Love Me Broken (15 page)

“Are you safe to drive?” I ask.

She turns back around. She says gently, “Yeah, Erica. I knew Chad would get wasted, so I’ve been sipping ginger ale all night. Don’t worry about me. I’ll get a ride back from one of the guys.”

I nod, and with that, she’s out of the kitchen.

I look over at Adam.

“You have some interesting friends,” he says, and I’m not sure if it’s a compliment or if he’s saying Nicole is crazy.

“She’s all right,” I say, defending Nicole just in case. “She’s been a good friend to me.”

“Then I’m glad I punched her boyfriend.”

I roll my eyes. “Some guys need to be punched,” I say. Then I realize. “Not you, of course. Chad’s just an ass.”

We stand near the kitchen counter another moment. This time I just feel exhausted. He’s watching me closely.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod instinctively. Then I reconsider, and shake my head. “I don’t know. I guess some of what happened is just hitting me now.”

He’s still looking at me intensely. He drops the bag of ice and comes in closer, putting an arm on my shoulder to hold me close. “Erica,” he says, his voice gruff and sexy, “what’s going on?”

I look up at him in surprise, and then take a step back. “Going on? What do you mean?”

“Come on, Erica. I’m not stupid.” He’s looking at me, not in an angry way though, and not in that blank way like when he was fighting. It’s more like he’s watching me so closely that he’s trying to hear the words I’m
not
saying.

“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just a little shaken up. I’ll be fine.”

He looks at me for another moment, and then gives a sigh. “Look,” he says. “I’m not angry that you’re leaving for college. You had a life before you met me. I want you to have a life after, too.”

I cringe a bit.

“But,” he continues, “while we do know each other, I want you to know you can trust me. I’m here for you.” I’m quiet, so he continues. “I know something’s going on, Erica. You’re smart, you’re sexy, you seem to have it together. But at the same time, you’re falling apart. Who are you, Erica? Tell me. I can’t figure you out.”

His speech catches me off-guard. He’s been trying to figure me out? And what’s all this about not having much time together? He seems awfully okay with me leaving at the end of the summer. I don’t like that. But at the same time, looking up into his eyes—his good eye, anyway—I feel this overwhelming sense of safety. Like I’ve known him my whole life, before my life, like we were meant to find each other and be together.

I step back and turn away, disgusted and, frankly, scared by how powerfully I feel for this guy. I barely know him. Am I that desperate for companionship? What’s wrong with me?

Then I feel him take my hand, and all of the sudden my hesitation melts away and it feels right again. “This makes no sense,” I whisper.

He puts an arm around me. “I know.”

I lean against him, breathing in his scent. He smells clean and masculine, and something more: he smells like Adam. I breathe it in, keeping my nose close to his neck. And once again my body responds in a more primal way, in a way that tells me that I won’t be able to say no to this boy. That I don’t want to.

“We should get out of here,” I say, trying to control myself. I take a step back, and suddenly the kitchen feels doubly small and claustrophobic. “Let’s go outside. I need some air,” I say.

“Sure.” Adam picks up his packet of ice, and we leave through the front door. The night is cooling rapidly, but it feels nice after the warmth of the kitchen. We walk in silence, my mind buzzing away and unable to process everything that is going on.

I want him. There’s no question about that. But the logical part of me knows that I can’t have him. I’m leaving in three months to move across the country. Didn’t he say he was leaving too? I don’t even know where he’s going. And then there’s the fact that, aside from his name and place of work, I know
absolutely nothing
about this guy. He could be some sort of psychopath luring me in for the kill. Or he could be nauseatingly boring. I could be creating all this in my head.

But then I look over and see him walking next to me in the moonlight, and my heart swells and I know this is right. This is what I need. Even if it’s only temporary, even if it’s crazy, I need it. I need it so much I can barely breathe.

We reach the line of cars in the driveway and walk past his bike without stopping. Neither of us is ready for the evening to end. Across the street, I can see the reflection of the moon over the water. This side of Astoria overlooks a smaller river, almost a tideland.

“There’s a pier up this way,” I tell Adam. He looks at the street, and nods. As we step across the pavement, he takes my hand. His grip is tight and firm, and I give his hand a little squeeze. He squeezes back.

The sidewalk is dark so I take out my phone to use as a flashlight. We walk in silence, listening to the sounds of the night. At one point I hear a car behind us. We stop, and Adam holds me while it passes. His body is warm against mine. I can feel his breath on my neck. Then the car has gone by, and he lets go. We walk ahead some more, and after a few blocks we reach the place I remembered.

Here the sidewalk turns down toward a restaurant’s parking lot. It’s empty now—things close early in Astoria, even on a Saturday—and behind the restaurant is a wooden pier that extends a few yards over the water. The water laps softly along the posts as we cross the boards. The breeze feels fresh against my skin, and I inhale the smell of salt water. I catch a whiff of the subtle cologne coming off of Adam. At least I think it’s cologne. He smells so good.

Adam and I walk out and sit down at the end of the pier, our shoulders touching and our legs dangling over the water. We sit, catching our breaths, and admire the view.

“It’s so peaceful,” I say. “I’m not sure I ever want to go back.”

Adam looks over at me. His eyes glint in the moonlight. “I wouldn’t complain.”

Then he smiles, and it’s like the whole night has filled with light. For a brief moment, the sadness has left his eyes. Then his smile drops and he turns away. There’s no sound but the low murmur of the waves reaching the shore.

“What?” I ask.

He makes a grunt, and I ask him again, not letting it go.

“It just sucks,” he says eventually. I’m quiet and let him continue. He runs a hand through his hair. “Why did we have to meet now? It would have been so much easier if—” He drops his hand and shakes his head. Then he turns to me, forcing a sheepish grin. But his eyes are still sad. “Let’s play a game,” he says.

I blink. A little apprehension flits in my stomach. What kind of game? Is this where he tries to make a move? My heart is beating like crazy. “Um, okay? What game?”

“It’s simple,” he says. “I ask you questions, and you answer.”

I am still nervous. “I feel like there’s a catch.”

His smile is back. “Only one: The answer you give is not what is true, but what you wish were true. Like, if I ask you, ‘What kind of house do you live in?’ you don’t answer with your address. You answer with the
kind
of house you want. Your dream house. Get it?”

“I think so.”

“The other rule is that you can’t stop to think. You have to say the first thing that comes into your mind. That’s the challenge. You don’t get to edit.”

“I’m not sure I like this game,” I say.

“Well,” he says, “that’s too bad, because I can’t play alone.” He must see that I’m still nervous, because he lowers his voice and says softly, “We can start out easy. It’ll be okay.” I nod, and he is almost giddy with excitement, like a little boy. “Okay,” he says, sitting up straight. “We’ll start with the important stuff. What do you look like?”

I blush. I don’t really like talking about myself. “Um,” I say, turning toward the waves. “I’m a little taller. My hair is blonde or maybe dark brown, and it always falls into place, even when I first wake up.”

“I like your hair,” he interrupts, and I look over. His expression is completely serious. “You don’t get to change that.”

I laugh. “Okay then. Just a little taller.”

“But not too tall,” he says. “Unless I am taller too.”

“Yeah?” I ask. Two can play at this game. “What do you look like, Adam?”

His eyes look to the side, and I hold up a finger.

“No thinking!” I shout. “That’s the rule.”

He looks back at me, impressed that I kept him accountable. “I don’t know. Lately it hasn’t mattered so much what I look like. It hasn’t helped me much.”

He says this nonchalantly, but there’s an undertone of regret. I look at him, his skin pale and almost glowing in the moonlight. It makes his eyes and his dark features stand out, and gives him a yearning, almost haunted expression. I want to ask him what’s wrong, why is he so sad? But there’s no time before he’s slipped back into his carefree demeanor and is asking me the next question.

“Do you have any pets?”

“Yes,” I grumble sarcastically. “A cat. And he
loves
me. You?”

“A dog. A big one, like a husky or golden retriever. Something I can wrestle with and not break.”

I picture this and smile. Then I say, “You’ve got a week in your favorite vacation spot. Where are you?”

“Someplace I’ve never been,” he says without hesitation. Then he grins. “Which could be anywhere.”

“Good answer,” I say. He looks at me, asking for my pick. “I’d pick somewhere like Paris. Although a week might not be enough.”

“Have you ever been out of the country?”

“Yes.” Then I pause. “You mean, really? Or in the game?”

“Really.”

“Then no. You?”

“I’ve barely been to
this
country.” His eyes turn to the water. In the distance is a seagull circling on the breeze. It almost looks like a ghost. We both watch it for a minute, then Adam asks, his voice full of sorrow, “What’s your super power?”

My eyes are still on the bird. “I can turn back time.” I don’t need to think about this one. “You?”

He doesn’t pause either. “Superman. I’d be Superman.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s invincible.” His voice sounds like his mind is a million miles away, so I turn to him and try to lighten the mood.

“I’d have thought someone cool, like Batman. He at least rides a motorcycle.”

Adam blinks, snapping out of his reverie, and turns to me. His eyes are sharp and unclouded. “Oh, sure. Batman’s definitely more awesome. But... I’d much rather watch his movies than be him. If you think about it, he’s pretty miserable. I guess Superman could be too, since they’re both orphans. But Superman doesn’t seem like he’s unhappy, you know?”

“I suppose that’s true,” I answer. I had never thought too deeply about men in capes. And I don’t really feel like it at the moment. “Ask me another question. I can’t think of one.”

He nods, drawing his legs up and hugging them. “Hmm.” He looks at me for a minute, as if studying me, then asks, “Who is your best friend?”

In real life, it’s Nicole. But the game isn’t real life. “My mom,” I answer, and a pang of sadness hits me in the chest. My mom and I used to be best friends. Before.

Not wanting to dwell on this, I force a smile and ask Adam, “Who’s yours?”

“My dad,” he says softly, and the way he says it leaves no question that, wherever his dad is, they are not best friends in real life either.

I let out a long breath. This game is surprisingly personal. I’d almost rather have him ask me what’s really going on. It’s easier to lie that way. To say that things are fine. But if he asks how I want my life, my ideal life, it’s too obvious that it’s a lie when I say, “Things are fine.” Because when you think about it, “fine” isn’t fine at all.

Adam is staring down at the water. “What’s your job?” he asks.

I look at the water too. “I don’t know.”

“Make something up.”

I shake my head. “I really don’t know.” He looks up at me, annoyed for breaking the rules. “Okay, okay. Um, teacher? Except I don’t know if I’d be any good at that. Maybe something artistic?”

“Do you make art?” he asks softly, and I can tell he’s genuinely curious.

“Not really.” Although the way he asks makes me wish I did.

“I mean,” he says, “do you want to? What kind of art would you make?”

“Paintings? Drawings, I suppose.” I realize how little I know myself, and it makes me embarrassed. It’s hard to think about what I want. Why is that? It wasn’t always hard. He’s looking at me, so I continue. “But I don’t know. I worry that it won’t really help anyone. I think what you do should help people. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“Because you like it,” he answers without thought.

“I guess,” I say. I’m a little jealous of how black and white things can be for guys. It gives them such assurance. I squirm a little, knowing I sound ridiculous. “I just don’t know. Sometimes I think I’d like just about any job, once I got into it. Other times, there’s nothing I can even imagine that I wouldn’t hate. And I see all these other people, who are either satisfied in their jobs, or at least don’t really hate it. Or even if they do hate it, it doesn’t ruin their lives. They can still clock out and be happy the rest of the day. I have trouble separating things like that. Clocking out. Things... hover around me.” I realize how much I’ve been talking, what I’ve been saying, and I try to act casual again. “What about you? Where do you work?”

His dark eyes are still on me, trying to figure me out, but he answers without hesitation. “I own a business. But something that still gives me time to make things with my hands. I need that to clear my head a lot of times, projects to do with my hands. Like at the repair shop.”

“Do you want to take over Watson’s?” I ask.

“No,” he says, as if he’s spent a lot of time thinking about this. “I want someplace new. Someplace that’s mine.” Then he laughs. “And, no offense to Watson, but I want something that makes money. Enough to support a family.”

“Oh,” I say, back in the game, “Do you have kids?”

“Yeah,” he says, and grins. “Big family. What’s your family like?”

I smile and start envisioning it before I can catch myself: I picture Conner and me hanging out. I picture him smiling. I picture my parents getting along, holding hands, and—and the pain hits me so hard. I miss Conner so much that the gap he’s left behind is physical. It’s like I can feel the wind blowing into the gaping hole in my chest. And I try to breathe, to fill up at that hole with oxygen, but it doesn’t work. My eyes close and clench and my mouth grimaces. I don’t want to feel this. Not now, not ever. But like a tidal wave, it’s crashing over me, overwhelming, drowning me and taking me away.