The Tenth Girl

by Aarons, Carrie

  Cain’s green eyes are slits, and I can tell he’s pissed. Grady is parked next to his car, and he can hear us. So can a gaggle of students procrastinating going home, having conversations in the parking lot.

  “Why should I have to tell you we’re done when I didn’t even say that anything was started?”

  Oh, fuck this. “You’re a piece of shit.”

  I stomp up and wave my middle finger so close to his face that he could bite it if he wanted to. And then I stalk off, every muscle in my body singing with anger at how tight I’m tensing them.

  I’m not sure how far I walk, or how many tears I let escape, but a horn sound breaks through Taylor Swift’s “Teardrops on my Guitar” about ten minutes later. I’m halfway home, walking down the shoulder of one of the many farm roads in Haven, and I turn. I see Cain driving slowly next to me, his truck matching my pace.

  Ignoring him, I keep walking. He speeds up, he’s talking out of the open side of his truck where the driver’s door should be, and I wrench my neck the other way so I don’t have to look at him.

  A minute later, he’s parked, hopped out and is standing in front of me. Blocking my path.

  His big, warm hands go to my shoulders, and I brush him off. Pulling an earbud out, I hiss through my teeth, “Leave me alone.”

  “I’m sorry, okay?” Those pools, the colors of freshly-mowed grass, won’t look at my face.

  “Psh, yeah, you sound really apologetic. You’re an asshole, Cain. You can’t even admit that what we’re doing is—”

  I’m about to say dating, which will dig me even deeper into the heartbreak hole, when he interrupts me.

  “I’m having a shitty day, okay?”

  Cain’s entire tone changes, and a somber look steals over his face. I’m still enraged and feel like my heart is split in two, but I can’t help asking what’s wrong. He never admits to feeling a thing … this is a first.

  “What’s going on?”

  His shoulders shrug and his arms hang limply by his side. For a guy who always look like Hercules … right now, he looks defeated.

  “I haven’t heard from my dad in four days. That’s never happened before.” I can see the pain radiating from his eyes.

  He doesn’t have to say that he thinks his father might be injured … or worse. We all know what goes on in war zones.

  Immediately, my malice toward him evaporates. I reach a hand out, place it on his bicep. “Maybe he’s just in a remote part of wherever he is. Maybe he isn’t allowed to reach out right now.”

  Cain steps into my embrace, surprising me. “Or maybe he’s dead.” His assumption is muffled.

  “Don’t think like that.” I hug him to me, in the middle of the dirt shoulder of this road.

  We stand like this, intertwined, as he breathes me in. My heart sews itself back together at the sight where it started to tear just an hour ago. He wasn’t ignoring me, he was trying to shut out the world.

  “Sometimes, when I miss my dad more than I usually do, I watch A Few Good Men,” I confess, stroking my hands up and down his strong, toned back.

  Through his T-shirt, I feel him tense and then shiver. His hands move up the column of my body, and around the back of my neck where he cups it, moving so that he can look into my eyes. “Why that movie?”

  It’s like we’re soothing each other with touch … it doesn’t much matter what the conversation is about. Right here, on a road where anyone could see us, we’re practically fore-playing.

  “My mom told me it was his favorite. Loved the cast, loved the plot … he almost went into the military because of it but then decided to be a firefighter instead.” I reach up, brushing my hands through his dark mop of hair.

  Cain presses his lips to mine, not kissing but speaking into them. “I’d be an orphan if I lost him. What would I even do?”

  And I can see, that this is his greatest fear. As someone who has had it happen, losing a father, I know how tragic it can be.

  “It’s a horrible thing, and you never recover. But the pain gets easier … even for me who doesn’t even remember how to picture my dad’s face. And you celebrate him in little ways, like watching his favorite movie or keeping a picture of him on your bedside table.”

  “I am sorry, babe.” He holds me tight to him. “Can you come over?”

  This will be a new step, another level to our relationship. I haven’t been over to Cain’s house yet, and have come to regard it as his sanctuary. Now, he’s inviting me in.

  I nod, and we climb into his truck.

  Four hours later, after we made a dinner of frozen pizza and green beans—the vegetables had been at my insistence because who knows the last time this eighteen-year-old boy who lived alone had eaten anything healthy—we sit on the floor of Cain’s room, looking at his grade school yearbooks.

  “Oh my gosh, look at MK.” I point to her first grade picture on the page and giggle. “She was so cute.”

  “Hey, I was cute too!” Cain’s voice holds offense.

  I stare at the photo of the little boy in a row of pictures. He’s got shaggy black hair, is missing a front tooth, and those green eyes gleam with a smile.

  “Yes, you were adorable.” I sit up on my knees and plant a kiss on his cheek.

  Tonight, I’ve learned so much more about Cain Kent. I perused his bookshelves. Okay, so maybe I pored over them, gathering insights about his interests by the titles on the spines. He’d read me some of his favorite passages, something so romantic that I’d nearly fainted. He also walked me through the house, reliving different memories as we walked past. The bottom step on the stairs that he chipped his front tooth on while trying to do the worm down the hallway in sixth grade. The wood-burning stove in the kitchen that had originally sat in his grandparents’ house forty years ago.

  My heart had fallen harder with each step through the canvas of Cain’s life.

  He yawns, stretching, and looks at the clock. “It’s getting late. Let’s go to bed.”

  Instantly, my palms start to sweat. “Cain …”

  He smooths a lock of my hair. “Not like that, Harper. You should know by now that I’m not going to push you for that. You have to tell me if and when you want to have sex. But tonight, I just want to sleep with you. As in, lie in the same bed together, feel you against me all night.”

  My heart fluttered. “But, what will I tell my mom?”

  He smirks. “You’ve never snuck out or told her you’d be somewhere you weren’t, huh?”

  I blush. “I told you I wasn’t that much of a social butterfly in Florida.”

  “Tell her you’re sleeping over MK’s. She’ll cover for us.” His eyes hypnotize me until I had the courage to lie.

  After my phone call to Mom, which was uneventful and she questioned me about nothing, I texted MK and she said of course she’d cover. And then added a wink face and sixteen exclamation points.

  I walk back into Cain’s bedroom, and he is already in bed, shirtless. I can’t see what is going on underneath the sheets, but I hope to God there are boxers or shorts because I already know I’m not going to be able to get any shut eye with his body next to mine.

  “Get in here.” He grins at me.

  God, he’s sexy. “What … I didn’t bring anything to wear.”

  “I left you a shirt there.” He points to the folded tee at the edge of the bed.

  Picking it up, I look around. While he’s seen me naked, I feel totally self-conscious changing right in front of him. “I’m just going to …”

  “You can change in the bathroom, babe.” He nods, understanding.

  After I change into his T-shirt, that comes down to my knees and smells just like Cain, I crawl into bed with him.

  “Mm, your hair smells amazing.” Cain scoops me up, pulling me into him.

  We’re entwined, our legs tangling as my arms go to his bare chest and his wrap around me. My core is slick, but my heart also soars. This isn’t about lust; not tonight. Cain needs comfort, and the sentiment i
n the air is one of compassion and coziness.

  “This is perfect. All I needed was your cuddles.” He buries his head in my hair, while my face burrows into his shoulder.

  “Good night, Cain.” I don’t know what else to say, because I don’t want to break the spell between us.

  That night, we sleep in each other’s arms. Touching, not in an erotic way, but just an exploration of the other’s body. It’s the most intimate thing I’ve ever done with another person.

  With every passing minute, I feel each piece of my heart turn against me, and mark itself as Cain’s. In the middle of the night, while he breathes softly, I stare at his gorgeous face.

  And realize that I’m in love with him.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Harper

  I’ve had too much to drink.

  The world starts spinning and I look at the red Solo cup in my hand, knowing that I’ve lost count. What is this, four, five? My mouth tastes like acidic beer, and the ground won’t seem to stay in once place.

  I felt more relaxed at this weekend’s party, knowing more people and on the arm of Cain. He is the golden boy, and I am his girl. So I participated in the merriment, in the flip cup game and the dancing as the country music floated over my head. I lost track of said boyfriend, well, I wasn’t sure how long ago. Mary-Kate had dared me to do a funnel and so I’d done one. And then another.

  It wasn’t like I’d never drank before. My first beer had been at the age of twelve when one of the older boys in the trailer park had offered me one from his six-pack. That was the way of life around there.

  But I wanted to celebrate. I’d written “the end” on my novel, and now I just had to market and publish it. Almost two years’ worth of my life, and I’d completed it. I felt on top of the world.

  But, I’d never been this wasted before. My stomach feels like it might upend itself at any moment.

  And then I bump into the one person I should avoid at all costs. “Ugh, stop grinding on me, you bitch.”

  I turn to see Annabelle, her perfect brown waves still intact on the humid night. Normally, I’d shrink away, not wanting the confrontation.

  But the beer fuels my inhibitions. “Oh, look, if it isn’t the queen bee herself! Everyone, let’s bow at her feet.”

  Annabelle looks like I’ve slapped her. “You should, trailer trash.”

  “Well, looks like your father lies down with trailer trash then! Because he sure does love my mother.” I’m being petty and childish, but I can’t stop.

  “Yeah, well, I already know what it’s like to lie down with that man of yours. Or wait, is he my man, then? I guess you got my sloppy seconds.” For the second time at a party I’d been to in this town, Annabelle Mills has brought my tower crumbling down.

  I’m wobbling on my feet, searching for Cain through the bodies before Annabelle even finished her sentence. When I finally find him, standing in front of the fire talking to Grady, I stomp up.

  “You fucked Annabelle?!” I was hysterical, a drunk slob. But I couldn’t help myself.

  Cain turns, staring at me, as others turn to watch. “Babe, why don’t we go somewhere—”

  I cut him off. “No! Tell me! Did you have sex with her?” I stomp my foot like a child.

  My boyfriend takes my hand and leads me across the party, out into the woods and to the field where he parked his truck. Once we’re there, I tug my arm from his.

  “You are an asshole!” Some of the spit from my mouth lands on his face in my fit of anger.

  “And you’re drunk. And unreasonable. You need to calm down.” He touches my shoulder.

  “Don’t.” I shrug him off. “Did you or did you not sleep with her?”

  The long grass whispers in the wind as Cain sighs. Noises from the party in the distance haunt us, the laughter and music fluttering through our argument.

  “I did. Freshman year, three years before I ever met you. Before I even knew you existed. And we weren’t a thing, it was a mistake. I never should have done it, and now it’s coming back to bite me in the ass because you’re drunk and you and Annabelle are having a catfight.”

  Cain is pissed off, and I realize he was never going to tell me. “You were never going to tell me, were you?”

  I’m being unreasonable, he’s right. It happened years ago, before we’d ever known each other, or known about each other.

  Cain throws his hands up, turning away from me and then back again. “No, I probably wasn’t! It meant nothing. You’re the only thing that matters to me, the only girl who has ever meant a thing. I fucking love you, Harper. Isn’t that enough?”

  I blink. “You love me?”

  He looks shocked, like he hadn’t really meant to blurt that out. Ducking his head, he kicks a boot against the dirt. “Well … yeah. I do.”

  I go to him, still swaying, but a smile has broken out on my face. Tipping his chin up to meet my eyes, I caress his cheek. “I love you, too.”

  A grin blossoms on his lips, his green eyes searching mine. Sweetly, he places a kiss on my lips, and then breathes against them. “Great, now can we forget this stupid thing? You’re the one I love. And we’re supposed to be celebrating you. I’m so proud that you finished writing your book. Let’s focus on that, please?”

  I could listen to him say those four little letters for a thousand years. “Yes.”

  We walk back to the party hand in hand, a couple of people looking at us but then ultimately forgetting we’d left in a fit of yelling. As if finishing my book wasn’t grand enough, I was on cloud nine after Cain’s admission.

  I stick to water for the next hour, my head clearing a bit, as Cain plays game after game of beer pong, never losing. I guess the quarterback had a rep to protect.

  Going to the cooler for another water, I feel a hand grab and squeeze my ass. I turn swiftly. “What the heck?”

  Josiah, one of the guys that Cain plays football with, is standing there, a leering smirk on his face. “Hey, baby, nice ass.”

  “Um …” I freeze, not knowing how to respond. It’s clear he is drunk, but …

  “I heard you and Kent fighting before. You know you could lean on my shoulder if you want. Or ride my saddle.” He winks, groping my hip as I stand there.

  When I hear the word saddle, I push him away. “Stop it. I’m with Cain.”

  “Psh, boy just wants you to ride his junk. I can show you a better time, new girl. Hop on.” He thrust his hips at me, and I cringe, trying to back away.

  But the cooler hits me behind the knees and I stumble.

  And the next thing I know, I’m sitting on top of the thing, and Josiah is on the ground, moaning in pain.

  “Don’t ever touch her again, fucker.” Cain is pointing down at him, his face an angry shade of red.

  “I was just messing around …” Josiah groaned.

  “By touching her when she told you to go away? You’re a real prick, Josiah.”

  Cain moves to me, ignoring the asshole writhing on the ground. “You okay, baby?”

  I nod, trying to steady my shaky heart and breath. “Yeah, just … shaken up. He didn’t do anything though, not really.”

  He kisses the side of my forehead as he pulls me against him, as if he could have just lost me. “No, he did do something. That’s harassment, or haven’t you been watching the news. Any guy who touches you without your consent is wrong.”

  Surprise blooms in my chest. “I had no idea you were a proponent for the Me Too movement.”

  “I might be an asshole, but I’m not an abuser.” He chuckles into my hair.

  By now, Josiah has slunk off, and I unwind Cain’s hands from around me and lace them through mine. But before I tell him that I want to go home, he winces.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He holds his hand up between us. His right one. The golden hand, the one that will take him places. His pointer finger is bent sideways, and one of his knuckles is bleeding.

  “Oh my God, Cain. Your hand.” I breathe, panicki
ng.

  He starts to walk away from the bonfire, out toward his car again. “Shh, come here.”

  I follow him, his long strides too fast for me to keep up.

  “You have to pop it back in for me.” Cain holds his hand out to me when we reach his Jeep again.

  My heart quickens. “Um, no. No … I can’t.”

  Cain stares at me. “Babe, just pop it back in. No one else can know about this.”

  I’m scared by the fear in his tone. Cain Kent doesn’t get scared, but right now, his face would say otherwise. I take a deep breath, reaching out with shaking hands, and try to resolve the rapid beating of my heart in my ears. Taking his right hand in my own two, I touch a finger to his crooked digit. And without thinking, I grab it suddenly, pulling it straight like one would a fishing rod you wanted to reel in.

  My boyfriend lets out a yelp, hopping away from me as he clutches his hand to him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck …”

  I stand there, the buzz leaking out of me, sobered from the injury to his hand. I want to go to him, tell him I’m sorry that he had to defend me, that it was my fault he had hurt himself.

  “Baby?” My voice sounds so unsure.

  Cain straightens, walking to me, a small smile on his face. “It’s fine. Let me take you home.”

  But I knew that it wasn’t fine.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Cain

  What Harper and I have is the kind of love singers croon about in country songs. It’s the love that every director of a romantic movie hopes will translate to viewers. It’s the kind of love that novels are written about, that authors painstakingly try to capture in their words.

  It’s a heated, Texas love. One that runs wild through the fields and buzzes with the honey bees in the late afternoon sun. It burns through my heart and leaves me thirsty for her every second of the day.

  I thought a love like this was bullshit. That it didn’t exist and those who said it did were just hopeless suckers. But I’d been wrong.

  Not until this feeling of incompletion, because she isn’t within an inch of you, steals over your limbs and joints and blood, do you understand a love like this.