Four Years Later
Page 32

Unease settles in my stomach, making it turn. “That’s dirty money, Mom.”
“It is not,” she says, her voice prim. She believes what she wants to believe. That’s how she’s always been with her husband.
My father.
He’s a horrible person. Right up there with Owen’s mom.
My mother, for all her man-hating and constant warnings about how men will treat me awful, how I can’t trust them and I’m better off alone, can’t believe her own hype. My father is her absolute weakness.
And she can’t even see it.
“It’s dirty money. He has some secret account he wants you to clean out so he doesn’t have to do the hard work and possibly get caught after he gets out. You’ll save it for him and when he’s released from prison, you’ll give it to him, think everything will be wonderful and perfect between the two of you, and then he’ll leave you. Again.”
She’s sputtering, sounding like a plugged-up faucet right before it blows and spits water everywhere. “How dare you say that, Chelsea. He is your father. He may be in prison doing his time, but you shouldn’t judge him for that. Everyone makes mistakes and now he’s paying his dues. He has redeemed himself.”
“Right. He’s a model citizen. Paying his dues by encouraging you to pull out his dirty money from his secret account.” I pause, wondering if my words are even sinking into her brain. “He’s a real prize, Mom. I refuse to get involved with that sort of thing.”
“That money will help you survive, which you’re barely doing, might I remind you.”
Way to rub salt in the wound, Mom. “I don’t want it. He stole it.”
“We don’t know that,” she starts, but I cut her off.
“Sure we do. He took it. I don’t want it.” How many times do I need to say it? “I want nothing from him. Absolutely nothing.”
“I’m not abandoning my husband in his time of need, Chelsea.” Her voice is like ice. “If you’re going to make me choose, be careful. You might not like my decision.”
She’s threatening me. Letting me know she’d choose him over me. I don’t understand her. I never really have. She’s always such a contradiction, her thoughts, her whims moving with the shift of the wind. Dad wronged her? Men are evil. Dad’s now wooing her with sweet words and endless promises? She needs to stand by her man no matter what.
I’m sick of it. Sick of the back-and-forth and depending on a man who doesn’t give a crap about us. It’s exhausting.
They both are.
“I won’t take the money.” I lean my head back and close my eyes, swallowing hard. “I don’t want you to see him.”
“Too late. I’ve seen him, many times. We talk on the phone daily. We write each other letters. He’ll be getting out of prison by the end of the year and we’ll be together again.” She sounds happy, so falsely pinning all her hope on this, and I want to smack her. Tell her he’ll disappoint her again. She’s forgetting all of that. Just believing his lies and his empty promises.
And when he disappoints her yet again and leaves her alone, what will she do? Turn to me?
“He told me that he’s tried to contact you,” she says, her voice full of disapproval. “And that you hang up on him every single time. You shouldn’t do that, Chelsea. He just wants to talk to you. You’re his daughter, his only child.”
They won’t have to worry about it any longer because I shut off the house phone, depending only on my cell. Couldn’t afford to keep the landline, which we had only because Kari’s parents insisted on it for safety reasons, whatever that means.
And cell phones normally can’t take collect calls.
“I refuse to allow him back into my life, Mom. I’m sorry.” I hang up on her before she can say another word and I stare at my phone screen, wondering if she’ll call back. Counting on her to call back. At least text.
But she doesn’t. That hurts more than I care to admit.
Leaning back in my chair, I stare at the ceiling, feeling … hopeless. The beginning of the semester I felt like I had everything. With two jobs and the perfect school schedule, finally out of the dorms and living with my best friend, I was on top of the world.
Then I meet Owen, and my world is flipped upside down. Everything’s changed. I can’t blame him for all of the changes, but he’s part of it. A big part of it.
I wish he were still a part of it.
Closing my eyes, I try to shut off my churning thoughts, my overactive imagination. I can’t go home. I can’t stay in this stupid apartment. I have nowhere. Nothing. No friends, no possibilities. Maybe I could rent a room. Sell what pitiful amount of furniture I have and move in with someone. That could work, and the rent would be way cheaper.
First thing tomorrow I’m looking for someone with a place to share. Tonight … tonight I’m too tired and too depressed.
My phone buzzes and I crack open my eyes. I hold it up so I can see who texted me. Probably Kari, crying the blues that she can’t go out on a Saturday night. Or that her parents treat her like she’s on her deathbed when she’s really only sick with stupid mono. Those had been her complaints last night when she texted me.
These messages aren’t from Kari, though. There’s an endless stream of them, one after another. One heartbreaking sentence at a time.
I miss you.
I think about you all the time.
I dream about you.
I lied to you and I’m sorry.
I was embarrassed.
Ashamed.
I want to earn your forgiveness but I don’t know how.
I hold my phone with trembling hands and tears forming in my eyes. I haven’t cried since that night I ran away from Owen. I told myself I was stronger than that. He couldn’t break me. I refused to let him.
But now, with the truth typed out for me to see, I cry. Quiet, continuous tears that slide down my cheeks, drop from my jaw onto my chest, dampening my shirt. I don’t care. The release feels good. It frees me from everything I’ve held so tight within me for weeks.
Sniffing, blinking past the tears, I text him back.
One pitiful sentence at a time, just like the ones he sent to me.
I miss you, too.
And I think about you all the time.
You come to me in my dreams and I don’t want to wake up.
You lied to me but I lied to you, too.
Because I was embarrassed.
And ashamed like you.
Maybe someday I can tell you about it.
I wait for his answer, my breathing short, my chest aching. What if he doesn’t reply? Maybe he’s drunk. Maybe he’s … oh God, maybe he’s high and he’s trying to con me into going back to him.
Maybe, just maybe, I want to be conned. I want to go back to him. I miss him so much. I need him.
Does he need me?
My phone buzzes and I look at the screen, my heart in my throat.
Tell me about it now.
It would take me forever to text him everything. Before I can reply, I get another message:
Come over. I want to see you.
Can I? Am I brave enough? I don’t know. I want to see him. I’m desperate to look at him, smell him, feel his arms come around me and hold me tight.
Please Chels. I need to see you.
I need you.
His last text tells me that I am.
CHAPTER 21
Owen
I wait out by my car for her, wishing for about the ten thousandth time that I’d offered to come pick her up. She probably would have turned me down. I don’t want to push, but I hadn’t expected her to answer my text messages.
She did. Her words mirrored mine but reflected her own troubles. The secrets she kept from me. I want to hear them. I need to.
I need to see her.
Girls approach me outside, one after another, all of them asking if I need anything, do I want something to drink, something to eat, maybe I could take them back to my room and they could help me out in other ways. So many girls are here, looking to score with a football player. Ready to brag to their friends that they snagged one. I don’t want to deal with the groupies and the obvious girls who want nothing more than to get laid.
I used to be one of those guys who wanted nothing more than to get laid. It didn’t matter with whom or where, I was happy to be getting some.
I’m not that guy anymore. I want my sweet, smart girl. I need Chelsea.
Whipping my phone out of my pocket, I check for a message from her but there isn’t one. My head is clear, the faint haze from my earlier buzz all gone. I’m focused. Centered. She feels close. I can sense her presence, I swear, and when I glance up I see her. Walking across the street, headed straight for me. Her hair is in a sloppy knot on top of her head, she doesn’t have any makeup on, and she’s wearing the sweatshirt I gave her when we went to Drew’s football game and black leggings that make her legs look like they’re a mile long.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hi.” She stops directly in front of me, her hands stuffed in the pocket on the front of her sweatshirt, her expression wary but her gaze … hopeful.
“Hey.” I want to reach out and touch her so bad it’s killing me. “You, uh, walked here?”
She shrugs. “I’ve had so much crap happen to me lately, I figured I may as well live dangerously and walk. What else can go wrong?”
Damn. She doesn’t usually talk like this. She’s the positive one in this relationship. “What’s going on, Chels?” I give in to my urge and reach out, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, let my index finger trace the curve of it.
She releases a shuddery breath and closes her eyes, exhaling softly. “Are you high?”
“What? No.” Fuck. I need to tell her the truth. “I took one puff on a joint earlier. Wade caught me. I stopped.”
“Owen …” She shakes her head, the disappointment clear in her voice, and I’m so scared she’s going to leave me for good I don’t know what to do.
“I was feeling sort of f**ked up,” I confess. “I thought I saw you earlier.”
“Where?” She frowns.
“At the game. Some girl who looked a lot like you was hanging all over some guy.” I take a deep breath. “I was jealous.”
“You thought it was me.”
I nod. “And I just wanted to forget, you know? That’s why I lit up. Then Wade saw me and called me out on my shit. Made me realize I can’t run away from my problems. I need to face them head on.” I stare at her, hoping she realizes what I’m saying.
I’m willing to face our problems and make them right. I want this to work. I want us to work.
“I can’t be with you if you keep smoking weed,” she murmurs. “I just … I can’t deal with it.”
“I swear I won’t, Chels. For you, I’ll give it up.”
“You have to want to give it up for yourself, too, you know,” she points out.
Damn, my girl is smart. “Yeah, I know. You’re right.”
She stares at me for a moment, her gaze dark, her expression sad. “I have to move out of my apartment,” she blurts out.
Shit, she’s leaving? Panic races through me and I stifle it down. I don’t know if I can stand the thought of her gone. “Why?”
“Kari got a bad case of mono and her parents freaked so hard they withdrew her from school, packed up all her stuff and brought her back home. They never really wanted her to leave, to go away for school. This is their way of getting her back under their control.”
Controlling parents who actually care. I have no idea what that’s like. “You can’t find another roommate?”
“No. Kari’s parents took all of her furniture and I only have a few things. I’ve been alone in that little apartment for almost two weeks.” A tiny sob escapes her and she hangs her head, kicks at the sidewalk with her booted foot. “I’ve been working extra shifts. I-I’ve even skipped class.”
“What?” I must have sounded extra startled because her head jerks up, her eyes wide as she stares at me.
“I said I’ve skipped class.”
“But you never skip.” I’m incredulous.
“I had no choice. I was either working or passed out in bed after an extra-long shift at the diner.”
“Why do you need to work all the time, Chels?” I want to get to the heart of the matter. I’d invite her to my room so we could discuss this in private but she’d probably accuse me of trying to get in her panties, and I just … I’m too exhausted to deal with that right now. Another fight, another loss. Because I would lose.
I always do.
“My dad’s a thief. He embezzled money from his job for years. They trusted him. We all trusted him.” Her voice is small, barely above a whisper, and I lean in closer to hear her. “He’s also a cheater and a liar. He’s in jail. Prison, really. He’s used my mom forever, always promising he’ll take care of her when really he just stomps all over her heart and leaves it to bleed. I hate him. I also … I hate it when she believes him. When she talks about how bad men are and how much she hates them, then turns around and takes him back. Every single time, she does that. I don’t know why. I don’t get it.”
My heart aches for her. I hear the pain and anguish in her voice and it’s f**king killing me.
I grab her by the upper arms and pull her in close, hold her to me as she presses her face into my shirt. She feels so good, so damn right back in my arms, but I hold her loosely. Not wanting to scare her or make her run.
I need her here. With me.