One Life

by A. J. Pine

  “Help yourself,” he says, and I feel Spock’s gaze shift from his dad to me. I watch as his mom does the same.

  I flip open the cooler and pull out bottle of Snapple, watching as Susan lets out a breath. For some reason I feel like I just passed a test I didn’t know I was being given. But then I push the thought aside, going back to the plan I had when I first got in my car.

  Stay in the moment.

  I crack open the Snapple and tell myself it’ll be smooth sailing from here.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Aside from iced tea on the back porch and the getting-to-know-you pleasantries, the night passes without much incident.

  “Your parents are really great,” I say as Spock rolls my suitcase into his room.

  He smiles, but a sort of intensity rests in his eyes.

  “Susan and Dave?” he asks, his lips parting in a wry smile. “Sure. They’re great.”

  He lifts my suitcase onto the foot of his bed, which does not sport Star Wars sheets. I’m only a little disappointed but smile when I see the queen-sized mattress instead of a twin.

  I run my hand along the slats of the mission footboard, then up the navy quilt to the plaid sheets.

  “Don’t be pissed at them putting us in separate rooms,” I say. “I think it’s sweet. You can sneak in late at night like we’re teens.” I tug his arm and pull him down next to me, both of us flopping onto our backs perpendicular to the bed’s length.

  “They’ve just been kind of on the strict side since high school. They like to know what’s going on under their roof.”

  I curl onto my side to face him, my fingers playing with the mess of hair above his eyes.

  “You and your brothers were hell-raisers, I assume.”

  I kiss his jaw. He shaved today, but already the evening brings about the stubble, its roughness a feeling I’ve longed for against my lips.

  He rolls to his side to face me, propping up on one elbow.

  “Actually, just me,” he says. “I was the hell-raiser. Zoe I should probably . . .”

  Two soft knocks sound on the open door. Spock’s brother Chris, with Trevor not far behind.

  “Parental units on your six, bro.”

  Spock rolls his eyes, but I smile. His brothers are pretty hilarious, teasing Spock, the youngest, as brothers do. All three look as if they are cut from the same cloth, but where Spock is tall and lean, his brothers are more bulky with muscle. Spock is the musician, the artist, whereas Chris and Trevor talked nothing but sports all night long, something I’ve never heard Spock do.

  “Not like I’m ravaging her on my bed, dude.”

  “Good night, Zoe,” Trevor calls over Chris’s shoulder as he passes.

  “Night!” I call back.

  I half expect Spock to spring up and make like he was never on the bed with me, but he just flops onto his back again, waiting for his parents’ approach.

  With the time being half past midnight, everyone is on their way to bed, a virtual parade passing us by.

  Spock’s dad passes us by with nothing but a curt wave, and I’m a little thrown by his lack of warmth. I thought I did okay in First Impressions 101, but maybe I’ve been too nervous to gauge everyone’s reactions to me.

  “The pullout bed is all set for you in the living room.” His mom stops in the doorway, nudging Chris ahead.

  “Heading down in a few,” Spock says, his eyes trained on the ceiling.

  “I can take the pullout,” I say to him, wanting somehow to cut the tension I didn’t know was here until now.

  He sighs, tilts his head to mine. “No way, Supergirl. You’ll be more comfortable here.”

  Then he calls to the door. “Good night, Mom.”

  “Good night.”

  Her clipped tone sends prickles of worry up my spine. She heads the rest of the way down the hall to her room, but something in my gut twists. What did I miss from hanging out on the porch until now?

  “Okay. What’s going on?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “They are good people,” Spock says. “They just have a hard time seeing me as who I am now rather than who I was.”

  He doesn’t look at me, so I place my palm on his cheek, turning his head toward mine.

  “How bad could you have possibly been for them not to see the amazing person I’m looking at right now?”

  His eyes darken, my teasing having touched something I didn’t know was there.

  His lips find mine, and I surrender to his touch because this is the easy part, easier than pressing him for what he’s not telling me. Whatever it is, he’ll tell me when he’s ready. He’s too good for me. Because if the tables were turned—and shit, they have been since the start—he would press me to share, like he’s been doing. Like he’s been pleading with me to do.

  But it’s easier just to kiss him, to feel his shaky sigh against my skin. I remind myself how difficult the past couple of months have been, convince myself that I deserve a little bit of easy.

  So I cup his face in my palms and try to tell him without the words that I love him, that there’s nothing that could make me not love him.

  I kiss and touch and taste—I breathe him in.

  But I don’t ask any questions because I can feel the tension in his muscles, and I also feel it relax as we kiss. It hits me that I may not be the only one who’s had a hard time lately. Hell, I know what I’ve put him through since he came to Chicago. I know there’s more to it than me, but for once I want to give him what he needs.

  For tonight, Spock deserves easy too.

  * * *

  The Fourth was always a big holiday in our small town, one of Zach and Wyatt’s favorites. They’d help Dad at the diner all day and by early evening, everyone we knew would be there, eating and hanging out, lighting sparklers on the sidewalk. And when the sun went down, we all crowded onto the street in front of the window, the perfect viewing area for the fireworks that happened across the lake.

  I told my parents I was staying in the city for the weekend, that I had too much work to do on my showcase project. I just can’t do it yet. I can’t go back and see the look in the eyes of everyone who misses him.

  I hear the soft click of the door as it opens and then closes again, watch as Spock’s shadowy figure nears the edge of the bed, and there he is in nothing but his boxer briefs, his beautiful body taking my breath away. When his eyes meet mine, I see an intensity there I don’t recognize, but he doesn’t speak. Whatever he needs, I want to give it to him, even if we have to stay silent and hidden in this room. He’s being patient with me. The least I can do is offer him patience in return.

  He climbs in next to me, and without a word his lips are on mine, his hands on my skin, his touch dissolving every poisonous thought until my guilt is nothing but harmless dust. He takes something from my touch too, and the sudden need to ask him what it is overwhelms me, but I convince myself there will be time for that when we get back to the city.

  So my eyes fall shut as he kisses me hungrily, his fingers sliding inside me. I grab his wrist and guide him in and out of me, writhing against his palm. A soft whimper escapes my lips, and the only sound he makes is a shuddering breath.

  I shift from my side to my back, freeing my hand to slip beneath his briefs. He hisses in a breath as I stroke him from root to tip, my movement slow and deliberate, again and again and again.

  He tugs at my underwear, sliding it past my knees and over my ankles until I’m free. I do the same, helping him out of his own until there’s nothing between us. I’ve been on the pill for two months now, so this will be a first for us, but he hesitates just before nudging me open, a questioning look in his eyes.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper, and he nods. Then he kisses me as he pushes inside, and I hear the hitch in his breath just as I feel the same in mine. Warmth envelops me, wells tight in my core, and all the worry starts to fall away. Somehow I know it will be there again when I wake, but my only thoughts now are yes and more.

  He rocks
inside me as a hand travels under my tank, lifting it so he can touch the skin of my breast, his tongue circling each piercing, swirling and tasting and driving me to madness.

  Spock is with me, in me, chasing the poison away as my back arches and my muscles tense. And I know that somewhere in the silence, I’m doing the same for him. Then—release.

  Sweat beads on my brow as he slides out from within, collapsing next to me in stifled, panting breaths.

  I’m not alone, I tell myself. You are not alone either, I will him to understand. But when my eyes focus, get their bearings in the dark, I see something in his eyes that wasn’t there before—fear.

  “I love you,” he whispers as he slips his underwear back on. Then he kisses me and climbs out of the bed, slipping out the door as if he was never there.

  Just like that I realize I don’t know him at all, not like I thought I did. And maybe that’s what makes us perfect for each other—an equal ability to hide.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee pulls me from my slumber, enticing me to leave the bed and at the same time bringing back the confusion of last night. Add to that three texts from Jess, and it looks like I’m awake.

  Tell me about your night!

  Are you a part of the family now?

  A little somethin’ somethin’ in his childhood bed?

  Well, at least she’s onto something with that last one. Do I tell her? Yes. I had the most intimate experience of my life and now feel like I don’t know my boyfriend at all.

  Instead, to keep her from repeated attempts to check in, I just text:

  It’s all good. Having a good time. Spock is good.

  Send. With three goods. At six in the morning.

  Oh good! she replies, my use of the worst adjective in the world apparently contagious. I knew this weekend would be perfect. Love you!

  I convince myself that she was already up rather than admit that I woke her. Yet her quick response makes me smile. Maybe Jess is ready to handle someone else’s problems now that she’s getting help with her own. But I let that part of me, the one that wants to make everything okay for everyone else, creep into my thoughts. Things are so good for Jess and Adam right now, and she has so much to do in preparation for her PT program starting this fall. I don’t want her to have to carry my burden as well.

  Now that I’m up, I could hide out in my room—in Spock’s room. The truth is, though, that I smell coffee. And coffee smell makes me want coffee taste. Coffee taste makes me want to marry coffee, but since that’s not really doable, I settle for drinking it.

  I pull on a pair of yoga pants and wrap myself in a cardigan, suddenly cold in the morning air. As I pad halfway downstairs, voices travel up to meet me—hushed tones that aren’t quite hushed enough.

  “Your father and I just want you to be careful, Zach. We worry about you.”

  I slide down the wall near the top of the stairs, parking myself to listen to a conversation I have no business crashing, but somehow I know I’m a part of this discussion even though I’m not there. Justification enough for me.

  Silence lingers for a few long moments, and I wonder if I’ve come in at the tail end of their talk. As I contemplate making my presence known versus retreating back to Spock’s room, I hear his voice.

  “Christ. I’m not eighteen anymore, Mom. If you trusted me enough to go on tour—to live in another state now—then you should trust me enough to be with her—to live with her.”

  Shit. Well, this is a great weekend to drop the bomb about us living together. Glad I got the memo.

  “No, Zach,” she starts. “You aren’t eighteen. You’re twenty-two. But eighteen and you almost throwing away your life—those things were only four years ago. A mother doesn’t forget seeing her son unconscious on the front lawn, left there by friends who didn’t care enough to call 911.”

  Her rising volume is the only thing that keeps them from hearing me gasp. At least I hope no one hears me.

  This isn’t a conversation about me. It’s about him—Zach—a guy who somehow did more than raise hell in high school . . . a guy I’m realizing more and more I do not know at all.

  “How many years do I have to be clean for this conversation to stop happening? Half a year on the road with the band and not one slipup. And there was way more than booze at the ready.”

  “Zach, stop,” she says.

  “Stop? Stop what? My life finally makes sense—all of the pieces falling into place. And that girl upstairs, the one you think isn’t safe for me? She’s the final goddamn piece of the puzzle. And you want me to stop.”

  He scoffs out a laugh, and even though it sounds like he’s coming to my defense, what the fuck did he tell her that makes her think I’m unsafe?

  “Zach.” Her voice softens, the sound of it moving closer to the stairs, which means she’s approaching him. “I’m just saying you should think about it. Maybe you should talk to your sponsor about this, a more objective opinion on an addict dating an addict.”

  I get it—the test I supposedly passed last night by grabbing the Snapple instead of a beer. I didn’t pass at all, not if she thinks her son is dating an addict. Her addict son.

  Spock groans under his breath. “Recovering,” he corrects. “I’m a recovering addict. And I’m not diagnosing her. I’m just worried,” he says. “That doesn’t mean I’m not strong enough to handle it.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, willing him to take back everything he’s said—him being a recovering addict and lying about it, the guy who supposedly loves me bringing me home to meet Mom and Dad—the addict girlfriend. Make it not true, I plead inside. I tell myself I could handle his past, that I could get past what he’s kept from me because I’ve kept things from him too. But what he thinks of me—telling his family he thinks I’m an addict before telling me—that I can’t seem to reconcile.

  “What if I can help her?” he asks, and I wonder if that’s what I’ve been the whole time—something for him to fix. Zach Nolan, a guy I guess I’m only meeting now, says he wants to help me, but his beautiful voice pricks my skin like the point of a needle—drawing blood and retreating so fast I’m not sure if he was ever there at all, that there ever was a Spock. But unlike the pain of the tattoo, one that goes only skin deep, enough to cover what lies beneath, this wound travels to my core.

  Sliding back up the few stairs to the top, I falter when I reach the end of the railing, grabbing on for support as my knees buckle. It takes several seconds for me to find some semblance of control, enough for me to make my way as quietly as I can back to Spock’s—Zach’s room. Spock isn’t here this weekend, this person who seems to exist only for me. I’m in Zach’s world now. Zach who seemingly almost died on his front lawn and now thinks I’m heading in the same direction.

  His distance was always about me. He was keeping himself safe from me. How can I tell him anything now if the little he knows might already be too much?

  He came back out of pity, to help the poor mess of a girl who doesn’t know what to do with her grief and her guilt. He might think he loves me, but how can he if what he sees when he looks at me is the worst version of himself?

  I crawl back under the covers, the rich aroma of a fresh pot of coffee no longer enough to seduce me from my safety.

  My whole body trembles as it sinks in. I’ve always been Zoe, the fixer, there for everyone, but who is there for me? I can’t go home without telling my parents the truth about Wyatt. I can’t put this burden on Jess after what she’s been through, after finally getting her life back on track. That leaves Dee. She can help me cover one form of pain with another. Spock thinks I’m hiding? That I’m covering it up? Damn fucking straight I am. But I am not an addict.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  He stands in the doorway, watching me pack the few things I brought for what should have been a memorable weekend. Well, I guess I won’t forget this one.

  “Shit. Zoe, wait.” His pleading tone tells me he knows what I heard
and what this means.

  I don’t answer. I don’t even turn to look at him. This is easier, my back to him, pretending he doesn’t exist—that we never existed.

  “I’ve been trying to tell you this for weeks,” he says. “It was high school, Zoe. I have been clean for more than four years. Not one drink since I woke up in the hospital with the last second chance I was ever going to get.”

  The door clicks shut, and I know he’s inside. The two of us behind closed doors, though not even close to the way I imagined it. I have no choice but to face him because I can’t stand anymore. My knees won’t cooperate. It’s one thing for him to be an addict and not tell me. But all these weeks we’ve been together, that’s what he sees in me. But when I see him leaning against the door, his eyes shine—not with the vibrancy that woke me up from my grief, that had the power to pull me from the guilt—but with the threat of tears of one who knows that something is over. We both messed up. I know this, but it doesn’t change anything now.

  “When I’m home, this is all I’ll ever be—the youngest son who had everything going for him until he lost control. The guy who couldn’t walk through graduation not only because he almost died on his lawn the week before but because he didn’t have enough credits. I made up for it all—summer school, addiction therapy, throwing myself into my music. You name it. I did it.”

  He takes a step toward where I sit on the bed, and I flinch at this stranger. So he stops midway between the door and me, runs his hands through his beautiful hair that I don’t get to touch anymore.

  “That’s not me anymore, Zoe. You know that.”

  I shake my head, the words and tears pouring from me at once.

  “I could have handled that if you told me. I wish you’d done it sooner, but that’s not what this is about.” I shake my head, still trying to make sense of what’s happening. “You think I’m an addict,” I say. “And you didn’t even have the guts to tell me before bringing me here where everyone else knows what you think.”