Very Wicked Things
Page 52

He wrapped me in his arms and because I was not myself, I let him.
He’d let me hit him too. I didn’t know what to think about that.
He rocked me. “Whatever it is that’s got you like this, shit, I swear, I’ll fix it. I won’t leave you alone. Please, Dovey, talk to me.” He tried to tilt my chin and look at me, but I fought him until he sighed and gave up.
Not leave me?
What a lie. He’d left me once already, hadn’t he? And a leopard never changes his spots. Once you’re called the heartbreaker of BA, you’re always the heartbreaker of BA.
“Dovey, please tell me what’s wrong. Is this about Sarah?” Cuba asked. “Or that Barinsky guy?” Again, he tried to get me to look at him.
I shook my head frantically. No, no, no.
“Then, is this about Emma?” He held his breath, his body tense. “Because I’m —”
At her name, I squirmed out of his embrace and stood, my hands wiping at the wetness on my cheeks. I couldn’t tell him the whole truth, so I lied.
“It’s—it’s Spider. We had a fight.”
He rushed to his feet. “I’ll kill that bastard if he laid a hand on you,” he shouted.
“No, no that.” But, I guess that was debatable though.
“Then just a lover’s tiff?” A muscle in his jaw ticked.
I sniffed. “We kissed and then I—I called him your name.”
His eyes widened. “Oh. That sucks…for him.”
I ignored that.
“He hates you, you know. And it makes me angry that I ...” I stopped, afraid of what might slip out.
He briefly shut his eyes. “If he loves you, he’ll get over it.”
But, why hadn’t Cuba loved me?
I nodded, changing gears. “Tell me something, is that someday here yet? The one where you explain why you mind-fucked me?”
“Dovey,” he said, and then his voice softened. “Please, I—I don’t know where to start with this, but I’m sorry for everything, especially the way we broke up. I know I destroyed any respect or love you had for me. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’d give anything if you’d forgive me.”
My breath caught at his next words.
“I—I’m trying to be a better person because anything is better than what I am. Your forgiveness would help.”
He was trying for Emma.
I wanted to scream again.
Instead, I waved my hands in the direction of where the barn was. “One winter day last year, I fell in love with you inside that barn. And I thought you loved me too—but you didn’t. Why did you lie to me and make me love you? What purpose did it serve? Was it just to get your rocks off? Did you sit up at night and laugh about the stupid girl from Ratcliffe who fell for your bullshit? What was it?” My voice teetered on breaking, and I yanked it back.
Silence from him as he got still, like a frozen winter god.
But I needed this. Because we’d never had this conversation, real closure.
“Don’t leave me hanging here, Cuba,” I said, shaking my head. “You’ve pretended like I didn’t exist for an entire year. Why? Just tell me the fucking truth.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets, his face completely blank, and I knew he’d shut down. I let out a jarring laugh. “Silence with you is never golden. I get it. The truth is too painful.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his head bowed. “I’m afraid that whatever I say will hurt you, and I’m sick of breaking your heart. You don’t deserve that. You need something good and sweet. I let you down last year, and I’d do it again. You need someone who’s not me.”
Not him? Would there ever be anyone else for me?
He rubbed his face with his hands. “Cara, my parents, and now you. I’ve hurt those who care about me the most.”
I glanced into the darkness, anywhere except at him.
“You’ll never forgive me,” he stated, sadness flickering over his face.
“I don’t know,” I said, and that was as much as I was willing to give right now. I pivoted from him, headed to my car.
“Wait,” he called out after me. “Where are you going? You know you can’t drive home in this right?”
“Getting a hotel room,” I lied. Ready to get away from him.
“Look, I have ten empty bedrooms.” He fell into step beside me.
“So?”
“So? I’m inviting you to stay at my house. I don’t want you on these roads, even to drive to a hotel. When I checked out your car, I noticed your tires were bald. What if you slipped off in a ditch?”
I hitched my bag up and kept on. “I have a cell phone. You drove here didn’t you? And why are you out this late?
He clammed up. “No reason.”
Oh, but there was, and it was probably Emma related.
“You play a deep game, Cuba.”
He grabbed my wrist, and we stopped in the snow. He drew me toward him, and without me even realizing it, I allowed it. Invisible wires connected us. Hadn’t they always? “You were never a game to me, do you understand. Not one time that we were together.”
Little puffs of smoke came out of his mouth, and as we stood nose to nose, the winter air between us mingled and it felt a lot like how our first kiss began that night at Vespucci’s. His gaze landed on my lips, and I felt them part, remembering the weight of his, remembering how perfect we’d been. His head came down closer, closer to me, as if he was going to…