by P. Dangelico
Fuck. I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to even think about it. “I had a fight with my mother.”
She nods, expression thoughtful. “Okay. I’ll p-pick you up on Saturday.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Smiling. “See you Saturday.”
Chapter Eleven
Dora
I. Am. Trash.
I am. I am trash for this boy. That’s the only valid explanation for how I got talked into driving him to and fro the shelter on the regular. He comes around to the passenger side of the car wearing a grin so big there are creases in his lean cheeks.
“Hey,” he says, sliding into the seat.
“Hey.” I dare not glance over at him but his examination of me weighs heavy. Instead, I focus on backing the car out of his driveway and paying attention to the traffic before my wayward thoughts get us both killed.
He punches a button on my iPhone and before I can stop him More Than This by Roxie Music blasts through Bernadette’s speakers. I scramble to turn it off.
“What the fuck was that?”
That hits a nerve. I may be trash, but I will not be anyone’s fool ever again. “You have a d-dirty mouth.”
“Babe, you have no idea.” My face turns red-hot. He checks me out and shrugs. “Maybe you do.”
Silence falls between us, and I turn up the music in protest. “My d-dad made the playlist. He gave it t-to me with this car for my birthday. So please don’t insult my car or the music. T-That’s all I ask of you.”
My dad, Evan, had an original Fiat 500 the summer my parents met. A junker he’d bought and fixed up. All the music on the playlist was from the year they fell in love. He’s very sentimental…I guess I am too.
Dallas stares at me for a long while, his glasses offering cover for whatever is going on in his head.
“I wasn’t making fun of you…I’m sorry if you thought that.”
I steal a glance and find him gazing out the window. The hand resting on his thigh is balled up in a fist. I’m fairly certain he could have anything he wants. He could probably have a Victoria’s Secrets model drive him around if he wished it. So why me?
“I don’t mean to be forward, but…aren’t you wealthy? D-Don’t your parents like, own a bank or something?”
“No, they’re richer than that,” he casually returns. “And it’s my grandfather’s company. Have you heard of Anders-Burns?”
“The beer?”
“Nobody ever remembers the spiked seltzers and energy drinks which are really solid products if I don’t say so myself.”
“I-I’ll take your word for it. M-My point is why haven’t you g-gotten a fancy driver?”
“Kitten…” He lowers his sunglasses and peers at me over the top of them, “why would I need a fancy driver when I get to spend time with you instead?”
“That’s n-nonsense. And…and c-can we agree that you will stop calling me that?”
“No. I like it and it suits you.”
I want to bang my head against the steering wheel and yet I can’t. I cannot because I’m driving sixty miles-per-hour down one of the most dangerous highways in America. Nothing about this makes any sense.
My gaze absently falls on the small shark tattoo on his calf. “Do you miss playing…water polo?” He turns to look at me and it’s intense. I’ve never seem him look so serious. When he doesn’t answer, I press. “If you d-don’t want to t-talk about it––”
“That’s not it,” he says, cutting me off.
“Then what?”
He looks lost in thought––faraway. “It’s the first time anyone’s asked me.”
“Oh…do you?”
“Yeah”––he nods––“yeah, I do. You never really know how important something is until it’s gone.” He won’t get an argument from me.
I pull onto Ocean Drive and park behind the shelter. I’ve volunteered here the last two years and I have one more until I move back East and start over in New York. I’m already missing this place and I’m not even gone yet.
He seems to be in a strange mood, down when he’s usually trying to tease me. But some things are best left alone, so I don’t poke at it.
“Are you coming?” I ask as I get out of the car.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Dallas, would you mind grabbing the poles for the fencing and bring them to Stuart. He’s starting on the outdoor kennels today,” Vi says. She’s in the middle of lugging a wheelbarrow full of loose rocks to the dumpster.
Seeing Vi, who’s maybe a hundred pounds wet, struggle to push the thing over the uneven terrain, Dallas drops the hose and goes to grab the wheelbarrow from her.
A month and a half has passed since he started working at the shelter. Three times a week. Spending all this time together has been both the worst and best thing that’s ever happened to me. On one hand, it’s absolute torture of the sweetest kind. On the other, I dread the day it’s over and I have to go back to seeing him sparingly and knowing how much fun it was.
And missing him. Because I will. I’ll miss him terribly. He completed the community service hours he needs for his plea deal a week ago. Vi and Mika told me. He hasn’t mentioned it once.
Vi makes a grateful face. “Thank you. My shoulders can’t take any more abuse.”
While he pushes it to the dumpster with ease, Vi and I take a moment of silence and watch. We’ve been working outside at the Abbott Kinney location, clearing garbage all morning, and his t-shirt mysteriously came off at some point. I almost fell on my face when I looked up and found it missing.
His bronze skin glistens with sweat, making the chain mail tattoo look like shiny metal, muscles straining in the best way possible. And his shorts…good lord, his shorts are slung low to the top of his curvy glutes.
“He is such a fucking catch. If I was straight…”
He’s great. He really is. So how do I get rid of this hopeless crush I have on him, one that I am one hundred percent certain I will take to the grave as unrequited, if I’m constantly having to face the reality that––aside from swearing way too much––Dallas is one of the most decent people I’ve ever known.
“You guys coming together tonight?” Vi asks, rubbing her skinny biceps. She sits on the picnic bench and pushes the short sleeves of her Marilyn Manson 1998 tour t-shirt over her shoulders, tips her pale face up to the sun. Her hair is pink today.
Vi and Mika, along with a bunch of Mika’s celebrity clients, are throwing a fundraiser tonight, a carnival. All proceeds are going to finish building the new and improved shelter. They’re still fifty thousand short.
Way to put me on the spot, Vi.
Cringing, I glance up from raking and and run right into Dallas’s alert gaze. He drops the empty wheelbarrow, and watching me, says “Yes,” without hesitation.
I am a deer caught in his headlights, super self-conscious that we are being watched by Vi and Stuart, the construction guy. We’ve never been anywhere together like an event or a party. There’s always been purpose to our time together. If we go to this fundraiser, we’re entering uncharted waters––dangerous territory. We can no longer legit pretend it’s a friendship of convenience anymore.
“What time are you picking me up?”
What time what time what time…
His forehead wrinkles as if in deep concentration. “How about seven-thirty? We can grab something to eat before,” he continues.
I have yet to say a word.
Smirking, he picks up the empty wheelbarrow again and pushes it past me, stops. “Do you like sushi?” I nod. “Okay, good.” He wheels away, headed for Stuart.
Dallas
“Cotton candy?” I say to the girl walking next to me. Dora’s always quiet, but more so tonight. “Ice cream? Peanuts?”
“I’m still f-full from the sushi…t-thank you again. It really was the best I’ve ever had.”
“That’s the third time you’ve thanked me, Dora. It’s just dinner, not a kidney.”
“I-I�
��ve never been to Nobu Malibu…p-probably never will again. It was really nice of you t-to do that…you d-didn’t have to.”
And uncomfortable feeling churns in my gut. I’ve taken plenty of girls there. Girls whose names I couldn’t remember by the time we walked out. None of them thanked me once. I almost forgot what it’s like to go out with someone whose company I actually enjoy. Someone whose name I’ll never forget. Someone I care about.
She looks off blindly, lost in thought, and I can’t stop watching her. Most people I know can’t stand not being the center of attention. They seek the spotlight every chance they get. Me included. But not this girl. Which make me want to stare even more.
“You haven’t said anything about how nice I look––not a single word. Jesus Christ, I mean, I made the effort, Dora. Put on real clothes for you. I even combed my hair and you didn’t even notice.”
A huge grin breaks across her face, her eyes glinting with amusement. I have on a white dress shirt and a pair of jeans. I’ve never been a clothes guy. Dora on the other hand looks beautiful in a denim-colored summer dress that makes her hair look redder than usual.
It’s down and sexy, but it’s nothing compared to her lips. Glossy and full. I’ve been picturing eating that gloss off her lips since she picked me up. For a dude of my vast experience, it’s embarrassing how excited I was to go out with her tonight, and I’m not even making excuses. It has nothing to do with the very real fact that I haven’t hooked up in months because I’m not even remotely interested. And not for lack of opportunity. I mean, let’s face it, I’m still me. Karen showed up at the house two nights ago uninvited. I told Brock to send her home.
“You look b-beautiful,” she says making a big deal of checking me out.
“Took you long enough.” She giggles, the crowd parts, and the Ferris wheel comes into view. “C’mon. Let’s get on.” Glancing up with a pained expression, she shakes her head. “Why not?”
Another face. “I’m s-scared of heights.”
I’m pretty sure I saw Ferris wheel on her list. Probably not a good idea to remind her that I snooped on her phone, but we’ve already established I’m full of bad ideas.
Pointing to the spinning wheel. “Isn’t this on your list?” The blush is instant. “Time to knock one off.” I take her hand and she lets me lead her to the end of the line. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I-I am really scared of heights and I mean really.”
“Do you trust me?”
Honey-brown eyes search my face, open with her feelings but closed with her thoughts.
“Yeah…I do.”
A satisfied grin stretches across my face.
Dora
I. Am. Dead.
Can you die of fright? Because I’m pretty sure I’m almost there.
“Keep the bar down. Keep your hands inside the gondola. Don’t do anything to intentionally cause the gondola to swing more,” the tobacco chewing operator drones on.
The only reason I’m even considering getting on this steel wheel of death is because Mika and Vi would never hire anyone that hasn’t passed inspection.
Standing next to me, Dallas is all glowing smiles as he hands the operator our tickets. He actually tried to tame his hair tonight. He wasn’t kidding. When I saw him walk out of the house dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans, his hair pushed behind his ear, my heart nearly stopped. Then he made me drive us to that amazing restaurant. He opened all the doors and pulled out my chair. If it was anybody else, I would’ve considered it a date.
In the open gondola, he sits so close he’s practically in my lap, his denim-covered thigh glued to mine. My teeth close to chattering, I scoot even closer. The operator lowers the safety bar with a loud bang that jolt me out of my skin.
“Chill, Kitten. I’ve got you.”
A heavy arm drapes around my shoulders. I’m wrapped in heat, in the solid comforting weight of him. He’s better than a security blanket. He’s better than everything.
“Ready?”
“No.”
I’m shaking, honest-to-goodness shaking. Sensing it, his arm tightens. The Ferris wheel lurches forward for the next group to get on and I yelp. He laughs as I huddle closer to him, my hands grabbing fists-full of his shirt. Hope it’s not expensive because I am not letting go.
“You break it you buy it,” the obnoxious jerk chuckles near my ear as I hang on to him for dear life and slam my eyes shut.
“I-I-I told you this was going to be bad.”
“Open your eyes.”
“No, I’m t-too scared.”
Flying blind is the only thing keeping me sane right now. That and his warmth, his weight, his scent. A mix of fabric detergent and expensive soap––the kind you buy at a department store. He smells so good it’s driving me crazy. I’ve never done drugs but I’m mostly certain that they feel like Dallas smells. If I could do lines of him, I would.
“Open your eyes,” he murmurs again.
One at a time, I crack them open and the first thing I see is the soft smile on his face, that wicked smirk that tells me he’s amusing himself. Then I see the coastline.
It’s a cloudless night. The moon casting a pretty glow on the carnival. But that’s not where my attention wanders. It goes straight to the tapestry of lights blanketing the coastline. Between Dallas’s face and this view, the view is a very close second in stunning natural beauty.
“Wow.”
“Aren’t you glad you trusted me?”
I nod. “T-Thank you for d-doing this…I w-would’ve never had the c-courage to do it alone.”
“That’s what friends are for, right?”
Searching his face for doubt, I find none. “Are we friends? Like––r-real friends?”
“You’re my real friend…am I yours?”
All I can do is nod. The emotional pile-up in my throat won’t allow any words to come out.
It’s chilly up this high, windy too. My hair flies in my face and gets stuck in my lips gloss. Before I can peel my fingers away from his shirt, Dallas pushes it off my face and tucks it behind my ear. All the while he stares at my mouth like he did that night in October when he thought I was someone else. Like he wants to devour me. Like I’m somebody he desires instead of the girl that will one day die of unrequited longing.
Leaning in, he places the softest, tiniest, smallest kiss on my lips. It’s so brief that if I wasn’t completely focused on him with every nerve ending in my body, I might have missed it. He pulls back and blinks, a confused sexy boy that acts on impulse then second-guesses himself.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he mumbles.
I’m so embarrassed I do the only thing I can to save face. I say, “Done what?”
The sound of an incoming text has him tugging his phone out of his front pocket and I’m literally saved by the bell.
Glancing at the screen, his face falls. “Fuck,” he says in a low voice.
“What is it?” I blurt-out, alarmed at his expression.
His eyes meet mine. “Brian’s dead.”
Chapter Twelve
Dallas
Rea went missing. By the time I got back home, he was already gone and his phone was turned off.
“The Jeep’s gone,” Brock reports the minute I step through the door.
But I know where to look. Ten minutes later, I find him sitting in the bleachers of the aquatics center bent over with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Heart heavy, I approach.
“Hey,” I say, taking the seat next to him. All the lights are off with the exception of the ones in the pool. As if the mood wasn’t already dark enough, the lights cast and a fucked up eery glow.
“Everyone’s worried,” I start with the obvious.
Rea wipes his face and stares ahead. He nods. “I needed to think.”
“I get it…” We fall into silence.
“How’d you get here?”
“Took Cole’s bike. He d
oesn’t know it yet.” I smirk because Rea knows the punchline. The Ducati is Cole’s favorite thing in the world. He definitely will not be happy to find his baby missing, but I had no other choice.
“Driving with a suspended license…cool.” He shakes his head and we both chuckle.
“I’m gonna miss this place,” I muse out loud. We both glance around, at all the NCAA Championship banners hanging from the ceilings, three of which we helped win for this school.
“Thunder and Lighting will forever go down in the Malibu U history books.”
Thunder and Lightning: the nicknames given to us by a national NCAA reporter our freshman year after the assist that won us our first title.
“Forever in infamy, you mean,” Rea corrects drily. “It was good while it lasted.” Then his face folds, like he’s fighting tears.
“I’m so sorry, man, but you gotta know you did everything you could to help him.”
“Did I?” he croaks, ripped to shit over it.
“Yeah, you did. You went above and beyond. I don’t have a blood brother––you and the twins are the only brothers I’ll ever know––so I won’t insult you by saying I know how you feel. The thing is, you can’t save someone from themselves…I watched my mother try really hard to destroy herself for years.”
“What saved her?”
“Dumb luck and money. She took the sailboat out in a storm and it wasn’t the first time. She did it a lot when I was a kid, during her manic episodes…The last time she finally crashed the boat and almost drowned. My grandfather had her committed for a while. She got clean.” I shrug. “That was five years ago and not a day goes by that I don’t think I’m going to get a call telling me it happened again…or worse.”
“Then why do I feel responsible?”
The million dollar question.
He’s too far in the weeds of his pain to hear me now, but I’m gonna try anyway and hope he remembers it later.
“Because we all want to believe that we’re not as powerless as we really are….control is an illusion, dude. Give yourself a break.”