Hell Without You (7 page)

“Really?” She gripped her coffee mug, letting the ceramic warm her fingers. “Where is it?”

“Sitting right across from me.” His voice went a little deeper, got a little rougher. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know that.”

* * * * *

10 Years Ago

The late summer breeze tossed up the hem of Clementine’s dress, making it flutter around her knees. Her knees. A fresh wave of fury swept through her as the day’s events played on a loop before her mind’s eye, encouraging her to stomp, her sandals slapping the pavement on the shoulder of the rural road.

The afternoon’s shopping trip had been the first time she’d had fun with her mom since she’d married Robert nearly a year ago. Of the three new outfits she now owned, the dress was her favorite. Made of yellow eyelet lace, it had drawn a compliment from her mother as soon as she’d stepped out of the dressing room.

“We have to get you this one,” she’d said. “It’s so cute, and the yellow suits your complexion perfectly. It’ll be too chilly for a short-sleeved dress soon, but you could wear it over the next few weeks and have it for next summer.”

Perfectly. It did suit her perfectly, damn it. And so had the afternoon with her mom, surprisingly – the shopping, the lunch… They’d even laughed. It had all been like something from their pre-Robert days, until they’d gotten home.

If only she’d been able to resist trying on the dress again.

“Robert, doesn’t she look nice?” her mother had asked when Clementine had appeared in the kitchen.

Robert had given her one look and raised one of his stupid, bushy eyebrows. “I see you’ve really tarted her up. I thought you were buying her new school clothes. Where’s she going to wear that? Not where anyone will see her, I hope.”

Just like that, he’d thrown shit all over the afternoon, staining the memory. Typical Robert behavior.

“God, what a dick!” Clementine said through clenched teeth, reveling in the freedom to say what she wanted. No one else was around – there was a trailer park just ahead, but no one seemed to be outside and there was no way they’d hear her indoors.

“A total ass!” she said even more loudly, approaching the ramshackle rows of dingy mobile homes. She’d walked a mile, and the Shady Side Mobile Home Court was a far cry from where she’d started out at her grandmother’s huge old Victorian house. Eventually she’d have to turn around, but she wasn’t ready yet – she didn’t want to visit with her grandmother when she was in such a crappy mood. Better to walk off her anger before returning. Her mom had dropped her off in her grandmother’s driveway and had no idea that she’d started her walk as soon as her car had disappeared from sight.

“Who’s an ass?” A voice came out of nowhere, making her jump.

Her skirt flapped around her knees as she whirled around, casting a suspicious glance at a large maple tree at the edge of the trailer park.

When her gaze settled on the person who stood in the shade beneath the leafy branches, her heart leapt into her throat.

Donovan Kemp. He stood beneath the tree by some sort of old dirt bike. She knew him by sight, by name. Most students at Willow Heights High did – the school was small, and he stood out. He’d never spoken to her before, and now that he had, she felt strangely lightheaded.

“My step-dad,” she replied. Taking a step away from the road and toward Donovan felt natural, even if her heart rate did go up a little.

“My dad’s an ass.” Donovan gestured with the wrench he held in one hand. “Welcome to the club.”

She took another step, slipping into the shade cast by the maple, liking the idea of being in a club of two with Donovan Kemp. Mostly because misery loved company, but also because he was as hot up close as she’d always suspected when she’d seen him in the hallways at school.

Tall – way taller than most of the juniors or even seniors, for that matter, he wore jeans and a t-shirt smudged here and there with grease. His hands were grease-stained too, and the black marks darkening his deeply tanned skin were familiar. She’d glimpsed them a few times at school in the afternoons – he attended the vocational center for auto repair and sometimes bore the marks of his chosen studies when he returned to the high school for regular classes.

Not that she shared any of those with him. She was just a sophomore. He was a junior, at least sixteen.

“Nice dress,” he said, slipping his wrench into a pocket.

There was no trace of sarcasm in his voice.

“Thanks,” she said eventually, feeling the joy Robert had crushed flutter tentatively back to life.

“Would you be mad if it got a little dirty?” He wiped his hands on his jeans, his eyes locking with hers.

Grey – true grey. She’d never been close enough to notice the color of his eyes before. The storm cloud shade was mesmerizing.

“It’s washable. Why?” Had she kicked dirt up onto the skirt during her walk? Instantly self-conscious, she looked down.

“Just finished fixing this bike,” he said. “It’s mine. Wanna take it on a test ride with me?”

She looked away from Donovan just long enough to glance at the bike. Still brimming with energy her walk hadn’t expended, she said the first thing that came to mind. “Sure.”

He straddled the bike in one smooth motion, and his long jean-clad legs looked natural on either side of the thing. “Come on then.” Holding out one hand, he never broke eye contact with her.

More afraid of looking stupid as she climbed onto a bike for the first time than of grease stains, she took his hand and swung one leg over the seat.

“Your name’s Clementine, right?” he asked when she’d settled behind him.

Her heart beat so loudly she feared he’d hear it as she carefully tucked her skirt beneath her butt so it wouldn’t billow in the wind.

“Yeah.” A second wave of self-consciousness washed over her as she owned up to her name. It was so old-fashioned; she couldn’t even count the number of times she’d wished her mother had chosen something else. Anything else.

“Hold onto me, Clementine.”

The bike roared to life and she slipped her arms around his waist, spurred by the noise and promise of power to hold on tighter than she would’ve dared otherwise. With her body pressed against his back, she forgot all about her dress. She forgot about everything, except for him.

“I’m ready to go.” Clad in jeans, her comfiest flats and an oft-worn jacket, she felt casual enough for a day at Donovan’s garage. A day of web-surfing, anyway. She carried her laptop bag at her side as she stepped into the kitchen.

“Okay.” Donovan wore old jeans and a black thermal shirt that clung to his shoulders and pecs in a way that could’ve stopped traffic. He made the simplest things look amazing – he always had. “We’ll get an early start, maybe head home by four or five. I can bring you home before then, around lunchtime, if you want.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine with spending the day at the garage.” No way was she going to lounge around zoning out in front of daytime programming again. “I have plenty of job hunting to keep me busy – after all, that’s why I came to Willow Heights.”

“Suit yourself.” He pulled on a work-worn jacket. “We’ll go out for lunch, then.”

Go out
. His words settled in the pit of her chest and made her skin tingle. What was she, fifteen? That was how old she’d been the first time he’d asked her out – for a ride on his dirt bike. Zooming down Willow Heights’ rural roads on the old contraption, which hadn’t even been street legal, had been a thrill at the time.

That’d been ten years ago. Her chest tightened as she remembered what he’d said a few hours ago, over coffee.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked, his expression betraying wary curiosity.

“I was thinking we could get lunch from Ann’s Diner,” she lied. “I love their French silk pie.”

“We’ll get whatever you want.”

* * * * *

“Any luck?” Donovan asked as they sat across from each other in the back of Ann’s, ensconced in one of the red vinyl booths that had been fixtures in the diner ever since Clementine could remember. From its rectangular chrome exterior to its black and white tiled floor, Ann’s hadn’t changed much since it’d been built decades ago, and that didn’t seem to bother anyone in Willow Heights.

“Job hunting, you mean?”

He nodded and took a bite of the roast beef croissant sandwich he’d ordered.

“Well, it’s too early to say, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed. I e-mailed my résumé to three different companies this morning. One of the positions I found seems like a dream come true.” She took a bite of her French onion soup. “Of course, it’s probably a long shot for a recent college grad like me.”

“What about your internship?”

She’d been thinking the same thing, though she hadn’t dared to say it out loud. Feigning casualness, she shrugged. “I guess we’ll see if that helps.” It had damned well better – she’d bankrupted herself to intern at the prestigious firm, throwing herself at the unpaid work in an attempt to learn – an attempt to pad out her meager résumé. Having worked part-time at
a
café
throughout her college years wasn’t the kind of experience the employers she wanted were looking for.

“Two slices of French silk,” Donovan said to the waitress when she appeared. “And coffees.”

“That’s what you wanted, right?” he asked when the waitress had disappeared with his latest order.

Clementine nodded, her heart speeding at the thought of what had really prompted her to smile that morning. “This is weird, isn’t it?” she asked, toying with an empty straw wrapper.

“What’s weird?”

“Having lunch at Ann’s. It’s like … before.”

His gaze locked with hers. “I don’t think it’s weird.”

“Maybe not weird,” she amended, her heart beating light and fast, like some kind of winged creature. “But who would’ve thought we’d ever eat here again, let alone together?”

“I thought of it, sometimes. After I enlisted. Mostly just at first. The Marine Corps taught me the difference between reality and fantasy pretty quick.”

She took a hasty sip of the coffee the waitress set on the table, scalding her tongue just like his words had scalded her heart.

“I’m sorry.” What was wrong with her? She kept thinking of zooming around on his old dirt bike, her arms around his waist and the wind in her hair. Back in Willow Heights, back in Ann’s, the memory seemed so real that she couldn’t help but say dumb things.

Maybe she should’ve accepted his offer to take her home at lunch time, after all. She’d had her head on straighter alone at the house the day before, even if she had been bored out of her mind.

“Saying that doesn’t change anything.”

“I know.” Her throat tightened, burning, and not just with the spices in her soup. “But it seemed right to say it.”

“Don’t talk about before if you’re just going to try to make it out to be nothing. I’m not interested in listening to you trying to act like it was … fuck, I don’t know. Some faraway thing that you can just bring up over soup, like it was cute and you expect me to laugh about it with you.”

He might as well have hit her. Being knocked down by him the night before last had hurt less. “That wasn’t what I was trying to do. Not at all.”

How could he think that?

“It seemed like it.” His voice was flat, deadpan.

“Maybe you’re projecting your expectations onto me.” Beneath the sting of his accusation, her blood began to boil. Did he really think she was trying to manipulate him into laughing off what they’d had as kids’ stuff, as a good time to be remembered and joked about when they didn’t have anything better to do?

God, how could she ever? After everything that had happened... Dirt bike rides and occasional lunches at Ann’s had been an innocent beginning to something that had spiraled out of control and imploded all over them, twisting the strings of her fate.

“How’s that pie?” The waitress appeared beside their table and glanced down at their untouched desserts, eyebrows raised.

“Fine,” Donovan snapped, effectively driving her away.

“I won’t bring it up again,” Clementine said. “Forget I said anything.”

He didn’t reply, but she knew what he was thinking – he didn’t forget. And he didn’t forgive.

* * * * *

“May I ask who I’m speaking to?”

“Jeffrey.” The middle-aged man standing on her grandmother’s – Donovan’s – front porch extended a hand. He was heavy-set, balding and a total stranger. “Hugh Jeffrey. Are you Mrs. Kemp?”

She did her best to keep her surprise from showing on her face. “No. If you have a question about the house, you’d better speak to Donovan.” Problem was, Donovan was in the shower, rinsing off after a long day of work. The stranger who stood before her had knocked at the door seconds before, stating vaguely that he had a question about the house.

She didn’t want to invite him in – it wasn’t her right to do so, and besides, she wasn’t fond of the idea of sitting alone with someone who’d barely given her more than a name.

“Can I speak with him?”

“I’m sorry, but now’s not a good time. Maybe if you come back in a little while?”

Hugh frowned, but nodded.

“Not too late,” she added, thinking of Donovan naked and armed in the kitchen the night before. “Before eight would probably be best.”

No way would he be in bed that early.

The unexpected visitor had barely pulled out of the driveway by the time Donovan appeared at the foot of the stairs, dressed in fresh jeans and a t-shirt, his hair shining dark and wet like rained-on onyx.

“On your way out?” Clementine asked.

He was wearing boots.

“Yeah.”

Curiosity struck her, along with a stab of disappointment she had no right to feel. “Where to?”

“School.”

“School?”

“The community college across town,” he clarified, striding into the kitchen and plucking a jacket from the back of a chair.

“You’re a student at Willow Heights Community? I had no idea.”

He shot her a sardonic look, as if to emphasize the fact that there was a lot she had no idea about. “When I saw you for the first time in seven years, my enrollment at Harvard on the Hill wasn’t exactly the biggest thing on my mind.”

“You must’ve just started this semester. Or did you take summer classes?”

“Just started this fall. I have night classes two days a week. Figured I might as well take advantage of the GI Bill.”

“What are you studying?” She was more curious than she would’ve liked to admit. Why would he be pursuing a degree when he was already doing what he wanted to do – running his own garage? Did he have other aspirations?

If so, she’d never known. Stupid as it was, that fact made her feel as if a hell of a lot more than the kitchen separated them.

“Business management. Figured the classes might help me get smarter about running the garage.”

“Business.” A spark lit inside her. “That’s my specialty. I could—”

She bit her tongue before she could insert her foot into her mouth again. She could what – help him with his homework?

Like he needed it.

Like he’d want it.

“How late does your class run?”

He said nothing about her less-than-smooth change of subject. “Until eight-thirty.”

“Guess I’ll see you sometime before nine. That should still be early enough for you to take me into town and drop me off at a motel.”

He stiffened, one arm in his jacket and one arm out. “I thought you were over that.”

“We never really talked about it this morning, like we said we would.” Like
she’d
said they would. And then she’d gotten distracted … by memories of dirt bike rides, by Donovan’s anger and the misunderstanding that still stretched between them like a gaping canyon.

“I’m not taking you to a shitty motel where you’ll be lucky if all you get are head lice. Forget about it, Clementine.”

She stood straight, trying to will an extra inch or two into her height. She was 5’8”, but that didn’t feel tall compared to his 6’1”. “I can’t stay here. My being here is messing with you – endangering you.”

“You think it’s going to be better if you leave?” His voice was all steel now. “You think I’m going to sleep better knowing you’re camping out above a Chinese buffet so bad that no one will eat at it? You think that even if I fall asleep I won’t get up anyway and come looking for you?”

She swallowed the argument she’d planned. “I think you’re seriously overestimating the risks of staying in one of Willow Heights’ cheaper motels.”

“Doesn’t matter. If you seriously believe I’d rest easy after abandoning you at a place like that, you’re lying to yourself.”

Despite the dangers – or lack thereof – associated with local no-star lodgings, it was obvious that he was right. His brow was furrowed and he’d pressed his full lips into a hard line. His sculpted cheekbones seemed sharp when he was angry, like knives. The truth of his words radiated from him like poisoned energy.

“So what, I have to stay here or else you’ll run naked into the night with a knife in hand?”