
There you are, I think and grin.
When we get to the house, Scarlett takes off my shoes, then leads me to Patrick’s room.
I am inside Patrick’s room. He looks displaced, like he isn’t sure if he’s helping or hindering. Like he’s afraid to be near me and touch me, even after all that.
“Get me some tea,” Scarlett barks at him. “You know where the tea is, right, hon?”
“Fuckin’ hell, Scarlett,” Patrick mutters, but does as he’s told.
I stand at the center of the room and take in the smell of varnish. How can a house still smell so new, I wonder? His bed is neatly made. Does he do this every day? Mine looks like a tiny hurricane rolled across it day in and day out, my pillows somehow on the floor when I wake up. The bathroom is to the left, and the tall glass window to the right gives me a bird’s-eye view of the pool house. Scarlett rummages through a tall dark wood armoire and brings out a white comforter and extra pillows. By the time she’s done, I have a literal pillow fort around the fireplace. My skin is warm but I’m still shivering inside. I don’t dare sit on Patrick’s bed. Mostly, because I don’t want to get it dirty but also because I feel like he should invite me to do so first.
“Sit,” she orders me gently, then picks up a remote control that ignites the fireplace with a loud pop.
“This really isn’t necessary,” I say, but Scarlett throws a blanket around my shoulders and I can feel myself relax in front of the crackle of fire. My skin is warm but I’m still shivering inside.
Patrick returns with a mug of tea. I can smell the chamomile and his sweet, nervous sweat. He found a shirt to put on, the long sleeves taper to his muscles like second skin. I take the mug he offers, and I can’t help but notice that he keeps giving me the right side of his face.
“I’ll be back,” he says, his bright green eyes dart from me to Scarlett to the door. I want him to stay, but I know he needs space as much as I do.
Scarlett gives me a long look. “Lena, what in the hell happened?”
I sigh and tug the fleece blanket tighter around my shoulders. “I don’t even know anymore.”
“Start small.”
I tell her about the party and what Keillor told me. About driving here and how in about five minutes, the delicate balance
Patrick and I had found together broke.
“Oh, honey. You didn’t do anything wrong, you know that, right? I love that boy, but he’s not in a good place.”
“I know.” I know and I still pursued him because I thought that I could handle it.
You take in too many strays.
There’s a knock at the door and Scarlett and I both snap to attention. Kayli is there dressed in tight jeans and a first-date blouse.
“Uhm, Patrick is outside,” Kayli says, tugging off a red scarf. “Like outside of the house.”
“What is that boy doing?”
“He’s moving boxes in the garage. Do I even want to ask?”
“No,” Scarlett and I say at the same time.
“Well, you’re going to have to tell me something because I got this emergency message from Patrick during my second course,” Kayli says, sitting in front of me. “It’s a good thing I was in town.”
“Oh no! I don’t want to take you away from a date.”
“It was not a good date. Though I always feel like Superman a little. ‘Be right back, mister man. Duty calls.’ ”
For the first time, I notice the briefcase she carries. She sets it on the bed and brings out her stethoscope, a blood pressure band, and a thermometer.
Because I won’t budge, Scarlett gives her version of the story. “They got into a fight and she took the shortcut to my house.”
Kayli raises her eyes in surprise and she puts on the earbuds of the stethoscope. “Lena, Lena, Lena. Inhale.” I wince at the cold of the metal and she listens to my breathing until she’s satisfied with what she hears.
“Bite down on this.”
I take the thermometer in my mouth like a child, then let her take my blood pressure and shine a light in my eyes. She even has me walk in a straight line.
“I had one glass of champagne at a party,” I complain.
“Just checking,” she says, looking at the thermometer. “Your temperature is a little lower than I would want it, but you’ll be fine in a few hours. We can bring your temperature back gradually. Blankets, fire, tea, check. Shower is fine but no baths.”
As the two of them make sure that I’m not horribly hypothermic, I feel cared for in a way I haven’t in a long time. Scarlett goes back through Patrick’s closet. I’m a little jealous of her ability to go through his things, to touch his shirts and socks. She hands me a T-shirt and long johns.
“I want to shower,” I say. “I also got dirt everywhere.”
“I’ll clean it up,” Patrick says, appearing at the door. His hair falls over his face and he brushes it back. He wipes a hand on the front of his shirt, and leaves smudges of dirt.
Kayli and Scarlett exchange a look that says what I feel—we are in a bizarro world.
“Pat,” Kayli says, almost relieved.
He frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can we—I need to talk to Lena.”
“Lena?” Scarlett asks me.
“Go, I’ll call you later,” I promise them. I hug Kayli for an extra second. I have real, true friends.
I watch from the pillow fort on the floor and he stands at the threshold of his own room.
We wait until we hear the sound of engines starting and wheels crunching gravel and dirt. We wait until the automatic lights outside shut off.
“I’m really fine,” I tell him.
“I’m sorry, Lena.”
“I know you are.” I pull a pillow across my lap. “At a certain point, you have to stop being sorry and stop doing things to be sorry for.”
He takes a deep breath and nods. “You can stay here, if you’d like. I’ll take the guest room.”
I chuckle. “It’s a good thing I did such a good job of making them homey.”
He smiles, but I notice the way he keeps his body turned to the side that is unblemished, unscarred.
My stupid, wretched heart gives a tug because I want to reach out to him. He might have left the house for me, but I don’t think it’s caught up to him. He looks more shocked than I feel.
“I need to shower,” I say.
I stand, bits of dirt and the leaves we tracked in litter the floor. I take slow, even steps. Every single one is like stretching time between my fingers, weaving it like a cat’s cradle. I can’t get trapped here.
Without touching him, I face him. All of him. I don’t know how to ask this. Me, the girl who blurts out whatever she wants, can’t ask this of him.
“You can join me if you want,” I say, and start walking away. I get all the way inside the bathroom before he follows me. It takes me a minute to get over how amazing this bathroom is, with warm brown stones, and white glistening tiles that look like pearl. I leave the lights on the lowest setting, a faint golden glow that makes this all feel like a dream.
I can feel Patrick’s presence behind me. I move my hair to the side and point to my zipper. I remember the last time he put his lips on my shoulder. I remember the way my skin reacted to him. Now, as he unzips the back of my dress down to my spine, it is the same heat. I push the sleeves down and turn to face him.
“Why are you afraid to hold me?” I ask.
“I’m afraid,” he says, his chest rising and falling, his hands framing my bare shoulders, “of everything when it comes to you, Lena.”
I drop my dress down to my waist, then over my hips. “Why?”
“I don’t want to hurt you again. Everything and everyone I’ve ever touched, I’ve broken.”
How can I convince him that it doesn’t have to go that way?
“We can start again. Slowly,” I say, reaching for a strand of gold hair over his left eye. “Do you trust me now?”
“Yes,” he says, his voice a deep caress against the bottom of my palm.
He pulls off his shirt and tugs off his sweat pants, leaving a messy pile of clothes. He steps into the glass shower. Like the outside of the house, it’s also completely glass. Two white-tiled benches built into the walls. I follow him in, watching the ripple of his back muscles as he works the handles. Two waterfalls come in with perfectly warm water. In seconds, steam rises.
I close my eyes and step under one of the waterfalls above us. My hair is a tangled mess but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that Patrick is smirking at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Just you.” He keeps his body turned at that angle, grabbing hold of a sponge. “You go from scaring the crap out of me to getting me naked.”
“First of all, I scared myself in those woods. Second of all, you’re wearing boxers and I’m still in my underwear. This is like we’re in the pool instead of your orgy bathroom.”
I try to joke but it’s a front. I can’t deny how strange it is being like this with each other, like we’re still watching each other between a glass wall. He lathers his chest and stops around his abs. I’ve never been self-conscious about my body, and maybe that’s because I had a dad who taught me how to fight and a mother who taught me how to love myself. It must have been difficult for him to have so much about him change when he was literally being consumed by the public. Even now, I’m drinking him in like cold, delicious water.
“Technically, this is a his and hers shower,” he says. “My contractor talked me into it.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you sure he didn’t mean his and seven hers? This shower is the size of most Manhattan apartments.”
That draws a laugh from him. He steps out of the waterfall, brushing his hair back. “I don’t need anyone else in here but you, Lena. I mean that.”
“I know you do.” I push down my underwear, kicking it off with a nudge of my toes. I give him my back and the breath he exhales gives me goose bumps. He unclasps my bra. Brushes the straps down. When he caresses the skin of my shoulder, I feel settled. The fear I felt in the dark slips away. In the amber light of the bathroom, I turn to face him. He looks like a figure carved from stone, broken and filled in with gold to be made more beautiful than before. But I also see the sadness in his eyes is so deep, I wond
er if we’ll both drown in it in the end, because it matches my own.
“I don’t hate you,” I say. “I didn’t mean it when I said that.”
His mouth quirks and all I want to do is leap on him and bite his lips. “It’s okay if you do.”
He tugs off his boxers, and I bite my lip at the sight of his thick erection. A soft moan escapes me, and I want so desperately to touch him. He looks down at my neck, my breasts, my waist. I take a step closer to him.
“I can hear you thinking,” I say. “It’s like when you’re texting.”
“You noticed that, huh?”
“Can I touch you?”
He nods, and I let my fingers reach for the side of his temple that’s covered in scars. He closes his eyes and exhales. He closes the distance between us, my chest against him, his dick against the flat plane of my belly.
His eyes flutter open, wet lashes blink at me. “You almost screamed when you saw me.”
I swallow, try to replay that moment. “No. I almost screamed because I didn’t know what was happening. You were bleeding. I was scared, too.”
I think of what Hutch said in the car that time. He said that it was easier to talk to someone when you weren’t looking at them. Isn’t that what we’ve been doing? We’ve been talking to each other through messages because we can find boldness under the cover of night. Is that why we only learned fragments of each other? I’ve held back in other ways.
“And now?” he asks.
“Now I want to look at you. Just you.”
He takes my free hand and guides it to his face. I kiss the scar along his jaw. He holds his breath as I stand on my toes to reach his cheekbone.
“The moment I saw you,” I say, “really saw you, I knew this was you.”
“What do you mean?”
His hands slip down my forearms and then up to my shoulders.
“I saw a soccer photo,” I say.