Unspoken (The Woodlands)

by Jen Frederick

  Patting the tags, he said, “Regs require the tags to be under the shirt at all times.”

  “All times?” I teased.

  “Yes.” He turned the chair toward the laptop, and I saw that he was researching flights from here to Texas. I wondered if that was where he was going for break. Despite all our grand plans at the beginning of the year, Ellie was going home and Brian was taking Sasha skiing with his family. I’d actually been considering the invitation to Italy.

  “I want you to come to Texas with me this weekend,” Bo said, tapping his finger on the screen. I swung my legs up and curled into his lap. I didn’t want the idea of meeting Bo’s family to thrill me so much, but I couldn’t suppress my internal shivers of delight. I tried to act unaffected.

  “I’ll have to see what my mom says,” I told him.

  He placed his jaw on the top of my head, and I could hear his jawbones crack as he kneaded the top of my head with his chin. “Tell her I’ve already bought you a ticket.”

  I pushed against him. “You did not.”

  Bo nodded.

  BO

  I KNEW AM HATED WHEN I acted like a presumptuous ass, but I couldn’t go home without her. She was like the living embodiment of my challenge coin. Every time I looked at her, I realized I wanted to be better, do better than I was. There was no way I could face my past without her. But that also meant telling her the whole truth, and I wasn’t prepared to do that either.

  I just wanted to lie on the bed and pretend that nothing existed outside of the cocoon we’d made of the sheets. Although at this point the cocoon was mostly on the floor. Looking at the wreck we’d made of AM’s bed made me feel smug as fuck, but the feeling faded quickly when I thought about all the crap I’d have to tell her. I rested my head against her side as she peered at the laptop screen to see the evidence of my ticket purchase.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  BO

  TRIP TO LITTLE OAK, TEXAS, was far shorter than I wanted, even though we’d traveled half the day. AM told me about her conversation with her father, Clay’s threats, and the whole lacrosse house’s shitscapades on the flight down. I felt even dirtier after hearing it all and wanted nothing more than to eat, shower, and spend the entire night screwing AM’s brains out. I did not want to see my old man or my mom. I didn’t even want to be here. My crappy attitude permeated every one of my actions the closer the rental car got to Little Oak, and this did not escape AM’s notice.

  “You sound like the wolf from the ‘Three Little Pigs,’” AM told me. At my quizzical look, she blew up her cheeks and released a big stream of air.

  “I’m full of hot air?”

  “You are, but no, you’re huffing and puffing like you want to blow something down.”

  “Shit. I think this was a bad decision.”

  “Then let’s go home.” Home. Right, home wasn’t Little Oak, Texas. Home was, well, I wasn’t sure where it was, but I figured if I could stick with AM, I’d be okay. An icy hand grabbed me by the balls. After this visit, I might not have her. Not after she saw my old man, my mom, and how I ran from all of this.

  “Don’t tempt me.” I clutched the steering wheel a little harder. AM was right. My body felt tighter than a tick on a bull’s balls. If this went on, I’d end up twisted into a pretzel and starting fights with random strangers to let off stress. This was not the way to convince AM I was worth staying the course for.

  I unclenched the wheel with one hand and fumbled in my pocket for the challenge coin. Going home, facing my demons, was the only way to look forward.

  AM

  LITTLE OAK, TEXAS, WAS A TOWN so small that it almost looked fake. I made Bo drive through the middle of town, which was arranged in an actual square, four blocks of storefronts facing a park and a big stone edifice that I assumed was the courthouse. Some jokers had defaced the post office so it read S OS AL ICE, instead of US Postal Service, the missing metal letters lying against the building like discarded noodles from a can of alphabet soup.

  “Who’s Alice?”

  Bo squinted through the windshield and his lips tipped up in the first smile I’d seen all day. “No idea, but I’m glad to see the grand tradition of punk-assed miscreants is being continued.”

  “Does the park have your last name on it?” I pointed out a recently-painted sign proclaiming that the postage-stamp-sized lawn was “Randolph Park.” This time Bo’s response was a bittersweet smile.

  “After my Pops,” Bo admitted.

  “Big-time stuff, huh?”

  “Little oil well.”

  “Big enough to get a park named after you.”

  “After my grandfather.”

  I could tell by Bo’s insistence on credit being given to his grandfather that he considered the elderly man to be the last decent Randolph around. I’d bit my tongue a million times, wanting to ask Bo about why exactly we were going back to his hometown. I only knew he felt it was important and that he wanted me to come. I knew he’d reveal something at some point, and I counseled myself to be patient. We drove aimlessly up and down small streets peppered with equally small houses. Finally, we crested a hill to see a large, stately brick mansion, probably three or four times larger than all the others we had passed, staring down over the town like a disapproving dad. Bo pulled the car over to the side of the road and killed the engine.

  “If your father came to Parent’s Day, what would he talk about?” Bo said, not looking away from the house.

  “First, he would never come to Parent’s Day for me. But if he did come, with one of his other kids, he’d probably talk about his great times with his fraternity and how successful they all are now. Why, what would your dad talk about?”

  “Which coeds he’d like to bone.”

  That was kind of a disgusting thought. The idea of leering dads at Parent’s Day, saying how they’d like to test out a newer model than the old car they had at home, was creepier than fuck. I didn’t say this to Bo. He already knew it, I could tell.

  “My dad would always ask me what girls I was banging. Who had the sweetest snatch. Which cheerleader put out the most.”

  Bo’s recitation was made all the more chilling by the matter-of-fact way he was telling it, as if he were reciting the weather report for the day. “I fucked my way through high school. Slept with the whole goddamned drill team. It was like a challenge for me.”

  “All of them?” My voice sounded small, even to my own ears. The self-loathing in Bo’s voice made me ache. I forced myself to sit still and not throw open the door and run away screaming.

  “Every last one,” he said grimly. “You want to know how I got my nickname, Bo Peep? Guys from my platoon said its because the girls supposedly follow me around like sheep. I’m not entirely proud of my past. You know why it didn’t matter to me about whether the rumor about you and the lacrosse team was true?”

  “Um, no?” I offered tentatively, a bit mortified that he was bringing the issue up.

  “It’s because I’ve done everything a thousand times worse. I don’t care if you slept with the whole lacrosse team. Maybe you did and maybe you didn’t. It just didn’t matter.

  “Thinking it was some flaw in me that was causing Bobby, my dad, to lose control with Mom, I tried to fashion myself into whatever thing Bobby wanted. The football player. The guy who could get all the pussy. The academic. Whatever. I tried it all until I realized that nothing I did was going to change him. And somehow, he knew. He just knew that hitting me wouldn’t cause me any pain. I wanted it. I goaded him as I got older, and then I learned to shut up when he would hit my mother or burn her with the iron if I didn’t just shut the fuck up. Finally, when I was about fourteen, my dad starting talking about girls in a way that—” Bo paused, searching for the right words. “In a way that wasn’t right, but I thought, maybe if we can bond this way, he’ll get off my mom’s back. I was such a stupid fuck. He drank my stories down. Some I made up, but when I realized that I could lose my mind, forget what was happening around me w
hen I was with someone, I started doing it for myself. Using them. I cut through that dance line like a butter knife through a hot fresh biscuit.

  “I’m telling you all this because my past is so gross and sordid that nothing you could have ever done would have ever turned me off. So what if you slept with fifteen or fifty guys? It doesn’t define you.”

  “If you think that about me, then why can’t you cut yourself slack?” I cried.

  “Because I can’t unsee all the shitty things I’ve done. Just sitting here looking at that house,” Bo spit out the word “house” like an expletive, “only serves to remind me what an asshole I was. And still am. Do you know that I’ve not called my mom once since I left? That I’ve ignored her attempts to contact me? I just wanted to forget all of this.” Bo threw up an arm over his eyes, as if he was trying to block out that mental image of him doing whatever unsavory acts he now despised. “Maybe I’m not supposed to be with someone like you.”

  “I think that’s kind of a shitty thing to say.” It sounded like he was trying to ditch me again. “You’re going to decide for me what’s best?”

  “What?” Bo dropped his arm and faced me for the first time. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I’m trying to warn you off.”

  “You’re saying that you shouldn’t be with me because you aren’t good enough for me, but that’s like saying that I’m too dumb to make decisions for myself. Don’t I get to decide what’s good enough for me?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You’d best be quiet now before you dig yourself a deeper hole,” I huffed.

  Bo stared at me, slightly open-mouthed, then burst out into laughter. “Goddamn, AM. How’d I ever get so lucky to find you?”

  “You must’ve done something right,” I sassed. Somehow I knew that Bo needed me to show no sympathy, no pity, even though inside my heart was breaking into a thousand pieces for the confused and traumatized boy he’d been. I wished I were a mythical Norse creature so I could hurt Bo’s father, as if that would somehow make up for the horror of his childhood.

  “Am I feeling sorry for myself?” Bo asked, a rueful smile playing around the edges of his mouth.

  “Yes, and if you act like this any more, I’m going to start calling you Edward.”

  “Wow, is that the insult we’re using instead of pussy?”

  “It’s the male version. Essentially, the same thing. Now put this car in gear, and let’s get this over with.”

  BEAUREGARD RANDOLPH II WAS THE same height as Bo. Had the same hair, although his was longer, shaggier than Bo’s, like he hadn’t had a haircut, a decent one, in years. And even though they were clearly stamped from the same cloth, this man looked smaller. His shoulders were rolled slightly forward, making him look shorter. He shuffled down the hallway, whereas Bo always strode.

  The house itself smelled of rotten food and disuse. Flies buzzed around the rooms, alighting on what looked like old spills on tables and counters. The sun that shone in through the big windows at the back was hazy, the dust so thick that it created a fog inside the house.

  We followed Bobby back to the kitchen, a large room dominated by a huge center island. At one time, this place would looked like it belonged in a magazine. The counters were made of marble and the appliances were industrial-grade stainless steel. The setup showed signs of serious money, but the counters were filled with unwashed dishes. The flies that had buzzed around the front living areas were more plentiful here and the smell worse. I pretended to be unaffected, but I tried not to touch anything.

  The look on Bo’s face had changed from stoic indifference to shock. Obviously he’d never seen it like this either.

  “Sit down, sit down.” Bobby Randolph gestured toward the table. I sat down gingerly on a chair but kept my arms tucked close to my sides to avoid touching something and contracting a disease. Bobby took out the chair next to me and sat too close. Bo stood like an angry Thor by my side, ready to smite Bobby for any wrong move. His muscles tensed when Bobby leaned forward.

  “You’re a hot—” Bobby’s voice cut off when Bo let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl. I leaned back so my head was resting against his thighs. Bo placed a hand on my shoulder and leaned forward.

  “This is my girl, Bobby, and you treat her with respect or we’re out of here. Now why don’t you tell me why this place looks like it’s been abandoned for months. It smells rank and looks twice as bad.”

  Bobby sat up and tried to bluster. “You aren’t showing me much respect, soldier.”

  “I was a Marine, old man. Answer the question.” Bo had never appeared more commanding and in control, but his hand bit into my shoulder hard, so hard it kind of hurt, but I would never, ever let on. At the direct command, Bobby deflated like a popped balloon.

  “Maybe we can talk alone, man-to-man, for a minute.” Bobby looked at me expectantly, hoping, I guess, that I’d take the hint and leave, but I wasn’t going anywhere unless Bo wanted me to and his firm clasp told me I was staying.

  “We don’t have private business ever. Where’s Mom?”

  Bobby shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’ve been wondering what you’re doing with your trust.”

  “You need to borrow some money?”

  Shooting me another uneasy glance, Bobby said slowly, “Just maybe a little bit, to fix up the house.” He waved his arm around the room.

  “Where’s Mom?” Bo leaned over farther, looming over both of us. Even I felt intimidated.

  “Your old lady moved out years ago,” Bobby sneered.

  Bo released my shoulder and pulled my chair back, away from Bobby. For a moment I wondered if Bo would hit his father. Instead, Bo tugged me to my feet and started toward the entrance. I heard Bobby’s chair scrape backward and winced at the thought of the scratches the chair was making on the once-beautiful hardwood floors. Bo picked up the pace and we walked faster, as fast as we could without appearing like we were running.

  “Now wait a minute there, son,” Bobby called out. Bo whirled around.

  “I’m not your ‘son’ and haven’t been since I discovered you’re a lowlife piece of shit that gets off on beating a woman half his size while jerking off to fantasies of his kid’s conquests. I don’t claim you, old man.” Bo spat at the floor. “I only came back here to see Mom, and since she isn’t here, I’m gone. Don’t speak of me. Don’t even think of me. You can rot here with the spoiled food and the spilled beer.”

  I squeezed his hand hard, trying to convey every ounce of nonverbal support possible. He squeezed back, and we turned and walked through the door. Bobby was calling something out behind us, but we both ignored him.

  The sun was setting, turning the horizon on fire. I heard Bo take a deep cleansing breath, and I did the same.

  BO

  RELIEF. I’D FACED DOWN MY old man. I didn’t know if AM understood how fucking scared I had been of this moment. She got me, so it was likely she knew without me verbalizing it. I hated appearing weak in front of her. The old man wouldn’t approve, but I was determined to stop measuring myself by those standards, the ones that he had defined. I didn’t even realize I had been until I stood in the house, remembering all the directives about what a real man did or did not do. A real man got a lot of pussy. A real man didn’t pick up after himself. A real man showed a woman her place.

  A real man? Bobby looked like a broken-down and abandoned car. Unwanted. Ugly, inside and out. I looked down at the top of AM’s dark brown hair, the setting sun making it look blue in some areas, more mysterious. I loved pulling my fingers through her long hair, wrapping the strands around my fingers like I could tie her to me with some spell. If there was a higher entity out there, I had to thank him or her for AM. I’d be lost without her.

  I wanted to pull her into my arms and show her exactly how much she meant to me. I could express myself so much better when we were alone, in bed, and naked. But I also didn’t want to expose her to the unsavory lusts of my father, so I hustled her into th
e car.

  “See how fucked-up my past is? Still want to be with me?” I asked, trying to joke about it but failing.

  “Yes, Bo. As long as you don’t try to keep pushing me away.”

  “I’m trying hard to hold on to you.”

  “Don’t doubt it,” she answered with no hesitation. “Where to now?”

  “I need to find out where my mom is. How about I drop you off at the motel, and you can get us a room while I go and ask a few questions,” I suggested. I suppose I could have asked my father, but I didn’t want to spend another second with him. In a town as small as Little Oak, even Ricky Cartwright at the gas station would know.

  I KNOCKED ON ROOM 214, and AM let me in. I noticed the two double beds and scowled. “Why two beds?”

  AM shrugged and closed the door. “The clerk kind of weirded me out. Asked me a bunch of questions, so I figured two beds gives you plausible deniability.”

  “Christ, AM, I’m not embarrassed to be sleeping with you.” I threw our bags onto one bed. “I’m damn proud of it. Plus, everyone’s going to hear you scream with pleasure tonight anyway.” I picked her up and threw her onto the empty bed, joining her there immediately. She wiggled underneath me until my head was resting between her breasts.

  “You find your mother?”

  I didn’t answer right away, enjoying her fingers running through my hair, lightly scratching my scalp. It was both relaxing and arousing. “Yeah. She’s living in a house over on Betsy Ross Road.”

  “Betsy Ross Road?” AM said, and I could feel the gurgle of laughter in her chest and belly. I smoothed my hand over the belly, enjoying the feel of her amusement.

  “We’re real patriotic down here. I went to Daniel Boone Middle School and Liberty High School.” I traced her belly button and followed the line straight down to the top of her jeans. Pulling on the button, I popped it open. AM’s laughter had died out, and now I could feel her increasingly shallow breaths.