“Yeah.” I nod. “Yeah.”
I can hear rustling and bustling on the other end of the line, and I wonder what she’s doing. I’m about to hang up, but then I hear her clear her throat.
“Nic?”
“Yeah?”
She sighs. “Hold off on the Dashboard Confessional, okay? I’m gonna take care of this.”
…
I’ve been lying around the living room by myself all morning. I never got a phone call back from Michele, and I never heard from Colin. So I’ve got the Dashboard Confessional playing, his sweatshirt on and reaching to the middle of my thighs, a pint of Chunky Monkey on one side of me, and a pint of Cherry Garcia on the other side, trying hard not to cry.
I’ve just put a spoonful of Cherry Garcia in my mouth when my doorbell rings. I set the ice cream down on the coffee table and grab the remote to the TV so that I can lower the volume on my music. I groan as I stand up to answer the door.
I’m not in the mood for company, nor am I dressed for it. But nonetheless, I go to answer it anyway. I stand on my tiptoes and peer through the peephole, but whoever it was either has walked away already or is hiding from me, because I don’t see anyone when I glance through. Groaning, I lean back on my heels and unlock the door. When I open it, my jaw drops to the floor at the sight of Colin Westwick in a tuxedo and holding a bouquet of flowers.
He gives me a quick once-over, a mischievous smile playing upon his face. Self-conscious, I drag the sweatshirt down with one of my hands and gaze up at him through my eyelashes.
I wasn’t expecting him to show up at all, let alone right now when I’m at my lowest moment.
I don’t want him to know I’m vulnerable, that I’m hurting. I don’t want him to know how badly what’s been going on with us has affected me. And what’s more, I never wanted him to see that when we’re apart, all I can do is lie around with my sad music and wear his sweatshirt.
“Why aren’t you dressed?” he asks, one of his eyebrows quirking up.
My head snaps up and I glare at him. “What the Hell do you mean, why aren’t I dressed? Are you serious? That’s the first thing that comes to mind the first time you see me? You can’t say that you love me, or you miss me, or even happy fucking birthday? Are you serious right now, Colin?”
He flinches a little bit, but I barely catch it because he regains his composure almost immediately.
“Nickayla, I do love you. And I miss you more than you could ever know. And I’m here to wish you a happy birthday. It’s just that…I thought once you got the dress and the shoes and the makeup, you would have figured it out.”
“Figured what out?”
He raises an eyebrow again, as if to ask, “Really?” But he says nothing. Instead, he extends a hand to try and give me the flowers, but I stare down them with what I can only assume is a look of disgust because his entire demeanor appears to deflate. I step back, and he steps forward and into the house. I step forward, but he doesn’t retreat. He remains in his spot, and we are damn near nose to nose. He gives me a stern expression, and then he sighs.
“Nickayla, I would like you to get dressed. I want to take you out to dinner for your birthday,” he says. “I love you, and I miss you like crazy. I want to celebrate today with you.”
“Why should I go anywhere with you, and you weren’t here at midnight?”
His eyebrows furrow in confusion, and he shakes his head as he takes one step back.
It completely baffles me that he doesn’t know why I’m upset. Shit, I don’t even know why I’m so upset right now. I don’t want to be vulnerable in front of him. The only way to prevent that is to go on the offensive and hurt him before he can hurt me.
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
“You came to sing to me at midnight on my birthday last year. You weren’t here this year, and so for that, I don’t want to see you today. Or any other day.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I?”
“You are. We go to the same school, Nickayla!”
I shake my head, taking another step forward as I jab my finger into his chest. He stumbles backward, and he glares at me. I jab him in the chest once more for good measure.
“What’s ridiculous is for you to call and text my sister and my friends, but you can’t do the same for me. What’s ridiculous is for you to send me gifts all week and when I call you to thank you for them, you act like you can barely hold a conversation with me. What’s ridiculous is for you not to show up at midnight and then show up when I’m in my fucking zone and expect me to get dressed and leave with you. What’s ridiculous is for you to say that you love me, but not show it! I hate you! Get out of my house!”
Wide-eyed, he stares at me as I take deep breaths and try to calm myself down after my outburst. I stare right back at him, and he steps forward, causing me to stumble backward much like he did a few moments ago.
“Get dressed, Nickayla. Please.”
“Fuck you!”
“Get dressed! I want you with me today, and tomorrow and every second of every day. But most importantly, I want to show you how much I love you on your birthday.”
I move to push him away, but he grabs the doorknob and slams the door closed behind him. He stands tall so that he towers over me, and his eyes narrow as he advances on me. I’m beginning to get furious. There are no words to describe it. I place my hands, palms face forward, against his chest and shove him backward. His overgrown hair flies around his face, and he gives me the most murderous glare but I don’t care. I shove him again, and he looks for a moment like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. I shove him once more and he’s up against the door, his palms flat against it.
“What are you gonna do now, Nickayla? Huh? My back’s against the wall. And from the looks of it, so is yours. What now?” he asks.
His hand covers his cheek a second after I slap the shit out of him, and his eyes narrow nearly into slits.
“Put your hands on me one more time and see what it gets you.” His voice has a warning edge to it, the same one I heard in his father’s tone the two times I had the displeasure of having an encounter with him. I know he won’t take himself there. I hope he won’t. But there’s a part of me that wants to push him. “Don’t ever hit me again.”
I’m playing with fire and I know it. But I can’t help it. I need to push him. Need to take him to his breaking point so that maybe, just maybe he’ll fight for himself for once.
“Why? What are you going to do, Colin? Hit me back?” I ask.
He advances on me, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Don’t taunt me.”
“Get away from me, Colin! This isn’t going to happen. Nothing is going to happen! I’m not going anywhere with you! We’re done! We’re not together anymore! You’re not the one for me!”
He reaches forward, grabbing my forearms between his hands and shakes me vigorously. His face is beet red, a vein in his neck exposing itself, jaw working violently as he shakes me again. My head snaps back, and when it comes forward again, he’s directly in my face.
“YOU’RE THE ONE FOR ME!” he snarls. Forcefully, but not violently, he pushes me against the wall and places his hands on either side of my head, boxing me in. He presses his lips to mine, not giving me a chance to respond to what he’s said, what he’s done, how he’s acted since he got here. No, this isn’t one of those kisses where we are sweet and giving, making sure the other gets everything they want. This is him demanding, taking everything he wants and needs and not caring whether it’s what I want or not. It’s the first selfish thing he’s done in the time we’ve known each other. And now, allowing him to take charge completely, feeling amazement and desire consume me as I relinquish control, I’ve never seen anything sexier. He pulls away from me, leaving me gasping for more. His mouth drops open into a round “o” as his head falls forward to rest against mine. His eyes are closed and his expression is pained as he pants. They snap open and I watch as moistu
re pools in his beautiful green eyes. “You’re the one for me.” His voice has dropped to a whisper, and it breaks at the end of the sentence. “You’re the only one. Please. Please come to dinner with me.”
This moment is one I’ve waited to see for the past year that we’ve been together. The moment where he would stand up for himself. Not against me, but against his father, against his mother, against the demons of the past that have been haunting him for years. And even though it’s projected toward me, I’m excited that it’s happening.
I don’t know what to say. Hell, I’m not even sure if I have a voice after all that. Instead of trying to find one, I nod against him and he leans down to press another kiss to my lips.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
Twenty Seven.
Within an hour, I’m dressed and made up and walking out of the house hand in hand with Colin.
He’s been driving for about thirty minutes, but he hasn’t said a word to me since we got in the car. However, he’s plugged in my iPod and opened up the Just Listen playlist. He’s also held my hand the entire ride to wherever we’re going.
Right now, we’re listening to Crawling Back To You by Daughtry, and I can’t help but smile at the irony of it. He’s singing along to it, and I forget how upset I was this morning. Forget how badly I wanted to hurt him. Forget that he hurt me. I forget all of that because right now, all I see, all I care about is that the boy I love is sitting beside me, holding my hand in his and even though he’s not saying anything, he’s saying everything through the words he’s singing aloud.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Home,” he says, smiling at me.
I don’t know what he means. The direction he’s driving is the opposite direction of the apartment. He’s driving toward the middle of Harlow, actually. I’m trying not to focus too much on where he’s taking me, because Colin’s favorite part about doing things for me has always been the element of surprise. As hurt as I’ve been by all that’s happened recently, I wouldn’t dare try and take that away from him. So instead of attempting to figure out our direction, I lean back in my seat, close my eyes, and listen to the song he’s playing now off my playlist.
I know the song well. After the first time he serenaded me with Follow Through by Gavin DeGraw, I headed to iTunes and bought every Gavin DeGraw song ever released. The one we’re listening to now is off his Free album, and it’s called Stay.
Letting the words of the song sink in, I’m almost certain I know what today is about. Judging by the tone and lyrics of the songs he’s playing, today feels like a bit of a second chance. And I really hope I’m right.
When the car finally stops, the music fades out, and Colin’s hand slips from mine, I open my eyes.
I gasp, surprised that we’re sitting in front of the lake house. I turn to glance at Colin, but he just grins and hops out of the car. Walking around the front of the car, he opens my door for me and extends his hand to help me out.
Holding onto him, I stare off toward the actual lake. Just on the shore is a table set for two, illuminated with candles and tiki torches. There’s a bouquet of peonies sitting in the center of the table.
“I thought you said we were going home,” I say, still completely stunned.
He shrugs, lacing an arm around my waist as he leads me forward.
“Nickayla, this is home.” His voice is firm when he speaks. I can’t stop my overactive heart when this boy opens his mouth. “This is where we met.” He points across the lake to where his mother’s house sits, then up to the second floor window, which used to be the window to his bedroom. “I was having a rough night. My dad had just given me a beating a few days before, and I was feeling lonely, depressed—I felt like complete shit. Then I heard your car pull in, and it scared the fuck out of me. I thought you were my dad coming back for round 397. But you got out of the car and stripped off your sweater and jumped in the lake.” He pauses, turning to look at me. “I swear, I was in love with you before you even hit the water. It’s not for the reason you think, though. It wasn’t because I have some hero complex or something. It was because I could see you were broken even before you told me so. And I thought that maybe if you let me in, the broken pieces of both of us could come together and somehow form some semblance of a whole. I did want to fix you that night, Nickayla. But I never counted on you fixing me right back. I never counted on you loving me back.” Sighing, he leads me toward the table. “Anyway. This is home. It’s home because whenever you stray away from me, I know I can find you here. And when I stray away from you, this is where I want to be. This is where we met, where you told me that you needed time instead of running, where I opened my college acceptance letters and spent my first Thanksgiving with a real family, where I met the girl I knew I would love for the rest of my life. And I’m so sorry that I tarnished those amazing memories by giving you some horrible memories to look back on.”
His entire speech has me reeling. This is the first time he’s really spoken to me since our breakup, and I’m rendered speechless at all he’s just said, all he’s held in for so long.
“I was hoping by bringing you here, maybe we can make some wonderful new memories to replace the bad ones with.” He kisses me on the forehead. “So, happy birthday. I’m hoping today can be the start.”
I cock an eyebrow and glance up at him. “The start of what?”
Pulling out my chair for me, Colin remains silent. He watches as I take a seat, and then pushes the chair fractionally before he takes his own seat. He reaches for the chilled bottle of apple cider that’s sitting on the table, filling both of our champagne flutes with it. He hands one to me, and then lifts his own as he leans across the table. I take the flute from him and lift mine, although I’m unsure of what he’s going to respond with. “The start of something new. Something more. And maybe, just maybe…something better.”
As much as I miss him, as much as I love him, as much as my heart years for him and my body craves his touch, I’m not ready to let him back in. Not yet.
“Colin, you know I love you,” I tell him, “but I’m not sure how I feel about giving you a second chance right now.”
He nods with a wide smile plastered upon his face. He doesn’t look disappointed at all. It’s like what I’ve said doesn’t even faze him.
“That’s okay,” he replies. “I’ll be here fighting for you until you can. I’ll wait for you.”
His words strike a chord and I’m hoping he’ll stop talking soon because if he doesn’t, I’ll be putty in his hands.
I’m not sure if I want him to wait for me, and that’s because I’m not sure when I’ll be ready to be with him again. There’s so much damage that was done, I don’t know where we’d begin trying to fix it all.
However, after his speech, after that kiss earlier, I know for a fact that I want to as long as he wants to.
I examine the spread upon the table, surprised to find that there’s a buffet of Chinese food sitting in front of us.
“I thought we had reservations tonight,” I say, trying to spark up a conversation after I basically just shut down his advances. “At least, that’s what my mom told me.”
He smiles. “We did. But I canceled them after our…argument at the lake house. After I decided that I needed to fight for you in a way that I haven’t before. So I figured dinner at a fancy restaurant was too cliche, and I thought you deserved better than that.”
Nodding, I reach for a box of the Chinese food and serving myself some kung pao chicken, then following suit with shrimp fried rice and shrimp egg foo yung. Watching as Colin serves himself, I silently take a bite of my own food.
“So who did you call to organize this date for you?” I ask.
He looks up from his plate with a questioning glance. His eyebrow raises and he takes a bite of his food. “What do you mean?” he replies after he’s finished the bite he’s taken.
I lean forward. “Usually, with stuff like this, you’ve talked to Michele or Br
ody about what you should do for me. So, which one did you call this time?”
He puts his fork down and laughs lightly, leaning forward on his elbows as he stares intently at me. Shaking his head so that his hair flies around his face, he gives me a crooked smile. “Nickayla, we’ve been together for over a year. I’ve known you for longer. I know what you like and what you don’t like. I know that every time we order Chinese, you won’t eat fried rice unless there’s shrimp in it. You always need kung pao chicken. Egg foo yung is mandatory. You hate roses. You’ll accept lilies, even though you think they’re the type of flower you give a sick grandmother, but you’d rather have peonies or Gerber daisies.” He nods his head in the general direction of a silver cake dish. “Your favorite kind of cake is red velvet with cream cheese frosting. You won’t accept anything less than a corner piece.” He points to a gift bag. “When you open that gift, you’re expecting that I’ve given you something from the heart, rather than something I bought from the store. In fact, you hated the gifts I sent you that were store-bought. You loved the scrapbook and the mason jar most of all.” He grins and waves his hand in the direction of the lake. “You hate when I take you out to fancy restaurants, because you’re not a big fan of crowds since what happened with Kyle, and if you wanted me to take you anywhere to celebrate privately, you’d want me to bring you here.” He pauses. “I didn’t have to call anyone for help this time. Because I know you, and I love you, and I knew that if I had any chance of even getting you to come to dinner with me, I’d have to pull out all the stops and show you how much I still love you, and how much I always will.”
I don’t know what to say. Everything he’s said tonight so far has been right. He’s said all the right things and done all the right things, and with each passing moment, it becomes harder and harder to resist him. With every crooked smile, it becomes increasingly more difficult to keep from flying across this table and kissing him like I’ve never kissed him before. With every word he says, I fall harder, fall deeper, fall more in love with him, and my heart is slipping past the wall I put around it after our breakup and right into his hands.
Almost Everything (Nickayla Quinn Trilogy Book 2) Page 23