It's Our Secret

by W. Winters

  “Why’s that?”

  “People said some things. Blamed some things that happened on Sam, and my mom said it was her fault.” My voice cracks and I feel myself breaking down, so I reach for the volume on the stereo again. I turn it up, feeling guilty about so much and not wanting to deal with it.

  Guilty about what happened back then.

  Guilty about what’s going to happen.

  “Hey,” Dean says softly, and I just barely hear him over the constant bass of whatever song this is. I don’t recognize it. I glance at him, wishing I could hide, but he does that thing again, taking my hand and kissing the tips of my fingers. “You did good, Allie Cat.”

  If guilt could kill someone, I’d be dead.

  22

  Dean

  This is a bad idea.

  The shrink was wrong. Driving all the way to 24 Easton Avenue in Brunswick wasn’t anything I needed. As I watch my mother, who’s sitting on the steps of the porch taking another puff of her cigarette, I already know I’m not going to get anything from her. And that this was a bad idea.

  Closure, mending fences—whatever the hell Dr. Robinson thought I’d get from this isn’t here.

  My mother looks the same in a lot of ways but also beaten down, as if the years haven’t been kind to her, or maybe I just remember her differently. She’s in loose-fitting clothes that make her seem even smaller than when I saw her last. She looks frail beneath them.

  Dr. Robinson is just like everyone else, thinking I’m exaggerating or that my perception is skewed. But showing up out of nowhere to tell my mother I’m working on my anger and making progress was a fucking mistake.

  Allie stretches in her seat, slowly waking up from the nap she took for the last thirty minutes of the drive.

  She’s so damn beautiful when she sleeps.

  I wish she’d stayed asleep, so I could keep driving.

  “We’re here?” she asks sleepily and tries to hide her yawn. I watch her look up at the house we’re parked in front of. The seat protests as she leans forward and takes in the porch, a red and blue wreath adorning the front door and two matching pots with baby’s breath on either side of it. “It’s cute,” she says sweetly.

  I gesture across the street to my mother’s place with my hand as it rests on the steering wheel and then turn off the ignition. “That one.”

  She’s quick to turn her head and say it’s cute too. And maybe it’s all right on the outside. No homey details and it looks just like it did six years ago when my mother bought it with that asshole. Only more weathered … just like my mother.

  “You can stay here if you want,” I say. My anxiety is getting the best of me. I told Dr. Robinson I’d do it, so I will. I’m not a little bitch. But no one likes being pushed aside and dismissed. Especially by their own mother. And definitely not in front of the woman they’re seeing.

  “I’ll come,” she says as she unbuckles her seat belt. As she reaches for her purse on the floorboard, my mother’s gaze finally finds its way over here.

  A puff of smoke slowly billows from her mouth. Other than that, there’s no reaction. I know she recognizes me though, because she doesn’t look away. My chest tightens, making each breath more difficult. I focus on forcing air in and out. Just in and out.

  The neighborhood is quiet when I step out, listening to the sound of Allie’s door and then mine clunk close before I turn to look back at my mother. She’s still seated, blowing out another puff before stubbing out her cigarette on the concrete step.

  Allie waits for me before making her way across the street.

  This was fucking stupid. It’s all I can think as I make my way back to a house I hate, back to a woman I loathe. The anger is subdued, though. It’s so messed up that even after all these years, I want something to change between the two of us.

  That’s the first mistake. Having hope.

  “Dean?” my mother says and slowly stands up on the stoop. Her sweatpants hang loose on her body, as does the shirt she’s wearing. I keep my shoulders square and look my mother in the eye.

  “What are you here for?” she asks, setting her hands on her hips and narrowing her gaze.

  I was right in my assumption from the car, she’s lost weight. Could be the cigarettes or it could be the stress of losing Rick. Maybe she’s been like this for years. I don’t know.

  “I heard about Rick,” I tell her and as I do, I feel Allie’s small hand brush against mine, so I take it. It’s funny how that little touch makes my heart hammer harder but in a way, it’s calming.

  My mother breaks eye contact and looks past me as I tell her I’m sorry for her loss.

  “I’m sorry too,” Allie says politely but in a voice that’s genuine and full of pain.

  “Yeah … well, thanks,” my mother says coldly, dismissively.

  “Mom,” I say, and it feels odd calling her that, so I have to pause before continuing, “this is Allison. Allison, this is my mother.”

  I introduce them and Allie steps forward with her hand out to give my mother a handshake, even though she’s still standing two steps higher than us.

  True to form, my mom’s a fucking bitch, leaving Allie hanging there with an empty hand held high. She looks at Allie good and hard before nodding her head and saying, “Hi.”

  The air turns frigid around me when I see Allie’s face fall. Allie’s innocent in all this. I shouldn’t have brought her here.

  Taking a large step forward, I shield Allie from my mother. “Just wanted to tell you that I’m doing fine, if you were wondering.” My words come out hard and bitter. I don’t know what the good doctor was thinking or what I was thinking when I decided to take his advice.

  But there, I’ve told her, so we can get the fuck out of here.

  “Fine? Is that what you call getting arrested?” My anger falters, even if just for a moment while my mother’s face forms a twisted sneer. “I always knew you were no good.”

  I bite my tongue and hold back the explanation. She doesn’t deserve one.

  Just as I’m about to tell her goodbye forever, Allie steps around me, brushing against my leg as she shoves herself in front of me.

  She’s short, shorter than both me and my mom and she has to crane her neck to look in my mother’s hard eyes as she tells her, “He was trying to do the right thing.”

  I haven’t seen Allie angry really. I’ve seen her want to run, or pick a fight. But I’ve never seen her pissed like this. Her little hands fisted at her side. Her chin held high and her eyes narrowed. It’s sweet of her, but I wish it weren’t because of me.

  “I’m sure,” my mother says and then pulls out another cigarette. She lights it and adds, “If you’re here for money, Rick didn’t leave anything to you.”

  My body tightens and my heart feels like it’s being squeezed. It fucking hurts. I can’t deny it.

  I don’t know why what she said pains me even more. Not that Rick didn’t give me anything, but that she’d think I’d come back here looking for a handout.

  Then again, money’s the only thing that ever mattered to her.

  “He’s not going to do anything with his life, so you should really consider your other options,” my mother tells Allie. She nods her head condescendingly as she speaks to Allie and doesn’t even bother to look at me.

  “What a bitch,” Allie says with a high-pitched voice, looking my mother directly in the eye. “You didn’t tell me she was this much of an asshole.” She turns her head to look at me with disbelief and then seems to check her anger when I don’t respond.

  “Your son’s a good man and I have no clue how he got lucky enough to get away from you.”

  My mother laughs. “Aww, sweetheart, I hope you enjoy getting your heart broken.”

  Allie opens her mouth again, and her face is scrunched up as she bites her tongue. She’s letting my mother get the best of her.

  The difference between these women is simple. Allie cares; my mother doesn’t.

  I wrap one arm arou
nd Allie’s waist and pull her in close to me, letting her ass press against my upper thigh and cut her off.

  “Like I said, just wanted to give you my condolences.”

  Allie peeks up at me with a bewildered look. “Let’s go,” I tell her softly, not bothering to tell my mother goodbye.

  23

  Allison

  “Are you angry with me?” I ask Dean and then try to swallow. But I can’t. There’s a spiked lump in the back of my throat that won’t go away.

  I know I’m a bitch. I’ll be the first to admit it.

  I like to hate people before they can hate me. I’ll call them out, but I call myself out on my own shit. I know it doesn’t make it right, though.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you when I called your mother a bitch… or an asshole. Whatever the hell I said to her.” Even as I give him the apology, I feel awkward and like I’ve done him a disservice. He wanted to make things right with her and I think I just made things even worse. I don’t even remember what all I said.

  I fidget with my thumbs nervously as I wait for Dean to look at me. I feel awful. “I should have just been quiet,” I tell him, and my voice cracks a little.

  “You’re fine,” he says and lifts the turn signal lever, the ticks echoing in the hollow cabin of the car.

  “What I said wasn’t, though,” I say. “I’m sorry, truly.”

  Dean softens. He’s been tense and stiff ever since we left. My words have been caught in the back of my throat. It’s weird feeling this overwhelming urge to be forgiven. I’m not used to it. At least not like this.

  “I told you she’s a bitch,” he says as he straightens out the wheel and leans back, setting his hand on my thigh in that same spot as before. Moving his thumb in the way I like. I’m getting used to him doing that and even more, I’m growing to love the little touches. I cover his hand with mine and peek up at him.

  “Next time, I’ll be quiet.”

  He turns to look at me with a pinched expression. “There’s not going to be a next time.” My stomach sinks and I can’t breathe until he adds, “I’m not going back there again.”

  “Well, if there’s ever any other thing …” I stumble over my words. “I won’t—”

  “I like that you stood up for me,” Dean says, cutting me off.

  “You like it, so you forgive me? Or you like it—”

  “I like the way you handled yourself. I’m not mad at all. There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “So we’re okay?” I ask him desperately, my heart hurting more than it should and it’s only just now that I realize what I really feel for Dean. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Wiping under my eyes I close them and lean my head back against the seat, attempting to calm down.

  Dean lets out a humorous breath which gets my attention, with a light in his eyes that eases me. “You’re sweet, Allie Cat,” he tells me and then gives me a soft smile.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, finally relaxing back into the seat and sitting cross-legged. Again, pretending this is okay. He tries to take his hand away, but I put it right back on my thigh and he lets me. Right now I need him to keep from falling apart. I can figure out the rest tomorrow.

  “The hotel around the corner has good room service,” he says. “Or at least it used to.”

  “I like room service.”

  “And then you can tell me something to take my mind off the fact that I’m fucking stupid for coming down here at all.”

  “Why did you?” I ask him.

  “Because my shrink said I should.”

  “Why?”

  “My guess would be, so we could talk about our issues.”

  I let that sink in for a moment before I ask him, “Do you want to talk about them?”

  He hesitates and takes his hand back, but only to steer into a parking lot. It’s not until he puts the car in park and turns it off before he answers. “Sometimes I think I do.” With the hum of the engine and the stereo off, it’s quiet. Too quiet.

  “I’m here if you want to talk,” I offer him although my stomach twists and that unsettled feeling comes back to me.

  “I’d like to talk about something else,” he says.

  “About what?” I ask him, straightening my shoulders and preparing myself to talk about whatever he wants.

  “I don’t know,” he says and I let out a small laugh. “How about your major?”

  “Undecided.”

  “No shit? Me too.” He gives me a handsome grin that settles those nerves and I reply, “Great minds, huh?”

  “My lack of direction and commitment in choosing a major is one of the reasons Dr. Robinson said I should talk to my mother.” He keeps tapping his thumb on the wheel and I’m not sure why he’s so nervous.

  He looks out the front windshield and toward the street as he talks. “Shit, I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “You have no direction or commitment? Oh God, I really should hightail it out of here,” I joke to lighten up the mood.

  He chuckles, that deep, rough chuckle I love to hear and grabs my hand, pulling it to his lips. I love his smiles but I hate that he’s only doing this to make me feel better. If I weren’t here, he wouldn’t be smiling. I know that much. “I like you, Allie,” he says softly and then adds, “I’m sorry I brought you and you had to see that.”

  In this moment, I’m drowning. I’m in over my head and the weight of everything pushes against my chest, forcing me farther down into an abyss that’s sure to consume me.

  But I want it to. Go ahead, swallow me whole.

  When I look into Dean’s eyes and see the emotion that stares back at me, I see myself and it hurts. It’s a sweet, deep pain that I want to take from him. If that means drowning, so be it.

  “Hey, you okay?” Dean asks me and it’s only then I realize I wasn’t breathing. That keeps happening around him.

  “I’m just sorry,” I croak out and Dean pulls me into his lap. It’s odd with the wheel behind me but he’s quick to push back his seat and I find myself tearing up. I haven’t cried in years and I’m embarrassed.

  “Shhh,” Dean shushes me, and I hate myself. He’s the one who has a right to be angry, to be upset, yet he’s comforting me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, angrily wiping at my eyes and refusing to cry.

  “It’s okay,” he whispers, petting my hair as the air hits my heated face.

  “I don’t know why I’m being like this.” I wrap my arms around myself. It doesn’t stop him from pulling me back against his chest and I instantly melt into his warmth.

  “It doesn’t matter, I’m here,” he tells me and for the first time, it feels like those words carry weight. Like nothing else matters, as long as he’s here.

  I know it’s not true but for a moment, it’s nice to feel like it’s real.

  None of this was supposed to happen.

  I wasn’t supposed to fall for him.

  24

  Dean

  I knew she was breakable.

  The moment I saw her, I fucking knew it.

  She was hiding something and barely holding herself together, still is.

  I could feel it in my bones.

  After all this time, I still don’t know what it is that’s going to break her, though.

  The door to the hotel room opens slowly with a creak and I have to glance over my shoulder to see if she’s still with me. Her eyes are distant but she’s there. She tucks a strand of her brunette hair behind her ear but it quickly falls back to where it was, and she doesn’t bother with it again.

  “Home sweet home,” I say more to get her attention than anything else and push the door open wider. Her smile is weak but it’s an offering I take.

  “Thanks,” she says as she walks in, hitching the strap of her duffle bag up her shoulder.

  I grit my teeth. Even in this moment, with her little head messed up and something dark slowly consuming her, even now she won’t let me hold her bag.

  I walk in behind her, listenin
g to the sound of my heart beating in rhythm with her soft breathing. As the door closes with a loud click, the air conditioner turns on and the curtains stir, making Allie jump.

  She reaches up to her collarbone with her hand and then lets out a small laugh.

  “You all right, Allie?” I ask her for the third time since we got out of the car. I already know the answer, even as she swallows thickly and lowers herself to the bed, all the while nodding. “Fine.”

  “You seem a little shaken,” I tell her. “Something’s bothering you.”

  “I’m fine,” she says again with a sharp defiance in her voice.

  The corners of my lips kick up. “And I’m the pope.” I turn my back to her, picking up my bag to put it on top of the small dresser and unzip it but leave it there untouched.

  “You’re not thinking about running, are you?” I ask her, partly joking, partly serious.

  “I’m just sorry, okay?” she says to my back and I turn to look at her, but I don’t say anything.

  She clears her throat and the soft lines of her bare neck get my attention as she talks. My eyes travel to the dip in her throat, then back to her lips.

  “Sorry for getting all worked up,” she clarifies.

  “You can do what you want,” I say while pulling the shirt over my head. It’s hot as fuck in here and as I ball up my shirt I look for the thermostat, finding it on the other side of the room. She talks as I walk past her.

  “Sure.” As I dial down the temperature, she flops down on the bed, her legs still over the edge but her back flat on the mattress. “It doesn’t mean I should, though,” she whispers.

  “I’m happy you let me in a little,” I say and my chest pangs with pent-up emotion at the admission. Maybe it’s pain, maybe it’s gratitude. It’s hard to tell the difference.

  “You don’t look so happy,” she says.

  “Is that why you’re all upset?” I ask her, stopping at the edge of the bed and towering over her. Upset’s not quite the right word but I don’t know how to say it. “All because I’m pissed off that my mom is … the same she’s always been.” Again the air clicks on and her shoulders shake slightly from the noise.