BONE DEEP

by Brooklyn Skye

  I run my finger over the scar on my hand, remembering not the day it happened or the reason, but Cambria’s words from this morning instead. You should cherish the time you have with him, because you never know when he’ll be gone for good.

  I don’t know what it is about her, why I feel so connected to her or why I want to please her, but the memory of her words—and the slight crack in her voice as she said them—sends a wave of chills over my arms.

  My eyes meet Dad’s as he scrubs his hands over his thighs, a move I’ve witnessed plenty amongst Dad-lectures. He’s holding back, waiting for me to speak, trying not to be the parent that barfs up lectures onto their kid like his dad was.

  Never once have I wondered why that was…why he’s tried so hard to not be like his own father. Was he a dick? Overprotective? Or…like me?

  That last thought gnaws at me, like an itch I can’t scratch. And after a moment of watching Dad’s comfort level sink into the chair, I open my mouth.

  “Sorry,” I say, plucking a loose thread from the frayed arm of the couch. “I’ve been a little on edge, lately. I know you’re trying to adjust to…life again, and I haven’t been making it easy, I know. That’s all I wanted to say. Sorry.”

  His hands still. He blinks as a beat of silence overtakes the room. Then he stands, hands slip into his front pockets. “I have to see about finding a car for Wrenn, and I could really use someone with a no-bullshit attitude to fight off the salesmen.” Wrinkles crawl across his cheeks as he smiles. “Care to join me?”

  ~*~

  Forty minutes later, Dad and I weave between rows and rows of used cars searching for a vehicle that according to Wrenn needs (1) storage, and (2) a comfy backseat. I get the storage, considering Dad’s new position as “delivery guy” for her pots, but I do not want to know what she needs a comfy backseat for.

  “What’s wrong with Wrenn’s Camry?” I ask as he slows in front of a silver Sentra punctuated with patches of rust. One mirror is cracked, the other looking like it might fall off at any second. Apparently, their budget for a new car falls in the POS range.

  “Actually,” he says, surveying the car as if it has potential, “we were thinking about gifting it to you. You know, until we can get your Camaro fixed.”

  I shift on my feet, feeling the weight of the emblem move in my pocket. “The Camaro’s totaled, Dad. As in, not fixable.”

  “Well, how ’bout we build a new one, then?” He looks right at me, and by the casual shrug and smoothness to his face he’s remembering all those nights we spent working on it, too.

  I nod. “I’d like that.” And these words, they’re not a lie. Rebuilding a car would mean rebuilding my relationship with my dad, and that might be the first step to getting things back to normal. “How about a van?” I say, gesturing to a white minivan two cars down the row. “Storage and two comfy back seats.”

  He follows me to the van, peers through the crackly-tinted window for a moment, then turns to me and leans against the metal side door. “You know, I never talked to you about Wrenn and me getting married.” He steps closer, resting a heavy hand on my shoulder. “If you were okay with her becoming your stepmom. I know it’s weird with her age and all—”

  “It’s not weird, Dad. I like Wrenn. She takes care of me, and I can tell you guys make each other happy.” I do like Wrenn. And even though I see her more as a sister than a mom, I’d still be happy to have her as part of our family.

  We meander the rest of the parking lot, the wall between us slowly crumbling as we talk casually about the Dodgers and Criminal Minds and my classes until Dad finally decides on a four-door station wagon. It’s cheap, not covered in rust, and according to Bob, the salesman, “runs like a kitten”.

  “Can I ask you something,” I say as we ease the car out of the lot for a test drive. Dad glances sidelong at me, his fingers loosely gripping the tattered steering wheel. I lower my voice so Bob, sitting in the backseat with his phone to his ear, can’t hear. “Was it bad in there?”

  Another glance from Dad; this one more round-eyed and soaked with pity. “I made a mistake, Krister. One I had to pay my dues for. Knowing that got me through the droning day-to-day. But…” Bob, pinching his phone between his shoulder and ear, leans forward and taps Dad’s arm then points to the upcoming light and mouths the word “left”. Dad nods and makes the turn. “…the worst part was not being here for you. I let you down in one of the most important years of your life, and I will regret that for the rest of my life.”

  His eyes start to glisten, and the sight of his remorse—the fact he’s showing any emotion at all—makes me squirm like bugs are crawling all over my seat. Obviously, his ignorance to the horror of what happened was a front, a way to bury the guilt.

  I roll down the window, the warm breeze blasting my face. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit you more.”

  Dad glances over and smiles. “You did what you could.”

  “Yeah.” I guess I did.

  Chapter Twenty

  Once home, Dad takes Wrenn for a test drive in her new-old station wagon. It’s a total shit-clunker, but “It’ll do,” as Wrenn said when we pulled into the carport.

  At least Dad and I seem to be in a better place. After spending the afternoon with him, it feels like we might be able to find what we had before the crash. That time when we could have a conversation in a normal tone, without feeling like a bomb was about to burst in my chest. It might be a while, but someday we’ll get there.

  I settle on the couch and make use of the remote, flipping through the measly channels Wrenn has. Funny, even after close to a year, I still don’t consider this my place. Especially not with my dad here now.

  He mentioned me moving out once they’re back from their honeymoon. In the meantime, I’m to start looking for a job. The idea of living on my own is kind of appealing, a fresh start. And privacy. Cambria and I could make use of every room, every inch of floor space. A warm chill scuttles over my body at the thought, the memories of having her beneath me—

  The doorbell echoes throughout the tiny living room. At the same time, Wrenn’s house phone lets out a shrill. I jump off the couch, caught between the two sudden calls for attention. Answering machine; whoever’s calling can leave a message. I cross the room to the door and yank it open.

  “Liar!”

  I step back, hands in the air, ready to catch the girl hurling her tiny frame at me.

  “You’re a liar, Krister!” Her fists pound my chest once, twice, before I seize her wrists.

  “Whoa, Cambria.” She squirms and jerks against my hold, tears and full-out rage maiming her pretty face. I spin her away from me and tug her to my front, crossing her arms over her heaving chest. “Stop. What are you talking about?” At that same moment, the phone stops ringing and the answering machine switches on.

  “K, honey, I thought you were home. One of your friends just called asking for your address so he could give you something for school. I think he said his name was Jeremy Lockwood.” Wrenn’s voice blares throughout the apartment. Cambria slogs in several breaths, but her face shows no reaction to the name Wrenn just spouted.

  Jeremy?

  Cambria wriggles under my hold, sniffling. “You lied to me. You knew who I was, who my mom was. You knew and still didn’t tell me who you were.”

  “I was going to—”

  “Right. And when did you plan to do that? After I fell in love with you? Or were you waiting until you were done using me to make you feel better about yourself?” Her voice stumbles over the last word, and she swallows as another tear slides down her cheek. The devastated look on her face stabs a knife straight through my heart.

  “This was never about me. I wanted to help you…”

  “Help me what? Realize life is meant to be lived and not spent crushed with guilt? Well, congratulations. Do you feel better now? Or do you need to hear the words ‘I love you,’ too? Because I do. I love you for pulling me out of the grief. And for making me feel things I’ve nev
er felt before. And for giving me a reason to smile after so many months of not being able to.” She hangs her head, her long hair reaching down and tickling my arm. “And now…I will hate for the rest of my life that I love you for those things.”

  “Cambria, no. Listen, I was going to tell you. I just didn’t know how.” She turns her chin and narrows her eyes at me, so I explain. “I saw the way you looked at me, like I was someone who could help you get past your mom’s death—”

  “You were!”

  “But I wouldn’t have been if you knew who I was, that I was related to the person responsible for it all. You would have despised me, and pushed me away, and not allowed me in. You never would have felt those things.”

  “So you felt sorry for me. You were with me because I was your pity case.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” She lets out a heavy breath. “God, do you really think I’m that shallow? That I wouldn’t have given you the time of day if I’d known your last name?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a name. You’re not him.” She tugs against my grip, and this time I let her go. She takes a step forward, spinning to face me and tucking her hands under her arms, not even bothering to wipe her soaked cheeks. “Were any of your feelings real? What we had between us? The things you said to me? What we…did?” She blinks once, another tear releasing.

  I open my mouth to tell her I could never fake the feelings she gives me when she holds up her hand, fingers stick straight, palm facing me.

  “Never mind. It wouldn’t matter anyway. We’re done.”

  “Done? No, Cam—”

  She takes a deep breath, and her words rush out on the exhale. “Because I can’t be with someone I can’t trust. Our entire relationship has been a lie, Krister. You let me believe you were perfect, that maybe you were a sign from my mom up in freaking heaven that I was ready to move on from all this, but…I don’t even know who you really are.”

  “Yes, you do. This is me.” I take her hand and flatten it along my ribcage—you are un-erasable—desperate to make her understand. “The guy who played Truth or Dare and snuck through your bedroom window like a fifteen-year-old because I couldn’t stand to be away from you.” I lower my voice and lift her hand to my cheek, holding it there as I look intensely into her eyes. “The one who fell in love with you the moment I realized everything in the world was better with you near.”

  With a jerk of her arm, her hand slides out of mine. “Don’t.” One word, and the finality of it stings my body as if every inch of my skin was being tattooed at once. She meets my gaze, her eyes swollen and red. For two drawn-out seconds, she holds my eyes with hers, another tear perched on the brim, threatening to escape. For those two seconds, I watch as her stance stiffens, face closes off, and she shuts me out of her life. “You don’t get to use the word love with me. Not now when I’ll never know if you really mean it.”

  “I do.”

  She shakes her head and whispers just barely loud enough to hear, “Good-bye, Krister,” then turns for the door. I step behind her, the hiss of air where she just was sweeping over my skin. The feeling like I’m being shredded to pieces rips through my chest.

  “Please don’t leave.” I betrayed her, and I have no right to ask her to stay, but I need her to not give up on me, on us. On how much she’s given me and transformed me.

  Her feet pause, but she doesn’t turn. “If I can’t forgive you, what else is there to do?” And then she’s gone, the door softly clicking shut behind her.

  My fist collides with the wall, fire slicing up my arm. Godfuckingdamnit! I’m such an idiot for not telling her, not coming clean with her back when I had the chance. Maybe she would’ve forgiven me then, before all these feelings came into play. I rest my head against the wall, focusing on the pain shooting through my forearm. It’s easier than the agonizing ache hurtling through my chest, knowing I’m letting the girl I love walk away. On the idea that I’m not saying anything as she’s giving up on us.

  She’s right; what I did was unforgivable.

  A few seconds pass, the tingle in my hand dissipating as I begin to straighten, when suddenly a screaming “Stop!” wails from outside. Cambria. A million things flash through my mind in the time it takes to make it to the door. She’s getting mugged, attacked, assaulted. I fling myself outside and freeze abruptly when I see Cambria tugging on her ginormous brother’s shirt.

  “Jeremy,” she says frantically, “you swore you wouldn’t touch him.”

  He flashes her a tight-lipped smile. “And you believed me? Wake up, Cam, I’m the last person you should be believing these days.” Then he points at me with his gigantic finger and growls, “You. You’re the one from Krispy’s. The Ledoux boy whose ass I should have pounded when I had the chance.”

  Guess this explains Wrenn’s message.

  Cambria twists his shirt material around her fist and yanks harder as he takes three long strides toward me. She stumbles and pleads, “Jeremy, leave him alone. He didn’t do anything to you.” By the look on her face, she seems to understand why he’s here and what he plans on doing with all that raging arrogance.

  “Shut up!” With a swift sweep of his hand, he shoves her to the ground, not even stopping to look at the grimace now covering his little sister’s face. The world around me starts to pulse, black fuzzing out everything except him, and I take a step toward the asshole, ready to shove him twice as hard.

  My brother’s not in a healthy place right now. Cambria’s words echo through my head, and I silently tell them to go the fuck away. I don’t care if the guy is a mental case or not—her blood or not—no one touches Cambria like that.

  “Touch her again,” I say to him, knuckles aching with the clench of my fist, “and I’ll cave in your fucking skull.” To hit this guy again, to really beat his ass would send such pleasure through me—

  “Krister, no!” Cambria shouts, rolling from her side to her knees. I’m closer to him now, and I don’t know if I moved or he did, but my hand is now clamped around his throat, his dark eyes raging at me like a bull prepared to charge. Cambria wipes her cement-scuffed, bleeding hand down her thigh, leaving a reddish-brown streak along the denim and says, “Please don’t hurt him. He’s all I have.”

  The look on her face…the utter desperation exact to the very first time I saw her at the train station…if I could make that look disappear forever, to have her never feel that loss again…

  Slowly I release my grip and, before I have a chance to step back, two hands slam against my shoulders and I fly back, unable to catch myself. My ass hits the ground then my back, just before the psychopath straddles my middle. In the distance, Cambria screams, and in my face, Jeremy’s fist comes flying.

  The first punch lands square in my jaw. “That’s for knocking my ass to the floor at Krispy’s, you little prick,” Jeremy says through gritted teeth. Second punch, even harder in the nose. “That’s for sleeping with my sister.” I close my eyes for the next, already knowing what he’s going to say and that it’ll affect the force of the hit—there’s only one more thing he could be pissed about. “And this one is for your fucking father. Be sure to pass it along.” A grunt fills the air, but the punch never comes. I open my eyes just as Cambria’s hands tighten around her brother’s massive bicep, glaring hard at him.

  “Jeremy, stop!” Her voice is far from measured, and I wonder if she’s ever stood up to him before. “This is getting out of control. And I’m going to call the police if you touch him again. Now go get in your truck!”

  Jeremy narrows his eyes at her, the acne pits in his cheeks changing shape. “Afraid I’m going to embarrass you in front of your boyfriend?” he spits out to her. “Let everyone know that perfect little Cam’s life is not as flawless as she wants everyone to think?”

  Even from down here, my head spinning like a fucking carnival ride, I can see her hard mask of anger falter. Cambria doesn’t hide who she is with me—not anymore. She doesn’t pretend to be okay when she�
��s not…and something tells me she isn’t like that with everyone. Especially the guy on top of me.

  Pinned to the sidewalk, a knee in my chest and gravel digging into my back, I don’t say anything.

  Cambria tugs on his arm, her feather-light weight hardly budging him. “Stop it, Jer.”

  He gives me one last look, spluttering out the words, “How’d you like those letters, Ledoux?” as he stands, purposely knocking his shoe into my ribcage.

  The letters? Fuck. The letters. “Those were from you?”

  “Lyrics, actually. Much more poetic, don’t ya think?” Before he can say any more, Cambria jostles him toward the carport where her brother’s truck is parked cockeyed and still running. That guy has some serious issues. And also a slight hitch in his right leg when he walks—good to know if he ever attacks me again.

  I roll to my side then knees and stand, swiping the trickle of blood from beneath my nose. It’s not much, but the motherfucker almost knocked my nose out of alignment. Cambria demands Jeremy into the truck, whisper-hissing at him with a finger poking his chest. I don’t want to, but I turn back for the front door, thankful that all of Wrenn’s neighbors have fulltime jobs and none of them are perched along the sad slice of grass we call our yard on the phone with the cops right now. Thankful my dad’s not here, either… Jeremy would no doubt try to pound in his face.

  Behind me, footsteps lightly patter up the walkway. “Krister, wait.”

  I stop, still facing the paint-chipped door. “You sure are going through a lot of trouble for someone you don’t want anything to do with. Why not let him beat my ass? Apparently, I earned it.”

  She sighs, and I smooth my hand over the lump forming on my jaw. It’s already swollen up to my ear. “No matter how much I hate that you lied to me,” she says lowly. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”