The Truth about Us (14 page)

“I could soak you,” he says.

But he doesn't lift the spray bottle. He's so close, his breath is in my ear. His lip is almost touching my earlobe. I move a little, and I'm tucked right against him. I don't want to move or let go. He smells like boy. Delicious, beautiful Flynn. We both stay perfectly still, our breaths synchronized, rising and falling at the same time.

Kiss
me, kiss me, kiss me
, I think.

And then, for the first time in a long time, I decide to be the brave one. For the first time, without alcohol streaming through my blood and giving me false courage, I take responsibility for my actions. Sock monkey style.

I slide my hand behind his neck and pull his face toward me and we kiss. I mean, I really, really kiss him. And it's amazing because he kisses back hard, and it's the best thing that I've ever felt in my whole entire life. If our kiss is any indication, we have enough chemistry to blow up the greenhouse.

“Wow,” he says when we finally break apart for a breath.

“Wow,” I whisper back, amazed by my bravado. And thrilled by his response. “I thought you didn't want to kiss me,” I say.

“Are you kidding?” he says. “I wanted to kiss you very badly.” He doesn't let go of my waist.

“So why didn't you?”

“Because I thought maybe you needed to do it first.” He bites down on his lip, and I watch, envying it so much. “You think we're not different,” he says. “We are, but it's okay, because we understand each other. I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone in my life,” he says.

I stop breathing.

“I don't want to scare you off,” he says in a husky voice. “Because if we do this. I mean, this. Us. It's not going to be easy. Not for me. Or for you.”

I lean forward and kiss him again. It goes on for a delicious moment, but then he pulls back. “You're not the kind of girl who usually gives me a second look.”

I snort. It's unsexy, but it doesn't embarrass me. “Are you kidding me, Flynn?”

“I'm not.”

“Then you don't know what you have,” I tell him in awe.

We stare at each other as if we're really seeing each other. Looking inside and understanding without saying anything out loud. “I want to tell you,” I say, “what happened to my mom.” My insides seize and I close my eyes and try to get my breath. He tucks a finger under my chin. I press my lips tight and shake my head.

“It's okay,” he says. “You don't have to.”

He moves his hands to my face and holds my cheeks. I close my eyes and inhale him. Dread courses through me, but I breathe out and then open my eyes. “My mom was attacked,” I say quietly. “In the park. Downtown. In daylight. She was running. Alone. She had on an iPod and she had it cranked. She was celebrating a sale. A big commission. She sold houses, real estate. She didn't even hear them come up behind her.”

I stop to take a breath, and it's so quiet in the greenhouse, I can hear a fly buzzing at the other end.

“She loved running and hiking. We spent half my childhood doing that, hiking. Me and my sister and Penny, usually. When we were kids, Penny was over at our house a lot. Especially when her dad got sick.” I take a deep breath, knowing I'm procrastinating.

He drops his hands from my face and takes my hands in his. He doesn't say anything. Doesn't rush me or tell me to stay focused. He doesn't ask questions. He waits.

“Three guys jumped her,” I finally say. “They pulled her off the trail. They searched her for money, but she didn't have anything on her because, you know, she was going for a run. I mean, why would she be carrying money?”

“I remember hearing about a woman who was assaulted,” he says quietly. “We didn't live in Tadita then, but I remember it was in the news.”

“Yeah. They never named her. But most people know.”

Flynn shakes his head. He waits.

“The park was open, but no one heard or saw anything,” I continue. Flynn squeezes my hands. “They beat her up,” I say and stare at a drooping house plant. “There were three of them. And she's little. She had skin under her nails from scratching them. They never found them. They were wearing ski masks. They had a gun. But they didn't shoot her. They wanted money, and I guess it pissed them off when she didn't have any, so they beat her. She passed out at some point, and they left her. Lying in the bushes. They probably thought she was dead.”

I'm shivering now, and Flynn pulls me close, his arm around me. It's meant to be comforting, and I lay my head on his shoulder, letting him protect me. “I'm sorry,” he says.

“A boy found her. He was playing hide-and-seek with friends.” I shake my head. I often wonder about that boy. If he has nightmares.

“Her face was unrecognizable. They had to wire her jaw shut.” I can't stop now. I've held it in for too long, been forbidden to talk about it, and it's been eating away at me. Festering and black. And now it's all rushing out. I push away from him and step back, wrapping my arms around myself.

“She was unconscious for two days. The only good thing we heard during that time was that the rape test was negative. When she woke up, she had to talk to the police. Go over and over it. She was in the hospital for weeks. And when she came out, well, she didn't talk about it anymore. Not with us. I don't think she talks about it with anyone.”

“Shit,” he says softly.

“She had a doctor for a while. You know, like a psychologist or whatever, and he gave her pills. Pills for pain. Pills to help her sleep. And pills to try to fight the anxiety and depression. She's always tired. She sleeps a lot. But she's never really come back. You know? Not the mom she used to be.”

I can feel Flynn watching me. Feel his sympathy.

“It's been over two years. Now my dad works all the time and refuses to talk about it. He's gone most of the time. Traveling for work. And my sister, Allie, she stays at her boyfriend's house. And my mom. She sleeps.” I look at him then. He strokes my arm. “I hate them,” I tell him, and the rest of the blackness spills out. The force of my words hurt my throat. “I hate those men who ruined my mom, who ruined my family. And sometimes, I hate my family too.”

All the ugliness living and breeding inside me has leaked out, and now I'm exposed for who I really am. “I started doing stupid things to try and forget. I lost my best friend. Most of the time, I don't even know who I am anymore. Except that I'm a bad person.” My shame is bared. I'm naked. I've exposed to him the darkness in my soul.

But Flynn only pulls me close, holding me tight. “You're not bad,” he tells me. “You aren't. You've been trying to deal. You're a good person, Jess. You are.”

I sniffle and blubber, like a little baby, but he holds on.

“I miss them. The way we used to be. The way I used to be,” I say to his chest. My face is pressed against it, and it's hard and comforting.

“I know,” he says. “I know.” I press tighter against him, wanting to crawl inside, wanting him to take away the parts of myself I hate.

He pats my back gently until my crying stops. Eventually I'm only sniffling, and I realize with surprise that it feels lighter. I'm not as afraid. The noise that's always buzzing in my head, the pressure and constant tangible tension, it's gone.

I loosen my hold on Flynn and breathe. Really breathe. Then I lean back and stare into his face. “Thank you,” I tell him.

He smiles. I trust him. And it feels better. It's released something in me, freed me.

He bends down then and kisses me gently, and when he licks the inside of my lip, it's so surprising and so delightful, I gasp. We wrap ourselves around each other, and we kiss and kiss and kiss.

And then there's a bang.

The door to the greenhouse is open, and Kyle is inside, staring at us. Stella is right behind him, frowning.

“Flynn, where were you?” Kyle asks. “You were supposed to come and get me at least ten minutes ago,” he shouts with five-year-old despair.

Flynn and I drop our arms to our sides and step away from each other, but it's too late.

“You were kissing Jess. You were.” Kyle runs over and wraps his arms around my thighs and squeezes me tight. He frowns at Flynn as if he stole his favorite Thomas the Tank Engine.

I pat Kyle on the head. “How's my favorite five-year-old?” I glance at Stella, but her arms are crossed and she's scowling. Uh-oh.

“Me!” Kyle yells. “I'm your favorite five-year-old.”

I bend down so I don't have to face Stella, and I'm nose to nose with Kyle. “Of course you are.” I lift my hand for a high five, and he whacks it hard so I make an
oof
sound and stand.

He makes a loud humph sound and crosses his arms like Stella. “I thought you were
my
girlfriend. Not his.” He points at his brother.

Stella's watching all three of us without a word. Without a pleasant expression.

I ruffle Kyle's hair. “You're better than a boyfriend. You're at the top of my boy-who-is-a-friend list,” I tell him. “Like best friend.”

He studies me, and his body relaxes and he nods. “Yeah. That's better. I don't like that kind of kissing anyhow,” he says.

“Well, good,” I tell him. “You're cute, but you're a little young for me.”

“That's enough, buddy,” Flynn says, holding his hand out toward his brother. “We should go get Mom. She'll want to take you to the park.”

“All by myself?” Kyle asks.

“Yup. She doesn't have to work this afternoon,” Flynn says. He turns to me and touches my arm. “I'll be back in a few minutes. Wait for me?”

“She's needed in the kitchen,” Stella tells both of us.

“Cool. Then I'll meet you there,” Flynn says. He ignores Stella's obvious crankiness.

I nod, too afraid to say anything in front of Stella, but he walks by her, pats her shoulder, and whispers something in her ear.

Kyle flies out the way he came in, and Flynn follows behind.

Stella turns to go. “Don't forget to lock up the greenhouse,” she says to me, and her voice is harsh.

“Stella?” I call. I don't want her to be mad at me.

My cheeks heat as her disapproval radiates off her in thermal waves.

“There's a lot on Flynn's plate, Jess,” she says. “You shouldn't be getting involved in his life. You're just visiting this world. He lives in it.”

I don't know what to say or how to say it, so I nod and drop my gaze to my feet. She's trying to protect Flynn. From me. She walks out of the greenhouse, leaving me all alone.

I glance around, still a little shaky from baring my soul. Wrong or not, when I'm with Flynn, it feels like I've found the place where I belong. It's incredible. Amazing. But he feels it too. I know it.

When Flynn walks into the kitchen with a big smile, some of my worry disappears. The glow on his face dulls my fear that maybe everyone is right about us. His mom doesn't approve of me. Stella doesn't approve. Nance doesn't approve. But when he smiles, it doesn't matter what other people say.

“You almost done?” he asks. “Stella's giving me grief for being back here.”

“Yeah.” I'm more than ready to rip off my apron and hang it on the designated hook. “I just have to put the cakes in the fridge.” I point to the full trays.

“Can you meet me outside when you're done?” he asks. “On the picnic table by the side building?”

When I'm done putting the cakes away, I grab my gear and float to the staff room to punch out my time card. Pulling the plant book from the locker and holding it close to my chest, I hurry outside so Stella won't see me go.

There's a small crowd of regulars hanging outside around the front entrance. Some are early for the dinner lineup, and some hang out with nowhere else to go.

“Hey, Jess,” I hear as I slip into the fresh air.

“Hi, George. How's your foot?”

“Better,” he says. “Thanks for asking.”

“Hey, Chickadee,” another broken-toothed regular calls and gives me the thumbs-up. Somehow my nickname with the regulars is Chickadee. Thanks to Wilf.

I smile and tuck my head down, passing by more guests as I move toward the side of the building.

He's there.

Flynn sits on top of a picnic bench. The same kind of bench I've sat on a million times. With my mom at the park, having picnics with Allie and Penny. I jump up and sit beside him, putting my book on the other side. He presses his leg against mine.

“Stella is pissed at me,” I say and glance down at rude graffiti on the table. And bird poop.

“Why?”

“I think she believes I'm forcing you to make out with me.”

I expect him to laugh, but he puts his arm around my neck, so we're staring into each other's eyes. “It's not wrong. You and me.”

“Tell that to your mom.” I lift my chin. “Or Nance.”

Flynn stares at me. “Nance?” His jawline hardens. “She thinks I'm not good enough?”

I touch his arm. “She's wrong.”

“You know, when people tell me I can't have something, I want it more,” he says.

I contemplate that. “Is that what this is? Proving you can get the rich girl?” I try and sound like I'm joking.

“No. I'm not trying to prove anything. But I wanted you to know I'm stubborn.” He grins.

“I'm glad.”

I watch him pull something from his pocket, and then he holds out his hand. There's a small piece of wood on his palm. “I made this.”

I peer into his hand. “What's this?” I take it from him. It looks like a tiny squirrel.

“I'm that bad at whittling? It's a monkey.”

I hold it closer. “You made it?”

He's wearing a playful grin. “My dad taught me to whittle. He taught me to make cowboy boots first, and then animals. You have a monkey on your purse. I made it for you.”

I bump my shoulder against his. “I love it. But now I feel bad. I haven't gotten you anything.”

“You haven't?” He pretends to snatch the monkey away.

A dorky giggle squeaks out of me, and I reach for it and a sliver of wood pierces my finger.

“Ouch.” A drop of blood oozes out. I lift my finger to my lip and suck it away. “It doesn't matter. It's adorable.”

He leans closer. “You're pretty adorable yourself,” he whispers in my ear.

A breeze of nerves washes over my skin. My face flushes, embarrassment fusing with pleasure. I'm unable to articulate actual words. I tuck the monkey into the front pocket of my jeans.

“I want to kiss you,” he says. “But we're in public. And that's like a Public Display of Affection.”

“That
is
a PDA,” I tell him and laugh. He glances around. People are milling about the building, but they don't seem to be paying attention to us.

“Braxton says you're out of my league,” he mumbles. He picks up my hand and holds it in both of his.

“Stella thinks you're out of mine. And so does your mom.”

“No,” he says. “My mom thinks the opposite.”

I shake my head.

He leans closer. “She does. But you know what?” he asks softly. “I just realized I don't have anything against PDA.”

His lips press against mine softly and for only a second, but my head spins and my body melts.

When he pulls back, all the coherent thoughts have officially disappeared from my head. I lean against him, and we kiss deeper and longer. Nothing else in the world matters.

“Get a room,” one of the workers having a smoke at the back of the building yells, and the others gathered with him laugh and whoop.

Flynn straightens his back, and we pull away from each other. “Sorry,” he says. “I think I got carried away.”

“Or was that me?” I ask with a grin.

We sit there like two big dorks, staring at each other without saying anything. We probably look like we're having a staring contest. I smile.

“What?” he asks.

“I don't know. You make me smile,” I say. “I feel…connected to you. Is that weird? Do you think I'm weird?”

“Not weird. Well, maybe a little.” He holds up his finger and thumb, showing a small measurement. And then he reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I feel it too,” he says softly. “So we're both weird.”

“Kyle said you had a lot of girlfriends.” As soon as it leaves my mouth, I regret it.

He stares into my eyes but doesn't deny it. My belly blazes with jealousy. I chew my lip, trying not to let it bother me.

“I've never had a real girlfriend, you know,” he says and brushes my hair back again. “Not a real one. Not like this.” He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips. Kisses my knuckles one by one.

“Good,” I whisper and link my fingers into his and lean forward. “Me too.”

He leans in to meet me, and our lips brush together. I inhale and close my eyes. We kiss and we kiss, and I don't want to stop. I could kiss him until both of us stopped breathing and die happy.

“Jess!” a voice calls. An angry bark.

Dazed, we pull away from each other. I look over and my cheeks flare up. “Shit. It's my dad.” I sit taller. “What the hell is he doing here?”

His hands are on his hips, and his face is red and contorted as if it's about to explode off his head.

“It's time to go home,” he snaps, completely ignoring Flynn, looking right past him.

“I'm taking the bus,” I holler, and my voice sounds stupid, shocked, and embarrassed. My temperature rises from the way he's staring at us like we're doing something wrong.
It's not wrong
, I want to shout.

“I came to drive you home.” He looks ridiculous in his expensive suit with the tie that probably cost more than my entire outfit, including my not-cheap sneakers. I notice the way he turns his nose up at the people hanging around the shelter. The way he looks at me and doesn't look at Flynn. I know him, and he's not going to go away.

“Shit,” I mumble, picking up my book and tucking it under my arm. I stand up and wait for Flynn to stand with me. He stays seated.

“It's okay,” he says. “Go.”

I look down and shake my head. “No. Come and meet him.”

He glances at my dad, who is busy pretending Flynn doesn't exist.

“Let's go,” my dad commands.

“Flynn. Come on.”

Flynn looks at me long and hard as if he doesn't want to deal with this, like he wants to walk the other away, but then he jumps to the ground beside me. I take his hand but it's stiff in mine as we walk toward my dad.

Dad's face doesn't change. He shows no expression at all. No reaction or welcome for the boy I'm bringing over to meet him.

“Dad,” I say, “this is Flynn.”

The redness in Flynn's cheeks and the way he's rubbing at his neck breaks my heart.

I look to my dad and frown, trying to shame him into acknowledging Flynn properly. “Dad,” I repeat. “This is my friend Flynn.”

Flynn is taller, so Dad has to look up at him. I'm sure this bugs him even more. He acknowledges him with a man nod but doesn't smile.

“Nice to meet you,” Flynn says. He pulls his hand away from mine and sticks it out to my dad.

After a second too long, a second that shows his feelings as clearly as if he'd refused to shake his hand at all, my dad presses palms with Flynn. Bubbling rage stands up the hairs on my arms.

“Let's go,” Dad commands me.

My stomach burns. Flynn averts his eyes. As if he accepts my dad's treatment of him. My anger reaches out toward him as well. What about his words earlier? It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. Well, that includes my dad. No matter what an arrogant prick he's being.

I don't know what to do to make this awkward and infuriating situation any better. Other than disown my dad, grab Flynn's hand, and run.

“I'm taking the bus,” I say between gritted teeth.

“No. You're coming with me.” Dad grabs me by the elbow, and I try to shake him off, but he holds on firmly.

Flynn watches, his eyebrows drawn together. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Dad makes an angry sound in his throat, but I nod at Flynn to let him know I'm not about to get physically beaten or anything, because he looks kind of worried.

“Okay. I'll see you soon,” Flynn says softly, and he meets my dad's gaze, nods once. “Nice to meet you,” he lies and then turns and heads in the opposite direction.

My hatred for my dad grows, but he shoves me, forcing me to walk ahead of him the other way. “What the hell, Dad?”

He keeps pushing at me until we're past the shelter and the curious eyes of the people hanging out and watching. When we're past them, he hisses, “You have no business getting involved with boys like that.”

He doesn't look at me as we reach his Tesla Roadster, which he parked arrogantly, taking up two spots.

“Boys like that?” I say. “Oh my God, are you trying to be cliché? You don't even know him.”

He lifts his keys to automatically start the engine and unlock the doors.

“Get in the car.”

“What are you doing here, Dad?” I ask again.

He grits his teeth. “That woman phoned me. That Stella. Suggesting some inappropriate behavior might be going on.” He stomps around the front of his car and opens the passenger door. “Get in.”

Betrayal stabs at my soul. Stella called him? Some of my fight knocks out of me. “It's not inappropriate. We like each other.”

He waits for me to get in, his hand still on the door. “You are
not
dating a boy from the shelter.”

“Why? Because he's poor? Or half Asian?” I ask.

“Neither,” he snaps. “You're a volunteer. You don't get involved with these people.”

My stomach grinds with anxiety, a sick feeling rolling around my belly. “What are you afraid of?” I ask. “That if I like him, I'll end up on the streets?”

“You're on a short leash, Jess. Don't push me.”

“You don't even know him. Or his situation.”

“I don't want you dragged in over your head. You're doing this to piss me off,” he yells. “Put a stop to it. Immediately.” He leaves the passenger door and goes to open his own. He clenches his teeth. “Get. In. The. Car.”

“You're giving yourself a lot of credit. Did you ever consider that maybe he's a nice guy? And maybe I like him?”

“No,” he snaps. “I haven't.”

I consider running, going the other way, never going home. But where would I go? What would I do? Dad has control over me. So I get in the car, my whole body shaking with anger. I slam the door as he gets into the driver seat and pulls on his seat belt.

“You can't tell me who to date,” I tell him.

He doesn't answer. He turns the car on, shoulder checks, and pulls out on the road.

“You don't even know him,” I say. “He's a good person. You think I can only date boys whose fathers make as much money as you do?”

“Don't, Jess.”

“You always like to tell us how you grew up without money. Made it on your own. Maybe Flynn is the same.”

“Why don't you ask your mother about boys like him?” he snaps and runs the car through a yellow light.

I gasp and stare at his angry profile, my mouth open. Shocked.

“You have no right,” I finally manage. “No right at all to imply that about him.”

He's quiet, his mouth tight. He must know he's gone over the acceptable line, but he doesn't take it back. He doesn't apologize.

“Flynn is nothing like the boys who attacked mom. Nothing. His mom and family use the shelter because a
white
man
gambled away their money and left them bankrupt. Flynn works and looks after his little brother and helps out around the shelter because he feels so bad about using it.”

His lips are pressed together so hard they've disappeared, and he doesn't look at me. I cross my arms and stare out my window, barely keeping in my rage. We drive the rest of the way home in angry silence. I clutch the plant book to my chest and rub the tiny monkey in my pocket.

When he turns onto our street, Dad opens his mouth. “I have to go back out of town for a couple of days tomorrow. I told Stella you would work the rest of your shifts. You are to show up for your assigned hours only and come right home immediately after. I'll be checking in to make sure you're obeying.”

I don't say anything. That's what he wants. Silence. Compliance. He thinks he's gotten his way. He hasn't. He pulls into our driveway. The oversized stupid driveway.