Love Me Broken (24 page)

I laugh. “It tickles.”

He chuckles. “I move down, working my way slowly a few inches. I spread your legs with my hands. I look at you. I want to start right away, but it’s too soon. I skip past, past your thighs and all the way to the base of your feet. I kiss them. I kiss your toes. Then I lick your ankles. Your body tenses because this tickles, but it’s a good tension. You like it, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Don’t stop.”

“I lick past your ankles, along your fucking gorgeous legs. Kissing the back of your knee, smelling you. Fuck, you make me so hard. I feel like I’m going to explode. But I keep going. I am kissing and licking the inside of your thighs. I’m so close the hair of my head is tickling your pussy. You feel the warmth of my face on you, inches away.” He pauses, and I hear him moan a little. I moan back. “I look at you, feeling the heat rising off you. You want it, don’t you? Tell me you want it, Erica.”

“Yes,” I whisper. “Do it. I want it.”

“I know you do. I can’t resist either. I start by touching you, tenderly at first, then adding pressure. First one finger, then two, until I slip inside you. Oh, Erica, you feel so good. You’re so fucking wet. My fingers explore you. They know what to do, they know how to make you feel good.”

I’m touching myself, imagining that it’s him. “Oh,” I gasp.

“But touching’s not enough. I have to taste you. I’ve tasted every inch of you except this, and this is the best part. I press my face to you, and caress you with my tongue. My eyes are on you though, watching your face, watching you enjoy every twist and flick of my tongue. You like it, don’t you, Erica? You like having your pussy licked?”

I can barely talk. “Yes,” I manage. Sweat has formed all over my body. I kick the blankets back, and my midsection rises into the air as I touch myself, imagining him between my legs.

“But you know what feels better than my tongue? Better than my fingers?”

“What?” I whisper, even though I already know.

“My cock. You’re so fucking sexy, Erica, that it’s rock hard and throbbing. I want to be inside you, Erica. I want us both to feel good, together.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, my whole body feeling charged. “I want that too.”

“Good. I push myself up to kiss you, taste you, while I press against you, grinding into you to tease you before I enter. I still have a hand on your pussy, making you squirm beneath me. I can feel the warmth of your need against my cock. Can you feel it, Erica? My hard cock pressing against the base of your stomach, sliding down, down—”

I hear the door to my dad’s room shut, and footsteps in the hallway, coming right toward my room.

“Shit!” I mutter, pulling the sheets over me in a rush. At the same instant, there’s a knock at the door.

“Erica?” It’s my dad’s voice.

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. “Dad?” I ask, trying to make my voice sound like I was asleep.

“Yeah. Can I talk to you for a second?”

Adam must hear this exchange on his side, because he’s very silent.

“I’m asleep,” I yell back to him. Then I see that I’ve left my light on, a sign that I’ve obviously not gone to bed. “Hold on.”

I jump out and rush to pull on my shirt and shorts, tucking the phone under my pillow. I take a moment to compose myself, trying to make my face look tired instead of guilty. Then I open the door.

My dad is standing there in his business suit. A small black suitcase is by his feet, packed and ready. His hair is combed and his face freshly shaved.

“Hi honey, sorry to wake you.”

I try extra hard to make my face look groggy. “It’s okay.” I look at him, waiting for him to explain.

“Last-minute meeting with a big client,” he says. “Tomorrow morning in Portland. I have to head out now.”

“Oh, okay. For how long?”

“I should be back tomorrow night.”

Honestly, I’m not sure I would have even noticed his absence, so I’m a bit confused as to why he’s telling me. He must see this in my face.

“I need you to, uh, take care of Mom while I’m gone.” His eyes dart away from mine, and he rubs the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable. “I normally make sure she eats something in the mornings before I leave for work.”

Wow. This is news to me. I just assumed they ignored each other completely.

“Can you make sure she has something to eat tomorrow? I, uh, usually leave something on the counter. You don’t have to do anything fancy. Lately, all I can get her to eat is Pop-Tarts.”

I’m both touched and disturbed. I had no idea he was taking care of her, but the way he’s doing it—it’s like how I leave food out for Pete. I try to hide my distaste of this image from him. “Sure,” I say. “I can do that.”

“Great, honey.” For an instant, he looks like he’s going to lean in to kiss me goodnight on the cheek, like he used to. Then he reconsiders. “Well,” he says, picking up his bag, “see you tomorrow night.”

“Bye,” I say. He turns and walks down the stairs, and I close the door to my room. I hear the front door close and the car start as I make my way back to bed. I sit down and pull the covers over my legs. Then I retrieve my phone from under the pillow.

I see on the screen that Adam hasn’t hung up. “Hello?” I ask.

“Hi,” he says. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I—it’s nothing.”

He’s quiet a moment, and it’s like I can feel the mood shifting into something more serious. “Erica,” he says, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, really. It was just my dad.” He’s quiet, waiting for me to continue. “He’s going to be gone tomorrow, for business. He just wanted to—to say good-bye.”

Adam is quiet again, and I swear it’s like I can feel his eyes on me. “Erica,” he says, “you don’t have to hide from me. I’m on your side. What happened?”

“It’s really not a big deal. He just, just asked me to—this is stupid, nothing, really—he just asked me to make sure my mom had something to eat. Because he won’t be here to feed her.”

Adam takes this in. Then he asks, “Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t know he was doing anything for her. I didn’t think they were even talking.” Then I consider it. “But I guess they’re not. He’s—he made it sound like he was just leaving food out. Like for an animal.”

He’s quiet again. He must not know how to handle this. I told him about Conner, but I haven’t told him everything about what it’s like living post-Conner. Is he freaking out? Here we were, having phone sex of all things, and I have to ruin it with this.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“Why are you sorry?” he asks. His voice is almost angry.

“For ruining our good time.”

“Bullshit,” he says. “You didn’t ruin anything. I
want
to be there for you. I want to make you feel good, remember? Well, how about this: If I was there right now, I’d put my arms around you and hold you. I’d pull your hair back from your face, and kiss your tears away.”

How did he know I was crying? I feel my face, and sure enough there are tears there. I guess the draught is over. Now I seem to be crying about everything.

“You don’t have to be ashamed about your family,” he tells me. “Or about taking care of your mom. You’re a good daughter, Erica.”

I shake my head. “Hardly.”

“You are. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be affected by this. You wouldn’t care.”

I have trouble believing him. “But if it weren’t for me—”

“Stop it!” he says. “It’s not your fault, Erica. You have to trust me on this. I know you. You didn’t do this on purpose. It’s not your fault.”

I sniffle. “I know.” Although I don’t.

“You sound miserable,” he tells me.

“It’s just been a long day.” I think about the fight with Nicole, and whatever energy I have left drains out of me.

“You should get to bed.”

I laugh. “I am in bed.”

“You should go to sleep then.” His voice is lighter, to my relief. “How about I stay on while you fall asleep?”

“Okay.”

“And then tomorrow we can do something fun. I have work again, but I’m free the rest of the day.”

“Okay.”

“But you should rest now.”

I get up to turn off the light. Already my limbs feel heavy. Then I get back into bed, and snuggle down into the covers.

“You in bed?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Lights off?”

“Lights off.”

“Good. Then all that’s left is me holding you as we drift off to sleep.”

He talks softly, telling me about how he saw the sea lions way out past the pier earlier that day, and how much they stunk. I interrupt him.

“Adam.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“It’s my job,” he says. “I have to make sure you’re all right. If I can do that, nothing else matters. I won’t be bitter about what I can’t have. I’ll be able to enjoy it.”

And he stays on the line with me as the world grows dimmer. I don’t remember turning the phone off. But I must have, because it’s off when I wake up the next morning. All I remember is the last thing I said to him, and the last thing he said back.

But when I wake up, there’s one phrase more than anything else in the entire conversation that sticks in my head. Bitter about what he can’t have? What does that mean?

And I’m forced to dwell on it alone, because without Nicole, I don’t have anyone to talk to anymore.

Nobody but him.

I spend most of my nights with Erica now, either in person or on the phone. We go on innocent dates. After our phone sex was interrupted, I sort of realized that I can’t fuck this up with sex too early. I didn’t even fucking ask about her day. I just asked what she was wearing. And, as I later found out, she had a goddamn awful day. She basically lost her best friend. And then the thing with her parents.

No. There’s too much at risk to be distracted by sex the whole time. So I decided when I hung up the phone that night that my first priority would be to make Erica whole again. She’s too fucking broken as it is, without me acting like we’ve got all the time in the world—when it’s the opposite.

So for the next two weeks, we have more traditional dates. I take her to the movies. We get cheeseburgers and eat them walking along the pier, feeding our fries to the seagulls. I teach her about motorcycles, and almost get her to ride in front for a short ride around the block. Turns out she’s not ready for that yet, but I’m encouraged with the progress.

We also talk about her family. One time, throwing pebbles into the water, she brings up her brother almost randomly. We had been talking about our favorite desserts (hers is crème brûlée, mine is cotton candy), and then she just says casually, “Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if I didn’t pick up Conner that night. I mean, not that he wouldn’t have died. But that someone else would have been to blame for it. I wonder how that would have changed things.”

This leads into a whole conversation about her mother and father. About what they were like before. About what they’re like after. And her doubts that they will ever be the same again.

“The same? Probably not,” I tell her. “But okay? Yeah. I think eventually.”

“But you don’t know what a parent goes through when they lose their son,” she says.

I hold my tongue. There’s a lot I want to say about that. But I respond, “At least Conner didn’t suffer. That would have been worse.”

I’m not sure if she hears me.

I spend so much time with Erica that it’s only natural that Levi notices. He’s not a nosy guy, and doesn’t bring it up for a good long while. But then, after he runs into Erica and me at a Fourth of July picnic downtown, curiosity gets the better of him and he finally asks about her.

We’re at work. The days are getting hotter. It’s in the low 90s, but no one in this town has air conditioning, and I’m sweating like crazy. Everyone else is used to the heat, but for me it makes the air feel swampy and hard to breathe. Levi and I are working in Watson’s t-shirts with the sleeves torn off. The garage door is open, but it does little to reduce the warmth radiating from the motorcycle engines and power tools.

Levi and I take a break, opening cold bottles of water that have condensation beading down the sides. My throat has been dry all week with the heat. I finish half my bottle in one gulp, and Levi does the same. He wipes his forehead with a rag, then pours the rest of the water into his hair.