Her words are loud; they carry through the air in a way that makes certain everyone within the vicinity hears her. My brothers. The firefighters. The police. Some random lookers, still lingering despite the fact the show is fucking over. I move around, trying to shield Bex with my body. She doesn’t deserve this. I want to gather her up into my arms and hug her so tightly she knows I’m never letting go.
Abby’s face crumples. “You know how hard it is, baby.”
“I don’t care.” She fists her hands in her hair, taking in a ragged breath. “You’re supposed to be my mother. You take care of me, not the other way around.” She sobs. “I made you a promise and you promised me back.”
Abby doesn’t say anything. The cigarette slips from her fingers, and I step forward before she can, grinding it underneath my heel.
“Mom,” Bex whispers. “Tell me you remember. You made me promise.”
But Abby doesn’t say a word.
25
BEX
“You’re sure about this?” Laura asks.
She’s on my bed, watching as I pack the suitcase. Jeans, a pretty dress, James’ jersey. Fancy lingerie I splurged on during a trip to the mall with Laura earlier today. That’s where I got the little suitcase, too. I’ve never owned one because I never had anywhere to go. Even though it’s only Pennsylvania, I can’t help but be excited.
Anything to take my mind off the shitstorm at the diner. That’s how James pitched it to me when he invited me to tag along with him for the away game at Penn State. I’ve been busy arguing with the insurance company, trying to line up rehab work for the apartment, and keeping the diner running amid a period where my mother has disappeared into her grief, not to mention keeping up with my job and schoolwork. Aunt Nicole calls every day to update me. Mom hasn’t been this bad since the last time my father sniffed around.
I wish I could bring myself to feel worse about it, but I don’t. Her accusations of abandonment stung, but even worse was realizing that the fire ruined my camera and tons of photography. I keep some of it in my dorm room, and a couple of pieces were framed in the diner, but all the work from middle and high school had been in my room. The fire and resulting smoke damaged everything. The fancy camera that Aunt Nicole bought me as a sixteenth birthday present was ruined beyond use.
I’d never abandon my mother or the diner, but a small, selfish part of me wishes that the fire had ruined the diner too.
I add pajamas to the top of the suitcase and zip it shut. “It’s just one weekend.”
“Alone with him in a hotel room.” Laura frowns. “It’s not something you do when it’s casual. Or when you’re pretending.”
“I don’t think we’re pretending anymore,” I admit. The confession makes Laura’s jaw drop. I try to laugh, to make light of the confession, but it’s scary to say aloud. If I’m being totally serious, James Callahan has worked his way into my life and is refusing to let go.
When he introduced himself as my boyfriend, it felt right. True, not part of the lie. Maybe somewhere between study sessions and texting, the fake dates and kisses, something changed. When I look at him, I instantly feel a little safer. Not just around Darryl. All the time, even if we’re just at his dining room table, doing schoolwork while Seb cooks dinner and Cooper reads.
He had my back at the diner. Now he wants me to have his at this game.
“You have been spending a ton of time with him. Which you totally deserve,” Laura says. She pulls me into a hug, planting a kiss on my cheek. “Have fun banging him after the win. You still haven’t given me the deets about his dick, you know.”
“Laura!” I hit her shoulder, laughing, as I pull away.
She arches a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “You can’t tell me a guy like him doesn’t have a huge package. I’ve seen how tight his football pants are.”
She’s not wrong, of course. But I’m not about to give her the satisfaction of confirming it.
“I always wondered what girls talk about alone,” I hear James say. “Now I know you’re just as dirty as the guys.”
I spin around. He’s in the doorway of my bedroom, wearing a leather jacket and a McKee football t-shirt. A grin breaks out on my face; before I can register what’s happening, I’m in his arms, planting a kiss on his lips. I feel his hand come up to stroke through my hair.
“How did you get in here?” I demand.
“You left the door open.” He makes a chiding noise. “You’re lucky it was me who walked in, you know. You could have been murdered by the next Ted Bundy.”
“You can murder me any time,” says Laura with a grin.
I roll my eyes. “You’re still cool with me coming?”
“Of course. Real question is if you’re cool with my off-key car singing.”
“As long as it’s the classics.”
He grabs my suitcase before I can and wheels it into the main area. “Which are?”
“Brittany Spears, mostly. Vintage Beyoncé. Spice Girls,” Laura says. I glare at her, but she just holds up her hands. “What! Babe, you know I’m with you on this.”
James groans. “I change my mind. I’ll meet you there.”
I smile at him innocently. “No, you don’t.”
“Have fun and make good choices!” Laura calls as we head downstairs.
When we get on the road, I settle back in the stupid-comfy passenger seat of James’ car and scroll through my Spotify playlists. I’m still not over the fact he drives a Range Rover. It’s only going to take us a couple hours to reach Penn State, but I want to make the most of my time in his fancy car. There are butt warmers and everything, a fact I appreciate in the chilly weather.
“Are you actually going to flip when I put on this playlist?”
James glances over for half a second before settling his gaze back on the road. “Put on whatever you want, baby.”
“It won’t mess up your pre-game routine or whatever?”
“My routine doesn’t start until game day.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, giving me another look. There’s a light pink flush on his cheeks. “And I’m hoping to add new routines, anyway.”
My heart does a somersault; I can’t help smiling. “Oh yeah?”
“Waking up next to my girl can’t hurt.”
My girl. The words fill the air, the car. Part of me wants to ask about it, but I don’t want to ruin the magic, not now. It’s good enough to know I’m his girl.
I pick out the pop playlist I use when I work out, and Rihanna’s voice starts to play from the fancy speakers.
And almost immediately, James starts to sing along.
I turn to him with delight. Apparently, he knows every word to “Umbrella,” and doesn’t seem at all bothered by that. His voice is awful, but he sings with such conviction I can’t help but join in, wiggling my body to the beat. When the song ends, we’re both breathless with laughter, and his hand is on my thigh, squeezing lightly. Possessively. I look over at him, but he’s busy checking the mirrors before merging into the next lane.
I never gave much thought before to whether driving is sexy, but you know what? I’m loving this.