by Karlik, Mary
She turned to speak to Justin, but he’d walked to the other end of the gallery. The gray-haired woman came out of the back room and stood next to her. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it? I moved it back here after the accident. It sort of keeps her with me.”
Accident? “Who’s the artist?”
“Oh, I assumed you knew. See here.” She pointed to the signature: C. Hayes. “Chelsea. Justin’s sister.”
“Sister?” She heard the door rattle and watched him step outside. Her heart beat a little faster. “The one who was killed in the car wreck?”
“Oh, it was terrible. Our precious Chelsea was the driver.”
The appreciation he had for art—the emotion she’d seen in his eyes when he talked about it—all came from his sister. Why hadn’t he told her? She was bound to find out somehow. If he hadn’t wanted her to know, why had he brought her to the gallery?
The woman wrung her hands and looked at Ryan. “The family hasn’t been the same since. Poor Justin. He and Chelsea were thick as thieves. He’s been a little lost without his sister, full of anger… but he’s a good kid.”
Why are you telling me this? I’m just a friend. I don’t need to know these things. I don’t need to know his secrets.
Ryan looked toward the door. “I’d better go…”
The woman followed her. “I hope you come back. It would be nice if you could bring Justin.”
“Thanks. I’ll try.” She had to get outside. Had to find him.
She didn’t have to look far. He sat on a metal bench that had been bolted to the sidewalk halfway between the gallery and the store next to it. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
So, now what? God, this is so awkward.
She practically tiptoed to the bench. He didn’t move a muscle—even his eyes seemed fixed. She took a shaky breath and sat next to him. She hugged her purse to her, swallowed, and waited for him to speak.
Nothing. He didn’t move.
She should say something. What? She released the hold she had on her purse and rested her hand on the seat of the bench. She practiced in her head what she could say.
I’m sorry about your sister. Do you want to talk about it? No. If he had wanted to talk about it, he would’ve. I’m sorry about your sister. She was such a good artist—and now she’s dead. No! You idiot. How about: Would you freaking talk to me? You’re the one who suggested we come. You’re the one who brought me here.
She looked at him and looked away. She tried to form words in her throat, but it felt a little like it was collapsing.
He broke the silence with a deep sigh and leaned back. He rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans and then grabbed Ryan’s hand. He curled his fingers around hers, drew it across his lap, and cupped it with his other hand. It didn’t feel like a flirty move, or a prelude to a kiss.
He was holding on for dear life.
At first, her muscles tensed, numbing her to the feel of his skin next to hers. But then, something crazy happened.
Warmth from his hand beckoned her to relax. And as it radiated into hers, she let go. Her fingers and palm melted into his. Her chest filled with grief, sorrow, anger, and all the horrible unspoken emotions that a human can endure. But they weren’t his emotions.
They were all hers.
Shame for the embarrassment and hurt she’d caused her family. Self-loathing for what she’d done. Anger at the girls who’d attacked her. They poured from her heart, and it was okay, because she had a lifeline too.
They sat on the bench, not speaking, hanging on to the world, their souls connecting through clasped hands until the sky slowly turned pink.
Finally, he looked at her and said, “Are you ready?”
She nodded and together they stood, their hands still clasped. He didn’t acknowledge her tears, nor she his.
He hesitated before he opened the passenger door of his truck, and looked into her eyes. Any other time, she would have expected a kiss. But he wouldn’t kiss her. Not now, maybe never. But what had passed between them was way bigger than a kiss. They were lost and broken, neither really knowing the other’s story. Where that left their friendship was bound to be as bizarre as what had blossomed there on the bench.
*
He wiped the remnants of his tears away with his forearm and pretended not to notice her fish a Kleenex out of her purse to wipe her eyes. If Mrs. Walters hadn’t walked up, he’d have probably been okay. But as soon as she started telling Ryan about that painting, he’d had to get out of there.
Just leaving the gallery wasn’t enough. The pain and sorrow threatened to pull him into that dark place that held his mom. He needed to feel something alive to remind him not to go there. So he’d done the only thing he could—he’d held Ryan’s hand and fought his way back. He hadn’t expected the emotions that passed between them. She had hung on to him, too. Her tears weren’t for him; she carried her own set of mental luggage.
He watched her dab hopelessly at the mascara under her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. Do you?”
“No.” Thank God she didn’t want to talk. Whatever the hell that had been, it was way bigger than saving her from the fountain. The last thing he wanted to do was analyze it. “Wanna get a coke?”
“Yeah.”
He started the engine and pulled away from the curb. Neither spoke as he made his way to the drive-in. He angled into a slot and shifted into Park. “What do you want to drink?”
“Cherry vanilla Dr. Pepper.”
He pushed the red button below the sign and turned to her. “Do you want to share chili cheese fries?”
“Sure.”
He gave the order and the mood in the truck began to lighten. A Beatles tune played over the drive-in’s speakers. Ryan lowered her window and sang along. If anyone could take a sad song and make it better, it was Ryan. She didn’t have a great voice or anything, but he liked it.
While they waited for their order, they didn’t talk, didn’t really look at each other, but it was okay. His chest felt lighter than it had in a long time and he was happy. Not the fake smile he forced on his face to get through the day, but genuine, from-the-gut happy. When the two dozen repetitions of the chorus began, he joined in.
As they progressed, they got louder. They didn’t look at each other or do any crazy music swaying. They sat in their places with their heads pressed against the back of the seat and sang. Their food arrived just before Paul McCartney broke into the final riff.
Justin sat the boat of fries on the console between them and passed Ryan her drink. The moment he made the handoff was the first time their eyes actually met. They held and he felt an enormous geeky grin form on his face. It was okay, though, because she had the same goofy grin. Then, they both started laughing like somebody had just told the most awesome joke ever. And it felt so good, like the first bite into a cold watermelon on a long, hot summer day.
Ryan looked at him again and shook her head. “Your sister’s art—wow.”
“Yeah. She volunteered at the gallery after school. They have a studio in the back room where she worked on her paintings.” He didn’t talk about Chelsea, ever. So why did it feel safe with Ryan now?
“I’m sorry. What happened—it just sucks.”
“That it does.” He crammed a couple of cheesy fries in his mouth and watched her pick one up and take two bites to eat it. He thought about the emotion pouring from her as they’d sat on the bench. Had it been connected to the attack? Somehow it felt bigger. He wanted to reach out to her and convince her she could trust him. “What happened back there—it was more than… Did you lose somebody?”
She snapped her gaze to him. “What?”
“I felt it…”
She looked through the windshield and shifted in the seat. He shouldn’t have asked. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and his heart began to pound in his chest. He should have left it alone.
She tilted her head up and sniffed. “Yeah. Me.”
&nbs
p; “What?” Crap. He didn’t mean to say that. He didn’t want to know, if it was going to make her cry. Where was the edit button?
Her gaze darted to him and back to the view in front. Her chest rose and fell as though she couldn’t get enough air. “I lost me.” She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. “If you ask me to talk about it, I will throw my drink at you.”
“Well, shit. Do you like football?”
She opened her eyes, perplexed. “What? What kind of question is that?”
“I don’t know. You scared the shit out of me.” He took a drink from his coke and twisted in his seat toward her. “Do you?”
She sat cross-legged in the seat with her back against the door. “I’ve only been to two games.”
He threw his head back and stared at the headliner of his truck. “Seriously!” He dropped his gaze then, grateful they were on a lighter topic. “How can you be in high school and only have been to two games?”
“I went to an art magnet school, remember?”
He shook his head. “Crazy. So what’d you think?”
“Actually, I liked it.” Ryan pointed to the dash clock. “Is that the right time? Because if it is, I have twenty-five minutes to make my ten o’clock curfew.”
“We’ll make it.”
Justin gathered the trash and started the engine. “So, the Purity Club.”
“Yeah?”
“Can you explain it to me? Why a virgin club?”
“It wasn’t a bad idea. We made a promise to stay chaste. It just all went horribly wrong.”
Justin turned onto the main drag and headed south out of town. “But what are meetings all about? It’s one thing to make a promise, but do you discuss near misses at the meetings?”
She shook her head. “Yeah, that’s it.” She looked at him with those big blue eyes. “Of course not. Besides, a near miss is a hit.”
He laughed at her joke but he wanted to get lost in her gaze, to hold her against him—and not in an I’m-coming-unwound kind of way. “But what do you do at those meetings?”
“I’ve only been to a couple. Mrs. Bettis gives an incredibly long blessing and then we eat disgusting pizza. I guess the purpose is to encourage each other. Not everybody knows it’s okay to say no.”
“Most of the girls in the PC don’t have to worry about it.”
“That’s cold. Don’t be a jerk.”
He held his hands up in defense. “Just sayin’.”
“Yeah, but some girls get crazy when it comes to guys. Everybody says just say no, but if a girl is desperate to be liked, things happen.” She slammed the back of her head against the seat. “I can’t believe I am discussing this with a guy.”
His gut clenched. He had a reputation in school, but in reality, he’d gone all the way with a grand total of one girl. Had she wanted to say no? No way. When things started happening, she couldn’t wait to go all the way. “Not every girl is like that. Some girls go after it—they want it as bad as guys do.”
“I’m not so sure. I mean, maybe for some couples it’s right. But what girl wants to be known as the school slut?”
“Every school has a girl who doesn’t say no.”
“Maybe she doesn’t know she can.”
He’d never thought about it like that. A guy’s MO was to keep trying until the girl gave in. Sneak a hand on the side of the boob, it gets pushed away, try again. Until the girl actually says no, it’s fair game. His shoulders felt heavy. He’d gotten to various bases with different girls. Had they wanted to say no? He remembered the note he’d found in Chelsea’s room. How many times had Eric tried before she gave in?
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just wrapping my brain around what you said. Guys are dogs.”
“Pretty much.” She nodded.
“Did you hear what the fight with Eric was about?” He squeezed the steering wheel.
“No.”
“I found a note in my sister’s room a couple of days before the dance. It was to Eric. She was begging him to talk to her. He’d had sex with her at the trestle and then dumped her. My best friend effed my sister.” He shook his head. “When I confronted him, he laughed. He said, ‘Dude, we were sophomores back then. I was going to score with someone. She won the ticket.’ Can you believe that guy?” He shook his head. “The note was dated the day before she died.”
“I’m sorry, Justin.”
He gave a fake shiver. “Let’s change the subject. I’m starting to feel guilty for holding your hand.”
“I didn’t say no.”
“You could’ve.”
“No. I couldn’t have.”
She reached across the console and his hand met hers halfway. The emotion of what had passed between them squeezed his heart. They held onto each other with a white-knuckled grip. Something scary was building between them. A bond composed of secrets and sorrow.
He hated that it was time to go. He wanted to know her better. He wanted her to know that part of him that was still a nice guy. He liked her sarcasm. He liked her strength. She hadn’t shrunk into the corner when he’d asked her who she’d lost. She was a fighter and he had no doubt that if he’d pressed her for more, she really would have thrown her coke at him.
He gave her hand a squeeze and she squeezed back. The air in the truck grew heavy, but not with the unspoken sorrow it had held before. It was a good kind of heavy. The kind that came from two people who were waiting for that moment when they could kiss.
When he turned down the dirt drive leading to the house, she let go of his hand, and his heart sank a little. He parked in front of the house and his heart sank a little more. Her parents sat on the porch.
He opened his door and Ryan gave him a panicked look. “What are you doing?”
“Walking you to the door.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Before he had a chance to get out of the truck, she beelined up the porch steps and past her parents. She tossed a “’Night, Justin,” over her shoulder and ran into the house.
He gave her parents a little wave and backed away, inhaling the flowery smell of her perfume that still hung in the air.
Shit. No hug, no kiss, not even a freaking handshake. He smiled. But she held my hand.
9
Chapter 9
Ryan didn’t wait for her parents to come in before running upstairs. If they wanted to ask questions, they could come to her room. Nothing had happened. At least, nothing physical. On an emotional level, her world had been officially rocked. Justin was the most confusing, complex, amazing guy she’d ever met.
She had already changed into her sleep shorts when she heard her parents come in downstairs. There would be questions, no doubt. She took her time washing her face, applying fresh gel, and making sure every tooth was flossed and brushed. She slid under the covers thinking she’d avoided Twenty Questions.
But before she could turn off her bedside lamp, her mom entered her room and sat on the end of her bed. “How was your date?”
Crap. Here it comes. “It wasn’t a date. We’re just friends.”
Her mom arched her brows. “Okay. How was the gallery?”
“Small, but there was some cool stuff.” Can we drop it now?
“Did you get something to eat?”
“Yeah. We went to Sonic. We were in public the whole time and nothing happened.”
Her mom sighed, but it seemed more out of frustration than relief. “Look, Ryan, we know you’re going to want to date…”
“Seriously, Mom. It wasn’t a date.”
“Okay, hear me out. You’re going to want to date some guy. It’s okay. What happened in Chicago is a lifetime away. We trust you. You need to understand that. If you want to go out with a guy, even on a non-date, don’t be afraid to tell us.”
“What about Dad? He didn’t look too thrilled when he saw Justin.”
She shook her head. “He doesn’t trust any guy with you girls. That’s just the way it is. But you know he’s all bark.”
&nb
sp; “Mom?”
“Yes?”
“We are just friends, but Justin is different from any guy I’ve ever met. When we talk, it’s real. Does that make sense?”
“Sure it does. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” She stood, tucked the duvet cover under Ryan’s chin, and kissed her on the forehead. “’Night, sweetie.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Her parents trusted her. They had a right to—she’d been with über hot Justin Hayes and nothing had happened. No shame. Instead of dreading seeing him again, she was excited to see him at school. She snuggled a little deeper under the covers and realized she was grinning. Her plan to put Justin in the People to Avoid category had been deftly foiled by those stupid twin dimples.
She touched her lip and sighed. It didn’t matter that her face had been shredded. Justin Hayes liked her. Life was good.
*
Justin’s phone buzzed in the cup holder, so he stopped at the end of Ryan’s drive and fished it out. His throat tightened at the sight of the number. His dad never called. “Hello?”
“Where are you?”
“On my way home. Why?”
“I have to stay late at work. I can’t get ahold of Mom.”
“She was fine when I left. Did something happen?”
“No. I just—I’m sure everything is fine. Call me when you get home, okay?”
“Sure.” Justin ended the call and tossed his phone back in the cup holder. That was weird. His dad was not the worrying type. Justin pulled onto the highway and floored it into town.
Everything looked completely normal when he pulled into the drive. He unlocked the front door and looked around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but at the same time, he didn’t want to yell for his mom in case she was asleep. He padded down the hall toward the bedrooms. His was on the left, his parents’ on the right. He was reaching for the knob to check on his mom when he saw the light peeking from under the door at the end of the hall.
His heart sank. He pulled his phone from his pocket as he opened the door to Chelsea’s room.