If I Fall (16 page)

I opened the door and used the runner board to step on to the sidewalk. “Thanks for the ride. And for lunch.”

He stared at me, an amused expression on his face. “No problem. I hate to say it but...be careful.” He broke into a huge grin. “Responsible.”

I shook my head. “Shut up.”

Case laughed. “Just lookin' out for you.”

He waited until I'd unlocked the door and stepped into the house before leaving. I called Aidan as soon as he left.

“That was fast.”

“
Case gave me a ride.” I sighed. “Look, nothing is happening with him. Nothing.”

He ignored me. “Is your aunt home yet?”

“No.”

“
I'll be there in a few.”

He must have been in his car because he was standing in my doorway five minutes later. He smiled and reached for me and I breathed a sigh of relief as he kissed me. He wasn't mad anymore.

“Sorry I was an ass,” he murmured as he held me. The pungent aroma of pot scented his hair and clung to his clothing. I wondered if he'd gotten high in his car. And if he had any left.

“
I'm sorry about this whole mess,” I said, gesturing to my empty house. “My aunt and everything. I don't know what the hell is going on.”

He pulled me down the hall toward my room. “You never told me what happened last night.”

His hands were lifting off my shirt, pushing me gently toward my bed. I tried to tell him but I couldn't, not when he was doing the things he was doing with his mouth. I bit my lip and closed my eyes and forgot all about my mom and my aunt. And about the promise I'd made to Case.

I told him afterward. He curved his body around mine and stroked my hair with one hand and the inside of my thigh with the other as I relayed the conversation I'd had with Sara. I told him about my mom's condition that morning, too.

“So you think she's gonna be a hard ass?” He was referring to Sara. “Won't let you out and stuff?”

“
I don't know. She was really pissed yesterday. And this morning she was like a drill sergeant, ordering me around.”

“
So don't listen to her.”

I gave a short laugh. “Right. She's moving in. Taking over as mom.”

“But she's
not
your mom. She can't tell you what to do.”

But she could. She was taking over in the parenting department and if things didn't work out—if she decided I was too difficult or she couldn't measure up and deal with me—she'd send me to my dad and Cheri. The last thing I wanted was to end up living with them.

I didn't have to answer Aidan because the phone rang. I slipped out of bed and grabbed the cordless receiver sitting on my desk.

I could hear a radio playing in the static-filled background. She was in her car, I thought. Probably driving back. “Where have you been, Megan?”

“Here. Home.”

“
Why didn't you answer when I called?”

I leaned into my desk, my back to Aidan. “I was in the shower.”

“For two hours?”

Shit.

“No,” I retorted. I thought frantically for a suitable excuse. “But for a while. And then I sat outside. Did some homework. It was too nice of a day to be in the house. And you told me I couldn't leave, not that I couldn't go outside.”

I heard her sigh. “We'll talk when I get home. I'm getting off the freeway now.” She hung up.

I raced to my bed and picked up the discarded clothing on the floor. I thrust Aidan's shorts and t-shirt into his arms as I pulled my own shirt over my head. “You have to go.”

“
What? Why?”

“
Sara will be here in ten minutes. She'll freak if she finds you here.”

He made no move to get up. Instead, he reached out his hand and grabbed my forearm, trying to pull me toward him. “So let her freak.”

I jerked my arm away and gave him a disapproving look. “If I let her freak,” I said, repeating his words, “she's going to ground me for good. And then I'll
never
see you.” I stepped into my underwear and then my shorts.

Aidan's sigh was deep, exaggerated. “Alright. I'll go.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled on his shorts. He stood and worked his shirt on. “But what about tomorrow after school? And the next day? You gonna have to come straight home? When the hell am I going to see you?”

“
I don't know,” I admitted. “I'll figure it out. Let me work on her a little tonight. OK?” I wrapped my arms around his neck and touched my lips to his.

He deepened the kiss as his hands trailed down my back, resting on my hips, pulling me fully against his body. The heat began to build inside me again as I felt his own response pressing against me.

“I can't get enough of you,” he whispered, echoing my thoughts. He kissed me again, his hands slipping inside my shorts to cup me against him. “I'll never get enough of you.”

“
You have to go,” I said again, but my resolve was fading. Would it really matter if she walked in on us? What was the worst that would happen? I was so wrapped up in him that I couldn't even think about it. The consequences.

Aidan kissed me one last time. “Alright, good girl. Deal with your aunt. I'll see you at school.”

He left and I fell back on to my bed. Who needed drugs when someone like him existed? All he needed to do was kiss me or touch me and he could make me forget my own name. He was my own personal drug and I was addicted to him.

And it scared the hell out of me.

TWENTY

Two minutes after Aidan left, the front door opened and I heard keys being tossed on to the table in the entryway. Shoes clicked down the hallway and a soft, tentative knock sounded on my door. I leaped off the bed and yanked the comforter to the floor.

“Megan?”

“
Yeah?”

She opened the door a crack. “What are you doing?”

“Taking my sheets off. Going to do some laundry.”

“
Oh.” She sounded surprised. She should have been. It was the first time I'd thought to do it in more than a month.

“
You need any help?”

“
I'm almost sixteen, Sara. I think I can handle the washing machine.”

Her eyes narrowed and she frowned at my tone. “I'm sure you can.”

She stood in the doorway for a minute, watching me. I knew what she was waiting for. For me to ask about Mom. But I didn't want to know. I didn't want to hear.

“
I need to unpack a few more things, get settled in,” she said. “Come find me when you're done.”

I finished stripping the sheets off my bed and pulled off the pillowcases. I gathered the cream-colored linens and carried them down the hall, through the kitchen and into the small laundry room. I stuffed these into the washer, added detergent and liquid fabric softener and shut the lid. The washer blinked to life and water rushed in, filling the basin. It had taken all of five minutes.

I turned and headed back through the kitchen and down the hall. I could hear Sara in the third bedroom, the room that had been my dad's office. When he'd moved out almost a year ago, it had been the only room he'd emptied. He'd taken everything. The antique mahogany desk that had belonged to his grandfather and the high-backed, office chair, its black leather creased and faded. The bookcases brimming with history textbooks and reference tomes, biographies and autobiographies, and the odd novel that might have historical significance and could be used as a reference in one of his classes.

“
Sara?”

“
Come in.” Her voice echoed a bit.

I opened the door—the door that had been closed for months—and peeked inside. It was woefully empty still. She'd inflated a twin-sized air mattress and was attempting to wrangle a fitted sheet over its slippery sides. There were three empty copy paper boxes and she'd stacked two on top of each other to serve as a makeshift nightstand/dresser. The top box housed her socks and underwear, the bottom some shorts and tank tops, things she would wear when she wasn't working. A digital alarm clock sat on the top of the box along with two paperback books, romance novels by the looks of them. The third box was still empty and I wondered what treasures she would tuck inside.

“Sara, you can't stay in here.” It was awful. Truly awful.

She'd succeeded in attaching the fitted sheet and was working on the flat one, lifting the mattress off the wood floor and tucking the sheet underneath. “Why not?”

I looked around. “You're sleeping on the floor. You have no furniture.”

The rich brown walls were bare, polka-dotted with nail holes, a stark reminder of the artwork my dad had taken with him, his collection of antique crosses and framed medieval tapestries. Bits of drywall peeked through the holes, a blinding white on the otherwise dark surface.

“I'm not on the floor. I'm on a mattress.” She spread a comforter over it, a soft green one decorated with bamboo shoots, and sat down on it. “See? Comfortable.”

It didn't look comfortable at all. “Why don't you sleep in Mom's room?”

“No.”

“
Why not?”

“
Because that's her room. And she's coming back. Soon.” It sounded to me as if she was trying to convince herself this statement was true. I decided not to argue.

She stood up. “Let's grab a snack. I didn't eat lunch.”

Once in the kitchen, she opened the fridge and pulled out a bag of baby carrots and a plastic baggy filled with cut up celery. I wondered when she'd done that. She arranged these on a plate and poured some ranch dressing in a glass custard cup and set both down on the table.

She grabbed a piece of celery, dipped it into the dressing and munched. “We need to set some ground rules.”

I ignored the food. “Ground rules for what?”

“
For what you are and aren't allowed to do.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
I know what it's been like around here. No one really looking out for you, no one caring whether you're coming or going. That's changing. Now.”

I tried not to roll my eyes. “O-kaaaay.”

“First things first. Boyfriend.” She dipped a carrot. “Tell me about him.”

I was defensive. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, his name, for starters.”

“
I already told you. Aidan.”

“
Does he have a last name? How old is he? How did you meet him? How long have you guys been going out?” She paused. “How serious are you?”

I went down the list. “Westwood. 18. School. A few months.” It was my turn to pause. “Not very.”

Sara glared at me. “Don't be difficult. Please. I'm trying to have a conversation with you.”

“
No, you're not. You're interrogating me like I'm some sort of criminal.”

“
Someone needs to know what you're doing and who you're doing it with. Since your dad isn't here—and your mom isn't either—that responsibility falls to me.”

I folded my arms across my chest, my mouth set in a thin line. “Fine. We go to the same school but don't have any classes together. We met up at the beach a few months back and he asked me out.”

I left out the details—the beer, the cops, the car ride home. “We've been going out ever since.”

“
And you're serious about him?”

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. “I don't know. He's a nice enough guy.”

She nodded. “What about your friend? Jade?”

“
Jada.” I looked down at the table. “We don't hang out very much.”

“
Why not?”

“
She's busy with track after school. And I go out with Aidan on weekends.”

And after school. And every waking moment I had.

“Hmm.” She furrowed her brow as she looked at me. “Can't you all go out together? See a movie or go bowling or something?”

I suppressed a laugh. I didn't know what was more comical, imagining Aidan bowling or having Jada tag along with us. “I don't know. I guess I never really thought about it.”

“Well, you should. Boyfriends come and go but friends can last a lifetime.”

Boyfriends could too, I thought. But I didn't say this. “I know. You're right.”

“OK.” She stood and moved to the cupboard with the glassware. She found a cup and filled it with water from the sink. “So, here's what I'm thinking. These first couple of weeks, I want you home after school.”

“
What?”

“
I want you home. Doing your homework. I'll be home by five-thirty. We'll eat, hang out.”

“
But – “

“
These are school nights. Now, weekends. First and foremost, I want to meet this Aidan. I want to know where you're going. And we need to set a curfew.”

“
That's completely unfair.” I could barely see straight. “I can't go out after school? You have to approve where I'm going, who I'm going with? Who the hell do you think you are?”