The Year We Hid Away

by Bowen, Sarina

  That was certainly true.

  “…But I haven’t ever stopped thinking about you. Not one single day. Your mother told me that if I made myself scarce, they would give you everything. She told this to me during prison visiting hours, honey. I sat there in my shitty orange uniform and believed her.”

  It still wouldn’t quite sink in. Except that I could practically hear my mother’s voice in that story. She’d rather eat nails than have a baby out of wedlock with a criminal. My whole life, she’d made decisions based upon appearances. And she’d paid the price.

  God, how depressing.

  “What now?” I asked.

  Brian opened his hands. “No matter what those assholes in New Hampshire try to do to me, my door is open to you. I’m finished being afraid of them.”

  “I need to think,” I said, rubbing my temples with two hands. My eyes felt sandy with exhaustion. It had been the most emotional day of my life, and I didn’t even know what to say to him. “I think we should see each other again over my Christmas break,” I suggested.

  His face softened. “Can we? I just hate dropping this bomb on you and then driving away. But I have to be in Massachusetts tomorrow morning. An ex-con can’t ever blow off his job. There might not be another one.”

  I nodded. “I know you took time off from work to help Bridger.”

  “I wanted to.” His voice was rough again. “I’m going to head home now, then. Be safe, Sweetie.” He stood up. So I did too. He stepped close to me, hugging me again just as hard as when I’d seen him in the coffee shop a few days ago. That fierce hug made even more sense now than it had then. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I truly am.”

  “I know it,” I said.

  Bridger held out a hand. “Thank you for everything. And I’m sorry I got a little crazy there a minute ago.”

  Brian shook my boyfriend’s hand. “Bridger, you are a man who protects the people he loves. There’s nothing wrong with that. Goodnight to you both. We’ll talk soon.”

  After Brian left, Bridger and I sat there a minute. “Jesus. Are you okay?” he asked me.

  “I will be.” My reality had been transformed in the past few hours. It was all going to take some time to understand. But when I stood up from that booth, Bridger stood up, too. And he took my hand. Together we walked out of Capri’s, and through the streets of our college town. As we waited for a traffic light, the warm heel of his hand rested on my lower back, and I felt calm.

  When I’d driven away from my childhood home on Labor Day, I’d been so alone. But I wasn’t anymore. In silence, we walked back to Beaumont. I followed Bridger up to his room, and he kissed me on the forehead at the top of the stairs.

  “Sleep will help,” Bridger said, fishing his keys out of his pocket.

  The moment he said it, I yawned on command.

  “I’m going to tuck you into my bed,” he said. “And we’re going to watch a pointless movie on my computer.”

  “God, don’t pick a drama,” I teased. “We’ve had enough of that.”

  He grinned. “We are going strictly comedy for awhile. You can even choose a chick flick. As long as the couple gets naked before the credits roll, I’ll hang with it.”

  We went inside his room, and I closed the door. “If you want naked people, we don’t need the movie,” I pointed out.

  Bridger turned to look at me, a smile playing on his lips. “You are a smart girl, aren’t you?” He removed his sport coat, hanging it on the back of the desk chair. And then he crossed the room to me, pushing the hair back off my shoulders. He pressed his lips to my cheekbone. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He dropped tiny kisses along the side of my face. “I mean, it’s not every day that you find out that you’re your own cousin.”

  I giggled into his neck. “I will be okay,” I told him, reaching up to loosen the knot in his tie. “As soon as I get your hands on me.” He yanked the tie off, and then I went to work on the buttons of his dress shirt.

  We’d been alone in his room for four sad nights. We held each other, but nothing more. Now that Lucy would soon be back, I could think of no better way to use up the last few hours of privacy. I needed to stop thinking about the traumatic revelations of the day. And I wanted his skin against mine, his touch taking me out of my own head.

  The gleam in Bridger’s eye as I undressed him was a thing of beauty. It made me feel powerful. He leaned in to kiss me as I pushed the shirt off his shoulders. “Patience!” I demanded, ducking out of the way. I did it just because I could. Stepping back, I eased my own shirt over my head, teasing him. And when I could see him again, that interested gleam in his eyes had ignited into full-blown desire.

  He was watching me. So I skimmed my hands down my belly and drew the zipper of my jeans down slowly. “You’re killing me right now,” he said.

  “Good.” I began to ease the fabric down off my hips. But before I got very far, Bridger was there, sinking to his knees in front of me, kissing the deep V of skin I’d revealed below my belly button. Holy hell, that felt good. Then he yanked down my jeans and began nuzzling me, his lips ghosting over my silk panties.

  A shocked whimper escaped me. I could feel the heat of his breath on all my most sensitive places. Then he opened his mouth, and the friction of warm, wet satin against my body was almost too much. I felt my knees begin to buckle.

  Strong hands clamped around my hips, and I heard a muffled chuckle. “Lie down, baby.” He set me onto the bed and then with one big tug removed my jeans and socks. “You said you wanted my hands on you,” he said. “How about my mouth?” Without waiting for an answer, he began dropping wet, open-mouthed kisses down my belly and onto my hip. I trembled with anticipation.

  This wasn’t something I’d ever done before, and I wondered if maybe I’d be too self-conscious to enjoy it. But Bridger’s gentle kisses circled and teased. And when he finally landed at his intended destination, it seemed that the day’s revelations weren’t over yet. My body lit up like the Christmas tree in the center of Fresh Court, and I pushed all the day’s worries right out of my conscious mind.

  An hour later, we lay collapsed together in a sweaty heap. I traced my fingers along Bridger’s ribs, feeling limp and blissed-out. I could feel his heart thumping under my ear. From next door, I could hear the muffled sounds of Andy’s TV. “I hope that fire door is thick.”

  Bridger chuckled. “Will you freak out if I tell you that you’re kind of a screamer?”

  My heart stuttered at the very idea. I still thought of myself as a good girl. A very good girl. In spite of a pile of evidence to the contrary. “I won’t freak out,” I said, while freaking out a little. “But I will be embarrassed, and try to reign it in.”

  “That’s a shame,” Bridger said. “Because it’s really hot.”

  “Do you promise?”

  He rolled so that we could lie eye-to-eye. “Best. Thing. Ever,” he whispered. “You make me feel like a sexy beast.”

  “You are a sexy beast.”

  His eyes flared. “What would you say if I told you that the beast wanted some celebratory ice cream.”

  I considered the idea. “I’d say it’s cold outside. And we’re not wearing any clothes.”

  “We can get dressed and go out for dessert. When we come back, I’m going to undress you again.” He let his fingers drift down my naked back, grazing my bottom. It felt so good that I shifted suggestively against him. I couldn’t help myself. “Mmm…” Bridger said, kissing my ear. “Ice cream first. Because you’re going to need the calories. I plan to make this an all-nighter.”

  I slid off of him and began hunting for my clothes. It was hard to argue with that logic, even if the only kind of all-nighter I’d ever before had was the kind where you cram for a test. Though getting naked with Bridger was certainly instructive. I felt insecure about that, too. He had so much more experience than I did. It probably showed.

  “What’s that frown for?” he asked, pulling open a dresser drawer. “We can stay in if you w
ant.”

  “It’s not that,” I said with a shake of my head. “I like your idea of fun.”

  Bridger grinned, and I noticed that he was fixing to go commando in his jeans. “Then what’s the matter?”

  “Absolutely nothing. It’s just that I hope I… please you.”

  He looked up quickly, the grin still in place. “Like you can’t tell?”

  “Well…” I couldn’t really. I knew his body reacted to mine. That was obvious. But I also knew that I was still only beginning to learn all the ways there were to touch him. “I hope that if there’s some way I could improve, you’d tell me.”

  He dropped a shirt back into the drawer and closed the distance between us. “Every time is better than the last,” he said, cupping my face in one of his big hands. “Don’t you ever think you’re inadequate, Scarlet. Experience isn’t important.”

  “I don’t have a complex about it, Bridge. But sometimes I wonder if you used to have more fun…”

  He shook his head. “That’s not how it works, although I didn’t understand that until I met you.”

  “Understand what?”

  He came so close to me that all I could see were those luminous green eyes. “You’re the best I ever had, Scarlet. Because I love you. When other people touched me, it felt good. But when you touch me, it feels good and it also means something. And that’s potent.”

  He ducked his head to kiss the sensitive spot underneath my ear. “Mmm,” I said in appreciation.

  I skimmed my hands over his bare chest, and he groaned. “Honestly,” he said. “You make me feel like a teenager again. We don’t get that many chances to be together, so I have to fantasize about you all the time.”

  The idea made my skin heat. “Not tonight.”

  “You’re right,” he swatted me gently on the backside. “Now put a shirt on, because I need me some Ben & Jerry’s.”

  After we both dressed, and I’d brushed out my I-just-had-sex hair, Bridger tapped on Andy’s door. “You want anything from Scoops?” he called.

  The door opened a few seconds later, and I made myself busy flipping through Bridger’s copy of our Music Theory textbook. As if Andy was really going to believe I’d been sitting here reading tonight.

  “Are we celebrating your victory?”

  “Yeah. Lucy comes back tomorrow.” Andy grinned, holding up a hand for a high five. “So. You want ice cream?”

  “Sure. Can I tag along? I need to get away from this chemistry book for a few minutes.”

  “Get a coat.”

  With Bridger holding my hand, we went out into the chilly night. The courtyards and pathways were still. Harkness was a quiet place during exams, except for a few end-of-year festivities. “Hey, Andy? Isn’t your date with Katie tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Unless she’s changed her mind.”

  “She wouldn’t do that.” I protested. “Katie is great. You have to look beyond the Barbie hair and the shiny lip gloss. There’s a really generous person under there.”

  “Cool,” he said. “And speaking of generous, Hartley was looking for you earlier, Bridge.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He’s got the hockey team all organized. Some of them are going to help you plan a funeral, and other guys are going to help you clean out your mom’s house.”

  Bridger flinched. “I don’t know if I want anyone’s help with that.”

  I squeezed his hand. “Tomorrow, right? We deal tomorrow.”

  “Good plan.” He squeezed back.

  We were finishing our cones when my phone rang. It was my mother calling. I refused the call, but she tried again a minute later.

  “Tomorrow,” Bridger murmured.

  That sounded fine to me. The problem was that I’d upset the applecart by talking to the prosecutor. And if Azzan and friends didn’t like it, they might get in the car and drive here to express their displeasure in person. “I’ve got to take this. But I think I know how to get rid of them. Wish me luck.”

  First, I pulled up that phone call recording app that Luke had told me about. After activating it, I answered my mother’s call.

  “What have you DONE?” she screeched.

  “Don’t you dare scream at me,” I said.

  There was a brief silence, perhaps because my demand surprised her. “Azzan needs to speak to you. The police were back today, and he thinks you might be involved.”

  “Why would he think that?” I asked, wondering what she’d say.

  “I don’t know. But you will answer his questions.”

  “Only if you answer mine. Mom, did you authorize Azzan to follow me and read all of my texts and emails?”

  There was a pause. “Of course not.”

  “Did Dad, then?”

  Another pause. “No.”

  “Thank you. Because having me tailed isn’t what I thought you meant when you said that family was supposed to help family.”

  She ignored that. “When are you coming home for the holidays?”

  “I’m not, Mom.”

  Her sigh was like a fire-breathing dragon’s. “You are. And you’ll pack appropriate clothing for appearing in a courtroom.”

  “None of that is going to happen…” I heard her winding up to yell, so I spoke quickly. “…And you’re going to shut up a minute and let me tell you why.” I took a deep breath. “I’m done. All I want from you is my tuition. You pay the bursar bills and leave me alone. And if you try to involve me in the case, I’m giving an interview to the New York Times.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would. And the first thing I’d tell them was that you lied to me for my entire life.”

  On the other end of the line, my mother gasped. “I’ll kill him.”

  “You can’t. Because I figured it out for myself. I read the newspaper too, Mom.” I was ad libbing this part. But I could tell that she was freaking out well enough to believe me. “One of the longer articles talked about Brian. It mentioned adoption. There was a picture, too. And my boyfriend said ‘you look just like your uncle.’”

  I glanced up at Bridger. He was watching me, admiration on his face.

  “I put it together myself,” I lied. Even though I was still upset with Brian for his part in the deception, I didn’t need to throw him under the bus to make my point. “I’m sure the newspaper would be very interested in those facts. It really speaks to Dad’s credibility, you know?”

  “Don’t do this,” she said, her voice broken.

  “Okay,” I said, my own voice rock steady. “Just let me be a student, and don’t expect to hear from me. Now give the phone to Azzan.”

  For a minute I didn’t hear anything at all. A couple of hundred miles away, my mother was having either a breakdown or a strategy session. Just when I was about ready to hang up, the Asshole of the Year came on the line.

  “Shannon,” he said, his voice gruff.

  “Brrr!” I said, giving him the buzzer. “Try again. You want to talk to me, use my name.”

  “You little bitch.”

  “That’s not it either.” By now I must have completely lost my mind. Because talking back was starting to be fun. “Azzan, it’s illegal to track somebody’s phone messages without their consent. And it’s illegal to threaten my boyfriend to keep me under your thumb.”

  “Now you’re just whining,” he said. “Tell me what happened today. Why were you inside an office building on South Street?”

  “If you want to know, I need you to apologize.”

  In the silence that followed, I could practically feel the waves of aggression coming at me through the ether. “I do my job,” he spat.

  That wasn’t good enough for my purposes. I needed to get him to cop to some of the crap he’d been pulling on me. “You do it illegally,” I tried.

  “I was never going to plant drugs in your boyfriend’s dormitory room, you little bitch. And good luck proving that I said it.”

  Yes! I shot out of my chair, grinning like a maniac
. Across from me, Bridger raised an eyebrow. But I could probably get him to say even more. “There’s no way for you to know where I was this afternoon.”

  “Your parents pay for your phone. If they installed some tracking software on it, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Interesting,” I said. Because my mother had blown that theory, and I had it on tape. “Well, it’s been fun talking to you tonight. But I’m afraid we’re not going to keep having these chats. Ask my mother — she’ll tell you why.”

  I disconnected the call and then stared at the recording app. I’d tested it ten days ago, but only once.

  “What’s going on?” Bridger asked.

  “Hang on. I can probably show you.” A few seconds later, the app chimed. Recording Saved, the screen read. I tapped the “share” button, and shared the call with Bridger. “Can you check your email? I need to know if this worked.”

  He took out his phone and tapped it. “What do I do? Follow this link?”

  “Yeah.”

  He waited, and thirty seconds later I heard something. Bridger tapped “speaker” and then my mother’s voice came from the phone, denying that she’d authorized my electronic tail.

  Bridger and Andy listened to the whole thing, wincing whenever Azzan called me a bitch. But when it was over, Bridger grinned. “You are sneaky.”

  I paced the ice cream place, too amped up to sit down. “Don’t cross me this week, guys. Because I’m kicking ass and taking names.” Then I “shared” the conversation I’d recorded with Azzan, and also with my techie friend Luke. Then I put on my coat and practically skipped back to Beaumont beside Bridger and Andy.

  That night, I had the familiar dream again. But this time, it played out a little differently. The puck disappeared into a dark place. And when I skated over to retrieve it, the hole had transformed. This time, there were two rectangular doors in the ice. In the dream, I knew it was urgent that I get them open. But there were no handles on the doors.

  And I was afraid of the sounds coming from within.