“After everything you’ve been through with your parents—“ Nola’s voice cracked and a river of tears streamed down her face, pooling on her neck. “And my dad…”
“Shhh, baby, it’s fine. I’m not upset, okay? Just come home.”
Nola shook her head, ignoring my words. I pulled her into my chest and she sobbed loudly.
“I should have known better, Scout. I should have known—“
I rubbed her back, wishing to soothe some of her pain. “It’s okay, baby, you’re human. We all fuck up from time to time.”
“Yes, but this is different. My father…” Her voice dissolved into dry heaves and she struggled to speak; her voices came out forced and staccato. “My father died of an overdose. He was addicted to heroine and he got ahold of a bad batch, and died. I’ve never used drugs, Scout. Ever. Not weed or anything. I was always so afraid I would end up like him.”
“And you’re not, baby. You just made a stupid choice, that’s all.”
“I could have died, Scout! I could have ended up dead just like my father.”
Nola’s body quaked with a new round of tears, and I felt like shit. She’d been so concerned about me, about how I would react and what I would think when she was dealing with her own trauma. Nola wasn’t the naive girl I thought she was when we first met, but she was still the most big-hearted woman I’d ever known.
When she stopped trembling I placed a kiss on the top of her head and wiped her face. “Nola come home with me, please? I need you, okay?”
She stared up into my face and appeared to search my eyes, and I prayed she found what she needed.
After a few moments, Nola broke away from my arms and disappeared into her room. I looked around the apartment taking in the view for the first time. Her place was small and neat, but overflowing with books. Her walls were mostly bare, save for a picture of a group of people on a beach hanging above the couch. Whoever took the photo caught them in the middle of a laugh as a wave crashed into their feet. A golden-colored little girl was sitting on the man’s brown shoulders while a pretty blonde woman smiled up at them both. This had to be Nola’s family. They so looked happy and carefree in that moment, and I vowed I’d make her feel that way again.
When Nola reappeared she had an overnight bag on her shoulder that looked like it was about to burst at the seams.
“Okay,” she said, looking up at me. “I’m ready.”
I took her bag, kissed Nola on the forehead, and then followed her out the door, hopeful we were both finally ready for each other.
21 Nola
Scout frantically moved around the airy kitchen, cracking eggs, measuring milk and flour, and stirring the mixture together while a skillet overheated on the stove. As I took in the scene, the oil in the pan started to burn and smoke wafted through the air, setting off the smoke alarm.
“You sure you don’t need any help?” I asked, trying to stifle a giggle. Scout had insisted on making me breakfast before I spent the day working on my paper for Professor St. James’ class. Thankfully, after I’d emailed all of my professors and informed them of my accident—and attached the doctor’s recommendation that I take it easy for a while—she’d given me a brief extension until the end of the week.
“I’ve got it covered,” Scout said over his shoulder, dumping a carton of blueberries in the pancake batter, causing the mixture to splatter all over the counter.
I shook my head and I slid around him, removing the scorching pan from the fire to prevent it from getting damaged, then grabbed a towel and cleaned up the mess.
“Nola, I got this,” he said, his brow furrowed.
I smiled and threw up my hands. “Hey, I’m just trying to be useful.”
Scout was a terrible cook, but he got points for being a thoughtful boyfriend. When he’d showed up at my door, begging me to go home with him, I knew there was no use in fighting my feelings. What was the point, anyway? Just the thought of losing Scout made me ill, there was no use in getting in the way of fate.
During the hours we were apart I vacillated between being a complete basket case and a weepy-whiney mess while seriously reconsidering my life. Before I met Scout, I thought that if I avoided all men and protected myself against falling in love I would never end up a brokenhearted cliché like my mother. But in the cab ride back to my apartment I realized that, despite trying like hell, my life had nevertheless turned into the lovesick lyrics of a Tammy Wynette song.
Scout was my man, and I intended to stay by his side as long as he’d have me.
“Shit!” He flipped the last pancake, which was blackened like all of the rest.
I peered over his shoulder, looking at the stack of charred flapjacks. “Why don’t you let me give it a try?”
“I can’t,” he said, frustrated. “I used up all of the eggs.”
“Oh,” I said, trying to stop myself from snickering.
“You think this is funny, huh?”
I shook my head, but Scout’s mouth had already turned up into a smile.
“I just wanted to do something nice for you, baby, but I can’t even fucking make pancakes.”
I lost the battle against the laughter I was struggling to suppress. “No kidding,” I said, lopping a hand around his waist and kissing his shoulder. “But I appreciate the effort.”
Scout leaned down until his lips were on mine, kissing me gently at first before turning ravenous and plunging his tongue into my mouth. His hands slid down the length of my body, cupping my ass and giving it a playful squeeze before traveling back to my hips. I melted into his chest as he lifted me up, placed me on the counter, and nudged my legs apart.
When he pulled away, I almost got annoyed until I felt his lips on my neck. Scout nipped at the skin just below my ear, nibbling and sucking the delicate flesh. I bit my lip, but I couldn’t contain the moan that escaped, causing Scout to find my mouth again, tugging on my bottom lip before slipping his tongue back into my mouth and kissing me hard and long.
A warm sensation smoldered between my legs and I desperately longed for Scout to touch me there, and everywhere his hands could reach. I scooted to the edge of the counter and wrapped my legs around his, pulling him into me. I could feel his manhood straining against the fabric of his sweats and I wanted him against my skin. I’d never given myself to a man before, but in that moment I felt like I’d been waiting to feel Scout inside me forever.
I slipped a hand under his shirt, squeezed one of Scout’s nipples, and he growled against my mouth. He sounded like a fierce animal grunting his satisfaction into my lips. I let my fingers travel down the ridges of his taut stomach to the waistband of his sweats, letting them linger there while he gripped my neck and consumed my mouth.
My hand crept past the threshold of his pants, on its way to the Promised Land, but before I could reach it, Scout stopped me.
I stared at him, breathless and mystified. “What’s wrong?”
“Breakfast,” he panted, “you need to eat.”
“It can wait a few minutes,” I said, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging him back to my mouth.
He pulled away again. “A few minutes?” Scout chuckled. “Baby, once I get my hands on you I’m going to need a whole lot more than a few minutes.” He placed a too sweet kiss on my nose. “Now, go get dressed, I’m taking you to breakfast.”
I gaped at him for a second before hopping off the counter and lumbering up the stairs, frustrated, annoyed, and in need of a cold shower.
By the time we walked into Malibu Farm, a quaint little restaurant at the end of the city’s pier, I was starving and still a little peeved Scout had gotten me all worked up without delivering the goods: his naked body pressed against mine.
We ambled up to the second floor of the tiny restaurant, and I wasn’t prepared for the view. Scout and I were surrounded by a seemingly endless amount of turquoise water, and for the first time in forever things almost felt completely right in the world.
Sure I still had a year left
at UCLA and needed to knock Professor St. James’ evil socks off with my paper, but at that moment I felt at peace. I wasn’t worried about paying the rent, wasn’t stressed out about my job, and wasn’t even on edge about turning into my mother. Things were actually good, and it was all because of Scout.
“Thank you,” I said, reaching across the table and placing my hand on his.
“For what?”
“Everything. This feels….really good.” My gaze drifted back toward the ocean. “I could get used to this.”
Scout flashed a wide smile. “Good, because I’m never letting you go.”
“Be careful,” I warned, my grin matching his, “you should never make promises you can’t keep.”
“Oh, I’m not worried. I intend to keep it,” he kissed the back of my hand, “even if it kills me.”
Even if it kills me...
Scout’s words echoed through my brain, causing an uncomfortable sensation to build in my chest. I didn’t want to imagine life without him and couldn’t fathom something terrible happening to him—not now when things were just starting to look up.
I pulled my hand away and drug it through my hair, trying to push the nauseating thoughts away. I stared out of the windows of the café trying to regain the peace I felt a moment before, but all I could think about was something horrible happening to Scout, or worse, him leaving me for someone else.
Even if it kills me…
I shuddered at the words. If I’d learned anything in my twenty years it was how fragile life was. One day you could be perfectly and deliriously happy, and the next, everything could come crashing down around you. My entire life fell apart in an instant when my dad died, and I’d been trying to protect myself against experiencing that same sort of devastation ever since. I knew I was taking a chance by letting Scout into my heart, but I hoped I’d experienced enough sadness to last a lifetime.
My head started to swim with doubt. What if I was wrong? What if I was a magnet for bad luck? What if I turned into my mother anyway? What if I…
“Nola,” Scout said, snapping me out of my quickly spiraling thoughts. “Where’d you go, baby? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said, trying to cover my inner tumult with a half-hearted smile. “Just trying to figure out what I want to order.”
He studied my face, and I tried to grin wider to assure him I was okay.
Scout frowned and shook his head. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Try to shut me out.” He grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’re my girl, right?”
I nodded, but didn’t dare say a word, afraid all of my fears would come tumbling out.
“Then you have to tell me what’s going on in there,” he said, caressing my head.
I sighed. After trying like hell to avoid it, Scout and I were finally together, but did that really mean I had to always let him into my thoughts, even the embarrassing or scary or downright irrational ones? What if he got scared or changed his mind? What if he couldn’t hand it, or me? What if…
“Stop thinking about it, and just tell me what’s wrong,” he said, as if reading my thoughts.
I inhaled deeply, hoping I wouldn’t sound completely insane. “It’s just…when you mentioned dying it made me think of my dad.” I stopped and met Scout’s eyes; he was staring at me with such concern my heart nearly broke in half. “I don’t have anyone, Scout. My mom is…dealing with her own problems, and I’ve been alone since…well, until you came along. I mean, I have Tara, and I love her, but I don’t let anyone get too close because,” I swallowed hard, “I’m scared.”
“Of what, baby?”
“Losing the people I love,” I whispered, “again.” I could feel the tears building just behind my eyes, but I kept talking anyway. It was too late to stop now. “My dad was wonderful, Scout. He would always bring me little gifts whenever he was away, and when he was home we’d stay up late watching movies and eating popcorn. Even my mom was so carefree and fun to be around when he was alive.” I smiled at the memory of the three of us together. “But after he died, everything changed. My whole world just collapsed and everybody I loved disappeared. My dad was gone, and my mom was there physically, but that was it. It was like she was a ghost.”
Scout enveloped both of my hands in his. “I’m not going anywhere. I know what it feels like to be alone, and I’m not leaving you, okay?”
“My father didn’t plan on leaving me either, Scout, but sometimes things just happen.”
We stared at each other in silence until the waiter sauntered over to our table to take our order. I was happy for the distraction, because I was barely holding onto my composure, and an overly emotional woman in tears didn’t quite fit the shabby chic vibe of Malibu Farm.
I collected myself and I ordered a breakfast sandwich with a side of mini-pancakes and a mimosa; I needed something a little stronger than hope to keep my nerves in check.
“Can I see your ID, please?” the waiter asked, catching me off guard. Even though I regularly carded many of my customers at Pink Taco, it had been a while since I had to fork over my identification.
Shit.
My 21st birthday was coming up, but I didn’t want to get embarrassed in front of Scout, not when I was already so close to jumping off the emotional ledge. I had a few options: switch drink orders, or I pray the waiter was bad at math. I chose the latter and hoped for the best.
I handed over my license and held my breath. The handsome server scanned it, glanced at me and winked. Before he left to put in our orders he added, “Happy early birthday.”
I peeked at Scout from the corner of my eye and he had the goofiest grin on his face. I couldn’t help but smile back.
“So, you have a birthday coming up?”
“Yeah, May 23rd.”
He rubbed his hands together, like he was formulating a plan. “Good, that gives me a few weeks.”
“For what?”
“To plan something really, really nice.”
“Scout—“
“I’ll throw you a party,” he said, cutting me off. “A pool party at my house. I’ll get Fernando to work the grill, Jason can call up one of his DJ pals, you can invite all of your friends, and we’ll do it up big!”
“Scout, I don’t think that’ll be a good idea.”
He looked at me like I had two heads. “Why not? Don’t you want to celebrate?”
“It’s just…” I hesitated. The truth was I didn’t actually have any friends except Tara, and birthdays always made me miss the way my parents were before everything went to shit. I usually spent the day sulking in my apartment, pigging out on junk food, and trying to distract myself from how horrible it felt to be alone.
Of course I couldn’t tell Scout this. He would no doubt look at me like I was some poor, unfortunate girl who needed his pity more than his love. So I did the only thing a girl in my situation would do: I lied.
“I’m just not a party person. I mean, I usually don’t make a big deal about my birthday.” I shrugged, trying my best to mask my emotions. “It’s just another day.”
“It’s not just another day, Nola, it’s your birthday! We’ve got to celebrate. I never had a birthday party growing up, and—“
I gasped. “Never?”
Scout shook his head. “Birthdays aren’t usually at the top of the list for junkies.”
Junkies…like my father?
I knew Scout was talking about his parents, but for some reason it felt like he had taken a jab at my father, too.
“My dad always made a big deal about my birthday,” I said defensively.
Scout looked at me and his eyes immediately went soft, like he knew he’d inadvertently hurt my feelings. “I wasn’t talking about your dad, Nola. I was talking about my junk—“ he stopped himself before he finished the word, “my parents.”
“I know,” I said slightly above a mummer. “I just miss him, that’s all. I always do around this time of year.”
> The waiter brought our drinks, and Scout and I let the silence multiply around us. I took a sip of my mimosa, hoping the champagne would calm the emotional storm brewing in my head. I tried to remind myself that Scout was only trying to make my birthday special, but I couldn’t quell the ambivalence I felt about that day.
I took another sip from my drink and tried to push thoughts of my parents to the back of my mind.
“Maybe I should throw you a party,” I said, trying to take the attention off of myself. “When’s your birthday?”
“It was a couple of months ago.”
“Oh yeah? How did you celebrate?”
“Went to Vegas with my boys. Took in some shows, hit the tables, ate way too much at the buffet, saw a couple of—“ Scout abruptly stopped. “It was fun.”
I couldn’t help but chortle. I knew what guys did in Vegas, especially if they were young, hot, and as wealthy as Scout.
“Saw a couple of strippers?” I said, cocking my eyebrow and feigning contempt.
Scout studied my face, probably trying to see if I was pissed. He half-shrugged/half-nodded in response.
I shook my head. “A bunch of single guys in Vegas? I know strippers were involved.” I cracked a smile and he seemed to relax a bit, but he was still watching me. “Relax, Scout. I’m not mad or anything. I know guys don’t go to Vegas for the seafood buffet.”
He let out a hearty laugh, and then cleared his throat and got serious. “Nola, that was before we—”
“It’s okay, Scout. You don’t have to explain anything to me. You’re young, you’re gorgeous, and you’re successful. I don’t even want to think about how many women you’ve dated.” I chuckled.
“Nola, I—“
I held up my hand, halting him. “Please don’t. We don’t have to have that conversation, okay? If we do, I’m sure I’ll feel even more inadequate than I already do,” I joked.
“So you don’t want to know how many women I’ve been with?” he asked, confused.
“God no!” I took another sip of my mimosa, trying not to picture Scout with a bevy of gorgeous women hanging from his arms.
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