Rebelonging (Unbelonging, Book 2) Page 20

  I was mad as hell at my mom, but what did I expect? She did this all the time. Still, poor Josh. I hated that she'd gotten his hopes up yet again, only to cancel last-minute. As for me, I'd lost hope years ago. The way I saw it, I was the lucky one.

  When Josh disconnected, I checked the clock on my phone. The call had cost me five precious minutes. Even if by some miracle, my car started now, I was still totally screwed.

  More accurately, Josh was screwed.

  Well, so much for Plan A.

  My heart racing, I scrolled through my contacts, and found Lawton's name. I pressed the call button and held my breath.

  It rang once, then twice, and then, I heard his voice, nearly breathless. "Chloe?"

  "Yeah. Listen," I said. "I've got a question."

  "Yeah?"

  "You still want that beating?"

  Chapter 55

  A couple minutes later, Lawton's hot rod squealed into the driveway, looking only slightly better than it had the night he'd taken a crowbar to it.

  He'd obviously replaced the headlights and both side-view mirrors, but the car body itself was still a mess, with a cracked windshield and big, ugly dents all over the hood.

  I was standing near the trunk of my own car, holding the giant serving bowl of salad with both hands. Resting by my feet were the two desserts, sitting in their boxes on the hard concrete.

  Breathlessly, I watched Lawton get out of his car, leaving the engine running, a low rumble that carried over the cool air.

  Lawton looked just like I remembered – hot as sin, but distinctly underdressed in tattered jeans and a white T-shirt. The shirt had dark grease stains down the front and sides, like he'd been leaning over an engine or changing a stubborn tire.

  The jeans had similar streaks, possibly handprints, just above his knees, where the fabric was torn and worn to the point where I saw the hint of bare skin showing through.

  Whether his bare arms had similar streaks, I had no idea. Between the outlines of his muscles and intricate tattoos, I was having a hard time seeing much else.

  Silently, I drank in the sight of him, watching him watch me as he moved with the kind of intensity that should've made me run.

  He stopped and looked down at the boxes by my feet. "We taking those?"

  I nodded.

  Wordlessly, he picked them up and strode toward the passenger's side of his car. Shifting the boxes to one arm, he opened the car door with his right hand, and set the boxes on the floor just behind the passenger's seat.

  Salad in hand, I joined him. He held the car door open while I climbed inside and settled the salad onto my lap.

  Before he closed my car door, I looked up. Our eyes met and held. It was hard to breathe, much less speak.

  But somehow, my mouth opened, and words tumbled out. "Boy, are you gonna be sorry."

  He grinned. "Not a chance."

  Looking at him, I felt my mouth go just a little bit dry. When he closed my door and walked around the front of the car, his smile was still there.

  Reluctantly, I felt myself smile too, just barely, but enough to ease some of the tension.

  Our conversation on the phone had been brief to the point of rudeness, on my part, anyway. But he'd come. Just like he'd promised. And obviously, he'd taken my words seriously, maybe too seriously for his own good.

  I'd asked him – no, begged him, actually – to drop everything and come right now. Twenty seconds into my sorry excuse for an explanation, he was on the way.

  I watched him settle into the driver's seat, all long legs and sinewy muscle.

  "I wasn't kidding," I said. "This is gonna suck." I glanced down at his clothes and winced. "Especially for you."

  He shrugged. "I think I can handle it."

  "That's what you think."

  He flicked his head toward the street. "Which way?"

  I gave him general directions to my Dad's house, and he backed out onto the street. When he hit the accelerator, the car's engine roared, and the seats vibrated with its raw power. Good thing he hadn't taken a crowbar to anything under the hood.

  I settled into my seat, pretending that my eyes weren't starving for a good, long look at him. I tried looking straight ahead. Then I tried looking out my own window. But over and over, my gaze kept drifting back to where he sat, close enough to touch, but miles away in all the ways that mattered.

  We were going fast, well above the speed limit. Houses and mailboxes passed in a blur as he navigated the nearly empty streets.

  His dark tousled hair framed his chiseled face as he watched the road. He had one hand draped loosely over the steering wheel and the elbow of his other arm resting on the center console.

  "So," he said, giving me a sideways glance, "this wasn't exactly the beating I expected."

  On the phone, I'd given him only the briefest of details, telling him I needed a ride, and I needed a distraction. I hadn't lied then, and I wasn't going to lie now.

  Whether we were together or not, I was done with secrets, and done with surprises. Besides, this thing would go a whole lot better if he knew up front what he was getting into.

  "Trust me," I said, "by the end of the day, you'll be wishing for the other kind."

  "I don't care. I'm just glad you called."

  "Oh, that's what you say now," I said.

  "Ask me later," he said. "I'll say the same thing."

  I still couldn't believe I'd caught him at home. "You didn't have plans today?" It was a holiday, after all.

  He shrugged. "I had invitations. None I wanted."

  "Yeah," I said. "I know the feeling."

  Given the choice between having someone handcuff me in a basement or spending a single holiday Loretta-style, it was no contest.

  I'd take the basement.

  I leaned back and closed my eyes, feeling the vibration of the seat course through me. Oh, Lawton would regret this, alright. Maybe he didn't think so now, but he would. A couple hours with Loretta, and he'd be begging for a nice crowbar to the face.

  Chapter 56

  "For someone who's about to put me through the ringer," he said over the engine's roar, "you don't look too happy."

  I opened my eyes and stole another glance in his direction. "That's because I can't just send you in my place."

  Still holding the salad, I fumbled for my cell phone to check the time. "We've got ten minutes," I said. The next road sign passed in a blur. If we'd been going the speed limit, we'd be at least fifteen minutes away. I didn't need to look at the speedometer to know we were going quite a bit faster than that.

  "Oh c'mon," Lawton said. "What are they gonna do? Lock the doors?"

  "You don't think they wouldn’t?" I tried to keep my tone light, but somehow missed the mark. "You poor, misguided fool."

  I leaned down to shove the cell phone back in my purse, and before I knew what was happening, the salad toppled off my lap. The clear wrapping came loose and half of the lettuce spilled onto my shoes.

  "Oh my God," I said. "Stop the car! No. Wait. Keep going." Desperately, I righted the bowl. With the lost lettuce, the salad looked way too small. This was bad. Maybe if fluffed it up or something—"

  I glanced over at Lawton. His gaze shifted briefly in my direction. His brow wrinkled.

  And then it hit me how rude I was being. "Oh jeez, sorry about your floor mat," I said. I pushed a hand through my hair. "I guess I should've apologized first, huh?"

  "Don't worry about it," he said. "It's just lettuce. No big deal."

  "Yeah, I guess," I said in a distracted tone. "Good thing it wasn't soup, huh?"

  "Salad, soup, whatever, it all cleans up." He turned briefly to look at me, and his tone grew serious. "Baby, what's wrong?"

  I glanced down at the salad. I shook my head. "It's too small." I reached up to rub my forehead. "This is bad. What am I gonna do?"

  "Chloe," he said in a low, soothing voice, "it's just a salad."

  "No," I snapped. "It's not just a salad. You don't get it. This? It's
a big deal. Because everything's a big deal."

  Still driving, Lawton reached for my hand. "C'mon, what is it?"

  I couldn't bring myself to pull away. And for once, it had nothing to do with my crazy, mixed-up feelings for him.

  His hand felt big and strong, and so much steadier than my own was. Between the car trouble and my own clumsiness, I was feeling a growing sense of dread. What if things went downhill from here?

  "Nothing," I said with a shake of my head. "It's fine. Watch the road, alright?"

  It wasn't fine, of course. If the salad turned out to be the thing that sent Loretta over the edge, I'd be kicking myself all the way there and back. I took a deep breath and tried to steady my nerves.

  I dealt with Loretta all the time. But today, she was already on the warpath. I'd be inside that house for at least a couple hours, tripping over land mines everywhere I stepped. If one of those things blew up, it wouldn’t be just me getting hurt.

  Our last holiday had been so awful. What if this one went the same way?

  I couldn’t let it. No way. I wouldn't let it happen. Not this time. I leaned back and shut my eyes as tight as I could, and not because of our decidedly unsafe speed.

  "Aw c'mon," Lawton said, "it can't be that bad."

  "I hope you're right," I said. "And this time, you'll be there, so—" I shrugged and let the sentence trail off.

  "So? Go on."

  "Well, normally they're a lot nicer in front of strangers." I opened my eyes to look at him. "And you're a stranger to them, so—" I shook my head. "Crap, I don't know. What if it backfires?"

  "Chloe?" His voice was low. "Are you scared?"

  I turned to look out the window. "No."

  He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, "Baby, what is it?"

  I remembered my vow. No more lies, no more secrets. "Okay, here's the thing." I blew out a breath. "I almost never go there, and when I do, it's always awful."

  "What's so awful about it?"

  "Like my dad," I said, "Whenever he has company over, he starts talking funny."

  "How so?"

  "Well, he's a commercial real estate broker–"

  "A salesman?"

  "Basically," I said. "So he's always trying to bond with whoever he's talking to, but he never gets it quite right."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, one time, Loretta had this Australian couple over for dinner, and by the time we hit dessert, my dad's talking in this weird accent, more English than anything."

  Lawton's brow wrinkled. "But you said they were Australian, right?"

  "Yeah, and the harder my dad tries to show that he's exactly like them, the worse everything gets. They start talking less. He starts talking more." I shook my head. "I'm pretty sure they thought my dad was making fun of them."

  Lawton laughed. "Aw c'mon, that's not so bad."

  "I guess," I said. "And actually, it's a lot better than how he acts when it's just family."

  "How so?"

  "Well, when no one's there except us and Loretta, he's either giving me and Josh a hard time or kissing Loretta's butt."

  "Who's Loretta?"

  "My stepmother, who totally hates me, by the way."

  "Oh yeah? Why?"

  "Mostly, she hates everyone, well, except for her own daughter." I paused. "And my dad. Sometimes."

  "What about your brother?"

  "That's the worst part," I said. "She doesn't loathe him quite as much as she does me, but she still has this way of tormenting him, even when she's pretending to be nice."

  Lawton said nothing as he down-shifted to pass an oversized pickup truck. We blew past him like he was standing still.

  "Oh, I know what you're thinking," I said. "You think I'm exaggerating, right?"

  "I never said that."

  "Uh-huh." I felt my stomach churn at the memory of my last holiday there. "You'll see. It doesn't take anything to set her off."

  "Like what? Gimme an example."

  "Well, a couple of Easters ago, it was oyster gravy."

  I glanced in his direction. The look on his face said it all. Disgusted. And he was right.

  Our shared loathing of seafood was just one of the many reasons I loved him. Correction – one of the many reasons I used to love him, before everything had gotten so messed up.

  Before he locked me in his basement. Or assumed I was a hooker.

  He shook his head. "That's just wrong."

  No kidding. If I were willing to have sex for money, my life would've been a whole lot simpler.

  "So," he said in a prompting tone. "The gravy?"

  Oh, right. Loretta. Gravy.

  I nodded. "Supposedly, it's a delicacy. Or at least, that's what Loretta keeping telling us."

  Lawton's tires squealed around the next turn. "I've got this friend from Texas," he said. "Know what he'd say to that?"

  "What?"

  Lawton assumed a Western drawl. "You can call it Nancy and put a dress on it. But I'm still not gonna eat it."

  "Say that to Loretta, and you're a dead man." I felt the corners of my mouth lift just a fraction. "As much as I'd totally love to see that."

  "So about Easter?" Lawton said. "What happened?"

  "Anyway, Loretta made this special batch of oyster gravy, and then flipped out when we didn't want any."

  "You and your brother?"

  "Yeah. And Lauren Jane too, except she didn't get in trouble for it."

  "Who's Lauren Jane?"

  "Loretta's daughter."

  "Ah."

  "And then there was my dad, no help as usual. I lowered my voice in a decent imitation of him. "Loretta spent all morning in the kitchen making this for us, and the least you kids can do is have some."

  "So did you?"

  I nodded.

  "How was it?" he asked.

  I shuddered. "Awful. Like fish-barf."

  "But your dad likes it?"

  "Nope."

  "So he doesn't eat it."

  "Nope."

  Lawton was shaking his head. "I don't get it."

  "Don't get me wrong," I said. "He'd probably eat a smoking turd if Loretta asked him to."

  "Better than fish barf," Lawton said.

  "On second thought," I said, "you know what? He wouldn’t eat it. He'd make us do it. That way, he gets the credit, and we get the shaft."

  I glanced again at Lawton. His expression was stony, but his tone was carefully neutral as he said, "So Loretta likes the gravy?"

  "I dunno," I said. "Couldn’t tell you either way. She's always on a diet. So it's not like she actually eats the stuff herself. Mostly, she just picks at a salad or something and goes straight for dessert."

  Lawton's eyebrows furrowed. "So this gravy, who exactly was supposed to eat it?"

  I shrugged. "Me and Josh, I guess."

  There was no trace of humor as he said, "Go on."

  "So like I said, there's no getting out of it. At least not for me. So I put some on my potatoes, and take a bite."

  "And?"

  "Like I said, it's awful." I swallowed at the memory. "Worse than awful actually. But I know what I've got to do, so I smile and tell her it's delicious."

  "Was she happy?"

  "Loretta?" I said. "Never. But at least she's not throwing plates. So I keep shoveling it down, figuring that once it's gone, the whole thing's over, right?"

  "It wasn't?"

  "No," I said, glancing out the window. "It was just beginning."

  Chapter 57

  His voice was very quiet in the noisy car. "What happened next?"

  "So Josh," I said, "he's a picky eater. Always has been. And no matter how many times my dad tells him that something's a delicacy, he still doesn't want anything to do with it."

  "Smart kid."

  "You have no idea," I said, feeling the hint of a real smile. "So anyway, Josh keeps saying 'no thanks' to the gravy, but Loretta won't take no for an answer. So she shoves at this vase, and it tips over. Flowers spill, the vase cracks, a
nd my dad gets mad."

  "At Loretta?"

  I gave a derisive snort. "Dream on. No. At Josh. So my dad grabs a ladle and starting slopping all this gravy onto Josh's plate, one scoop after another. And this crap gets on everything, not just the potatoes either." I shook my head. "The chicken, the corn, even the salad."

  I closed my eyes as if I could somehow block out the memory. Someday, Josh and I might be able to laugh about it. But someday seemed a long ways off.

  I glanced at Lawton. Any trace of good humor had had long since vanished. "Keep going," he said.

  "So," I continued, "my dad tells Josh that he's not getting another thing to eat 'til he finishes what's on his plate, even though it looks like some fish threw up on it."

  "What happened? Did he eat it?"

  I shook my head. "No. Josh just sits there, looking down at his plate, and my dad keeps hassling him, saying what a great cook Loretta is, and how lucky Josh is to be living under her roof. And the whole time, Loretta's just sitting there with this half-smile on her face, like everything is turning out exactly like she planned. And Josh, he doesn't eat anything else. Not one bite. And I can tell he wants to cry."

  I blew out a breath. "But he's in fourth grade. Or at least he was back then, so he's too big to cry. And he's too little to take on my dad, obviously, or Loretta for that matter. So he doesn't do anything but stare at his plate until everyone else is done."

  "But what'd you do?" Lawton said. "You were there, so–"

  "Yeah. I was there. And I knew I'd be smart to stay out of it."

  Lawton sounded confused. "Because you didn't need the trouble?"

  I turned sideways to face him. The salad wobbled precariously. I grabbed it and held on for dear life. "No," I said, "Because I know better, or least I should've. Because every time I try to help, I just make it worse."

  "Is that what happened this time?"

  "Oh yeah. Because stupid me, I couldn't just let it go. But doing the thing I want to do is completely out of the question."

  "What was that?"

  "Breaking that damn vase over her head."

  "Sounds good to me," he said.

  "Yeah, but I don't want to make everything worse. So as nice as I could, I suggest letting Josh get a new plate. I say stuff like, 'I think we've all learned a good lesson here.'" I shook my head. "What a load of crap. Anyway, I get Josh to say he'll try some gravy on his potatoes if we can just start over."