Tell Me When (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Amber

“How did you injure yourself?” the physician asks while stitching the cut in my forehead. The nurse asked me the same question, so I don’t know why he has to, too. Didn’t she write it down?

I will him to move faster so I can get out of here. Even though I’m fully dressed, I feel exposed. It wouldn’t be so bad if I had tripped like I told the nurse.

“I tripped. All the years of ballet I took as a kid didn’t exactly leave me graceful.”
Shut up
,
Amber.
Now he’s gonna think you’re lying.
Which I am, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks casually, which sets off warning bells. It’d be one thing if he were much younger, but he must be a least fifty-five. He’s not asking because he wants to ask me out.

“No,” I say at the same time Jordan answers, “Yes.” The physician looks between us, not sure who to believe.

I quirk an eyebrow. “Is there something I don’t know?” I ask Jordan, who’s sitting on a plastic chair next to the examining table.

“You and Marcus? Isn’t that what tonight’s supposed to be about?”

“It’s not a date. He wanted to help celebrate my math grade, and he and Chase already had plans to see the band perform.” I guess I wasn’t clear enough in my text when I told her it wasn’t a date. That, or she chose to ignore that part.

The physician looks expectantly at Jordan, waiting for her next volley. She doesn’t say anything, but her disappointment is unmistakable. She really thought Marcus and I were going on a date. So what did that make her and Chase? Our chaperones?

“So, there’s no boyfriend?” the physician asks.

“That’s right,” I say.

“Did someone hit you?”

Huh? “No. Like I told the nurse, I felt dizzy and tripped.”
Don’t say anything
,
don’t say anything
,
don’t say anything
, I silently plead to Jordan.

He glances at Jordan for confirmation.

“I was in my room.” Her gaze remains steady on me. “She was already hurt by the time I arrived. But a bunch of witnesses saw what happened.”

Bunch? The only thing those girls witnessed was Marcus taking his shirt off. Godzilla could have walked across campus, and they wouldn’t have noticed anything beyond a half-naked Marcus. Not that I can blame them. A slight smile tugs at my lips at the memory of him shirtless.

“Any idea why you were dizzy?”

What is this? 20 Questions? “No idea, but I’m fine now.”

He’s silent for another minute or two as he continues stitching my wound. “All right. I’m finished. You’ll have a slight scar, but nothing too bad.” He checks my chart. “Your blood pressure was normal. Do you often get dizzy or faint?”

“No. Usually I’m fine.” If you don’t count the flashbacks.

He goes over the signs of concussion, which Jordan listens to intently. She then promises wholeheartedly to keep an eye on me over the next few days.

Marcus and Chase are sitting on the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room when Jordan and I emerge from the treatment area. I can’t believe they’re still here, that they didn’t bail to do something more exciting. I can’t believe Marcus is watching me like nothing else exists. And most of all, I can’t believe I ruined everyone’s plans for tonight.

It’s too late to catch the movie, but it’s not too late to watch the band perform. “You guys ready to head over to the bar to see the band?” It’s the least I can do considering everyone blew their evening sitting around the hospital waiting for me.

All three gape at me like I’ve just walked into a glass door. Though from the way my head is aching, that pretty much describes how I feel.

Jordan recovers first. “You can’t go anywhere. You’re injured, plus Marcus’s T-shirt’s covered in blood.”

“I’m sure the girls in the bar won’t mind if he goes shirtless.” I know I wouldn’t.

Chase laughs.

Marcus leans down and murmurs in my ear, “There’s only one girl I would consider going shirtless for.” His tone is flirtatious, but his eyes are watchful, as if he’s monitoring my reaction. Much like the physician did.

My face heats up. Marcus chuckles.

“Are you positive you want to go?” Jordan says it, but I can tell she really wants to see the band, too. Going to bars and watching live bands probably didn’t make it to her parents’ list of acceptable activities, along with partying, dancing, and everything else we’ve done so far.

“Our place is on the way,” Marcus says. “I can change first. Are you sure about this?”

I smile. “Positive.”

At the guys’ apartment, Jordan and I stay in the car with Chase while Marcus goes inside to change. He returns a few minutes later and we drive to the bar, which isn’t far away.

The parking lot is busy when we arrive, and at least twenty people are standing in a line at the door. Instead of joining the end of the line, Marcus walks us directly to the main entrance.

The bouncer, a man who looks like he could play professional football, greets Marcus and Chase with a man hug and waves us in.

Inside, the place is dimly lit and reminds me more of a pub than a nightclub. The dark wood floor, tables, and chairs, along with the dark green walls, give the place a warm, welcoming feeling. The aroma of french fries and hamburgers might have something to do with that, too.

We make our way to a table large enough for the four of us on the far side of the room, close to the bar. It doesn’t take long before our waitress shows up, though from the way she consumes Marcus with her eyes, it’s obvious the rest of us don’t exist. The girl is in her early twenties, with a skirt that barely covers her butt. Her top isn’t much different. Or rather, her tight vest that leaves her pierced navel and ample cleavage exposed.

“Hi, Marcus,” she purrs. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out they’ve slept together. It also doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s eager for an encore.

I look away and catch Chase watching the exchange, a smirk on his face. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea coming here after all. I wanted to see the band, not some waitress hitting on Marcus.

Turning around so I don’t have to witness their reunion, I pretend to check out the crowd in front of the stage. Pretty much all the girls there are dressed like the waitress. And like the waitress, they’ve perfected the art of applying their makeup to give them the smoldering looks guys fall for. A skill I’ve never quite managed to achieve. I end up looking like a raccoon.

I glance at Jordan, careful not to look in Marcus’s direction. I’m sure by now the waitress is on his lap, tongue down his throat, reminding him what he’s missing. Jordan and Chase are busy talking, their heads close together.

Needing to keep preoccupied so I don’t look at Marcus, I head for the women’s bathroom.

As I push the door open, a man says, “Look babe, you need to loosen up.”

I don’t get to find out why the girl he’s talking to needs to loosen up. At either the sound of the door, or because he senses they’re no longer alone, the man jerks around. He’s tall with hair so short he could almost be bald. A choice no doubt used to heighten his intimidation factor, along with his tattooed arms and studded belt. But that’s not what leaves me gaping. Brittany’s standing next to him, her back pressed against the sink.

I almost don’t recognize her. With the same smoldering eyes as the groupies near the stage, she’s wearing a black sleeveless dress that is only slightly longer than the waitress’s skirt, and black boots that reach to midthigh. She seriously looks hot. And makes me appear downright dowdy in my jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt.

Like she always does when she sees me, Brittany glares at me, though I’m not sure why she’s looking at me that way. I’m not the one harassing her.

The guy doesn’t say anything. He gives me a withering glance and storms out, leaving Brittany and me alone.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Her gaze darts to my forehead and the gauze covering the stitches. “Let me guess.” Bitterness drips from her words. “You walked into a wall.” She doesn’t wait for a response. She’s out the door before I can even formulate one.

After I finish up in the bathroom, I stride down the dimly lit hallway. A couple of guys are standing to the side, talking. I walk past.

“Hey, beautiful.” A hand grabs my arm. “Can we buy you a drink?”

I turn to find the guy smiling at me. It’s the kind of smile that gets him what he wants, and he knows it. I shudder and back up into something solid.

“That’s okay,” Marcus says from behind me. He places his hands on my hips. “I’ve got her a drink. But thanks anyway.” His words may have been polite but his tone is the opposite. There’s no missing the underlying warning.

The guy steps back, hands raised. “Sorry, dude.” He moves away.

Marcus interlaces his fingers with mine and leads me back to the table. As we walk through the thickening crowd, I scan it for signs of Brittany. I don’t see her, but the creep who harassed her is standing with a group of men, drinking and laughing.

At our table, Marcus’s hands guide my hips onto his lap. His arms move around my waist and slide me back against his chest. I stiffen for a moment, but then remind myself it’s okay. That this feels...okay. Marcus is doing his job, like I hired him to do. Nothing nefarious about that.

The waitress who was all over him a few minutes ago places our drinks in front of us. Unlike before, slight creases line her brow at the sight of me. On Marcus’s lap.

“I got you a Diet Coke,” Marcus says. “Is that all right?”

I laugh. “What, no rum?” Turns out the reason he got the drinks last time, even though he’s underage, was because the male bartender had a thing for him and didn’t card him. It also explains why the drink was so strong. The guy hadn’t realized it was for me.

I reach for my drink and catch Jordan watching me, grinning. At first I can’t figure out what she’s grinning about, then it hits me. I’m on Marcus’s lap and she’s reading too much into it. She doesn’t realize he’s doing this to save me from guys who are interested in me when the feeling isn’t mutual. Which pretty much describes everyone here.

Once we get back to the dorm, I’ll tell her the truth about the plan. I owe her at least that much.

Marcus and I don’t get to talk beyond that. The dim house lights grow darker and the stage lights burn bright. A few blue spotlights start roaming over the crowd.

The rock band comes on and they’re loud. More than loud. But they have to amp up to be heard over the screaming girls in front of the stage.

The first notes of a ballad settle in the room and the girls in the front scream louder than before, if that’s even possible. The lead singer closes his eyes and sings as he sways to the music.

The song at first sounds like it’s about a guy being in love with a girl, but as I listen to the lyrics, the meaning behind the words change.

You’re my fire girl
,

My forever and ever girl
,

I’ll die for you
,
girl
,
if you do the same for me.

The song has nothing to do with Paul and me. But every time the singer mentions fire, burning, heat and death, I’m back in that prison, waiting to die. The room suddenly feels overly hot and I’m fighting for air.

Unable to take any more, I jump up from Marcus’s lap, grab my jacket off the seat next to us, and push my way through the crowd to the main doors and past the bouncer. I have no idea where I’m going. I just know I have to get out of here before I have another flashback. The nightmares are bad enough. I don’t want to flash back to the fire.

The cold air dampens my fears, but it’s not enough. I run down the street, past a German deli and a store selling antiques, and round the corner. I pause long enough to get my bearings, then run again, breathing heavy. And for the first time in a while, I feel free—and I don’t want to stop running.

I duck down a side street, and end up in a neighborhood with older single-level houses stuck between several low-rise apartment buildings. Some of the houses are well maintained, with gardens that would make my grandma proud. Others have kids’ toys scattered on the front lawn. Most have lights shining through the curtains of at least one room facing the street.

I stop to turn back. A hand grabs my arm.

I scream and try to pull away.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Marcus

One minute Amber’s on my lap, listening to the music. The next, she’s pushing past people, her jacket in hand. The bathroom isn’t in the direction she escaped, and she isn’t getting a drink. Not with her jacket. Something spooked her.

Jordan and Chase are busy watching the stage. Without telling them where I’m going, I shove away from the table and make my way to the main doors. I don’t have time to explain. I might already be too late.

Outside, I check the sidewalk. Fuck. Which way? I ask Sean, the bouncer, and he points where he remembers seeing her run. Shit, I hope he’s right.

I chase after her and catch sight of her running along the sidewalk on the other side of the road. She disappears down a side street.

I race after her, unsure if I should call out her name or not. I have no idea why she’s running. Calling her name might make things worse.

She’s fast, especially since she’s wearing sneakers, but I easily catch up with her. As I approach, she pauses. I expect her to turn around at the sound of my boots pounding against the concrete and my labored breath. But she doesn’t. She seems lost in her own world.

I grab her arm, which probably wasn’t the brightest idea, considering the circumstances. She screams and yanks it from my grip.

“Kitten, it’s me,” I pant.

Her arm muscles relax and she turns around, a faint smile on her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to chase after me. I just needed to get out of there for a bit.”

She doesn’t elaborate and I don’t ask her to. Not yet.

I hold out my hand. “C’mon. There’s somewhere I want to take you.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see.”

On the way back to my car, I text Chase, telling him I’m taking Amber back to her dorm. She and I need to talk. We’re both keeping secrets. As long as we do that, Amber’s not going to get better. She won’t beat the PTSD. She’ll always be running. She’ll always be torn apart by her nightmares. She’ll always be scared.

As long as we’re not honest with each other, there will always be that invisible barrier keeping what’s growing between us—that undeniable connection—from becoming something more, something stronger.

And I want that something stronger. With Amber.

I park on a small hill overlooking a cemetery and we walk to the lone picnic table. The ground around the table is nothing but a patch of dirt, long since dead and forgotten. In its place are cigarette butts, abandoned Band-Aids and discarded pieces of trash and torn newspaper, scattered on the ground or caught in the small brushes around the area.

Surprisingly, no one’s here. Not that I’m complaining. I was hoping we’d be alone. But I know from past experience this is a popular make-out spot with the local high school crowd. And although I’m not averse to the idea of making out with Amber, that’s not why we’re here.

I sit on the table and pat the spot between my legs. She glances at it for a second, uncertain, then joins me. I envelop her in my arms, breathing in her sweet strawberry scent I love so much. I was never a big fan of strawberries, until now.

We don’t say anything at first, both trapped in our own thoughts. Eventually, I remove a Matchbox car from my jacket pocket and fidget with it for a moment, before pointing at the cemetery. “My brother’s down there.” I hug her closer, gaining the strength from her I need to keep talking. “That’s why I’m tutoring you. He died a hero, but my mom and stepfather refuse to buy him a gravestone. He deserves better.”

Amber strokes the back of my right hand with her thumb, gaze fixed ahead. “How did he die?” she asks, a slight tremble to her voice.

“He was shot.”

Amber’s head drops forward, her thumb still caressing my hand. Even though she remains quiet, there’s a noticeable change in her I can’t quite explain.

“My stepfather abused Ryan and me for as long as I can remember.” I close my eyes. I’m about to tell her things that not many people know. Things I’ve never told any of the girls I’ve been with, including Tammara. But if I want Amber to open up, I’ll have to cut a vein and release some blood. It’s the only way I can get her to tell me what’s going on with her. It’s the only way I can help her.

If I can help her.

“Ryan took most of the abuse,” I tell her. Amber still remains silent, still stroking my hand. “I was sixteen when we left home. My mom and stepfather didn’t care. They were just happy to get rid of us. But I made the mistake of going back there a few months ago to talk to my mom. She wasn’t there but Frank was. Ryan showed up and found Frank threatening me with a gun.” I open my eyes, wanting to focus on Amber and not on the image in my head.

“What happened?” Her voice is so small I can barely hear it.

“Ryan aimed his gun at Frank and when Frank didn’t move, my brother shot him. I’m not completely sure why he did that. Maybe the years of abuse pushed him over the edge. He wasn’t planning to kill Frank, not that Frank didn’t deserve it. Ryan shot him in the leg. Frank shot Ryan in the chest and killed him.” I squeeze her a little tighter, to keep myself together. The last thing I want to do is fall apart now. That won’t help either of us.

Amber doesn’t stiffen or flinch at my touch. The thought of that lightens the weight in my heart a bit. And it makes me want to be with this girl in a way that I never thought would be possible. I want more from her than I have any other girl. I want more than just a one-night stand.

“So, your stepfather’s in jail?”

“No. Ryan’s death was ruled self-defense and Frank got off scot-free.”

Amber shifts off the table and stands in front of me, eyes shiny. “B-but didn’t you tell the police what happened and about the abuse? Surely they wouldn’t have let him off after all of that.”

I avert my eyes, unable to look at her for the next part. I can’t tell her everything. It’s not my truth to tell. “Ryan wanted me to keep quiet about what happened. He didn’t want anyone to learn the truth. He never did, even when we were kids.”

“Why not?”

“He didn’t trust the system. Neither of us did. We knew a kid in foster care. He got bounced around from one abusive home to the next. Once we were in the system, we’d be separated. The abuse was bad, but at least we had each other.” I can feel the corners of my mouth move into a slight smile. Despite the bitter memories, there were some good ones, too. With my brother. “You would have liked Ryan. He really did make the best chicken noodle soup around—at least from a package.”

Amber laughs, the sound of it feels like silk across the skin. She cradles her hand against my cheek, her fingers cold against my face. “What about your mom? Didn’t she try to stop your stepfather from hurting you?”

“It usually happened when she wasn’t around.” Not that it would have made a difference. She wouldn’t have done anything to stop him. She wouldn’t have cared. “The world doesn’t give a shit what happens to victims, especially kids. It only cares about the people who count.”

I look back at the cemetery. “What happened to Ryan and me is the reason I coach basketball at the youth center. I wanna help kids who don’t know where to turn or who to trust. And I wanna help the kids turn their lives around, like my high school math teacher helped me.”

Amber looks like she wants to say something. Instead, she kisses my cheek, and the look in her eyes, the one that says she thinks I’m the sweetest guy around, makes me feel weak. In a good way.

Amber touches the car in my hand. “This was his, wasn’t it?”

I nod and smile at how perceptive she is. “Ryan used to save up all the spare change he found and buy us Matchbox cars. He’d wait until he had enough money and buy one for him and one for me.”

“Those are the ones you have in your room?”

“Yes. When we lived at home, we hid them in a box under the bed. We took them with us when we left, but it wasn’t until Ryan died that I put them on the bookshelf.” I owed it to him.

Amber takes the car out of my hand and inspects it. I can almost feel the sadness filling her, and I have a feeling it has nothing to do with me or Ryan.

I want to say it’s her turn. I’ve shared my secrets with her. Now it’s time she tells me who hurt her. I want to say that, but I let the silence blanket us instead.

Amber sits back down next to me and her body starts to shake. She looks toward the cemetery and her voice cracks when she says, “My brother was murdered, too.”