Something Tattered (Joel Bishop Book 1)
Page 28
"No," I blurted. "Definitely not. I’m trying to tell you, nobody's moving."
"I know," he said. "We're taking a load to storage, right?" His brow wrinkled. "You didn't change your mind or something?"
"No," I said. "I mean yes." I took a deep breath. "What I mean to say is–"
Next to me, Joel muttered, "Fuck this shit." He pulled his arm from mine and began walking to his car. Over his shoulder, he told the guy, "Load it up. Take it wherever. To the dump, for all I care."
Before I knew it, Joel was halfway to his car. Desperately, I scrambled after him. As I moved, I called out, "Joel, will you please stop?"
To my surprise, he actually did. Slowly, he turned around and waited, with arms crossed, until I caught up to him. But when I reached him, I didn't know what to say.
Stupidly, I said the only thing that came to mind. "I love you."
He looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "You think you're the first girl to say that?"
Funny, it was a question I hadn't even considered. I heard myself say, "I'm not?"
He made a scoffing sound. "Hell no."
"But I mean it," I said.
"Yeah?" he said. "Good thing you don't hate me, huh?"
"What do you mean?"
He looked away. "I mean, fuck, what do you do to the guys you don't love?"
When he looked back, I swear, I looked straight into his soul and wanted to stagger back under the weight of his accusation.
In his eyes, I saw everything – the betrayal, the hurt, the fact that I'd done this to him.
But he had it all wrong. I had nothing to do with this current cluster. I bit my lip. Or, almost nothing. At least, not on purpose.
Damn it.
I gave him a pleading look. "Joel, please. It's not what you think it is."
He made a noise. It might've been a scoff, except it was too raw to convey normal human disbelief. With a slow shake of his head, he turned away, heading, once again, for his car.
I lunged after him, clutching his muscular forearm with my trembling fingers. I gave his arm a desperate squeeze. "Just wait, okay? I can explain."
Except, I couldn’t.
If I told him everything, it might mean the death of him, literally.
Still, somehow, I'd make it right. I just needed some time, that's all.
To my infinite frustration, Joel wasn't inclined to wait. Gently, he pried my fingers from his rain-soaked skin. "Forget it," he said. "Not a big deal."
Lamely, I mumbled, "That wasn't supposed to happen. Not like that, anyway."
From somewhere near the front of the house, Aunt Gina called out, "Hey Melody! Ask him if he wants pie!"
Oh, for God's sake. Now, she was trying to help? Where was she an hour ago, when everything was going to crap?
But I wasn't being fair. At least Aunt Gina was trying to help. It was more than I could say for Derek, who seemed intent on ruining my life.
I turned and spotted her, standing in the open front doorway. With a pathetic smile, I waved her away, hoping she'd take the hint.
She didn't.
"Just ask him," she called. In an overly cheery voice, she added, "It's apple. Everyone's favorite, right?"
I made a sound of frustration. Didn't she get it? Pie wouldn’t solve anything. A flame-thrower, now that might be helpful.
Still, I turned back to Joel, who, thank God, was still there. With a note of desperation, I asked, "Do you? Want pie, I mean?" I sucked in a nervous breath. "We could talk. And, uh, I think there's ice cream in the freezer."
Silently, Joel shook his head.
Of course, he didn't want pie. Probably, he wanted to strangle me. And all things considered, I couldn’t exactly blame him.
I watched, helplessly, as Joel turned away yet again.
Short of throwing myself at him, I wasn't sure what I could do.
Sure, I could tackle him and beg him not to walk away. Or, I could beg him for just one more night alone – in his arms, in his bed, in his life.
Except I didn't want Joel for only one night. I wanted him forever. And more than that, I wanted him whole and happy, with no threats hanging over his head.
As I stared at his receding back, two little words echoed in my mind – six months.
If I could somehow bring myself to wait – for his sake, not mine – maybe I could have him forever. And maybe, just maybe, he'd eventually see that there was more to life than fighting or crappy nicknames or curses that weren't even true.
I blinked long and hard. Let's say I waited. How would he react when I finally told him the whole story? Probably, he'd hate me then, too.
I stiffened my spine. I'd wait. And then, I'd find some way to tell him. No matter how long it took, or what I had to do, I'd find some way.
He was worth it. We were worth it.
Already, he'd reached his car. Hoping to give him something to hang onto, I called his name one last time. When he turned to look, I said through my tears, "I know you don't believe me, but I do love you. And some day, I just hope you'll understand."
He gave a bitter laugh. "Don't worry. I understand plenty." And with that, he wrenched open the driver's side door, tossed his bag onto the passenger's seat, and slid in on the driver's side. A moment later, he fired up his engine and roared away, leaving me staring after him.
It was raining harder now, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Into the rain, I whispered it again – not three words, but two. "Six months."
If I lasted that long, it would be a miracle.
The End
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