“I did. And just wait until she reads myPride and Prejudicepaper. I think it’s my best stuff yet. And that’s not even the best part of my day. I talked to my mom.” The smile on her face is one of pure joy.
“Yea?”
“Yea. And it was good. Really good. I, um...leaving was really hard, you know. And I felt so guilty. Like, what am I doing here, living my life like a regular college kid when she’s back at home and can barely make it out of bed sometimes? God, the trial? It was brutal, Ty. Just awful. That guy’s family dug up so much dirt--all of it bullshit, of course. But still. The media made a huge deal about the fact my mom and dad never married, that he was barely in our lives. And they made it seem like that was her fault. When, what the hell? And then there were all the questions, the stares, the constant chatter about frats in general and drinking parties and didn’t he know what he was getting into. Like he somehow deserved to die? God…And, on top of all that hate, we had to adjust to living without him. It was...hard. Really, really hard. It still is.” Her hands are shaking and her eyes are filled with unshed tears. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around her, attempting to protect her in my feeble, belated way.
She takes a deep breath. “Anyway, it really changed my mom, you know? I mean, it changed me, too. You just can’t look at the world the same way after so much of what you love has been taken away. So, after the trial, my mom couldn’t leave the house. God, there were days--days upon days--she couldn’t leave her bed. In medical terms, it’s a form of agoraphobia and severe separation anxiety. In real-life terms, it’s fucking crippling. Like, not only did I lose my brother, but I kind of lost my mom, too. But today? Today, we talked and God. Maybe it was the fact that I was in a really good mood already or that her new meds are working or whatever. We had a conversation, and it was good. Like, normal, almost. And, after years of terrible, almost normal feels like winning the lottery. You know?” Those tears have streamed down her cheeks and I brush them away with my thumb, wishing with all that I have, that I were anyone else.
Smiling despite her tears, she continues. “Do you remember one of our first tutoring sessions? You kept pissing me off. And I was getting so mad, but I couldn’t let you see it. I couldn’t show any weakness. I just had to get through it. You asked me why I cared so much? Why I didn’t just cut my losses and drop the class.”
I nod, remembering.
“And I told you it was because my brother was brave. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him, and he never backed down from a challenge. I’ve never been as bold or as brave as he was. But I’ve always wanted to be.”
As if to punctuate this statement, she leans forward and kisses me. It catches me off guard at first. I freeze, knowing this is it--my moment of truth. I can pull away from her lips, make some lame excuse about not seeing her that way and walk away, no more guilty than I already am.
It’s the point of no return.
But instead of pulling away, stopping the kiss, I lean into it. I let her lips melt into mine. So fucking help me, I kiss her right back, then pull back slightly so she’s leaning her forehead against mine.
“Um…” She bites her lower lip, and Christ, I’m half-hard. “Wait. You were having a bad day. Is that why you wanted to meet up? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lie, and half-believe it myself. “With you in my arms, Phoebe, not one fucking thing is wrong.”
We sit there in the courtyard of the coffee shop, lost in each other and not paying any attention to the students and patrons who pass by. In this moment, I can almost convince myself that this could be my reality, my future. If I close my eyes and breathe her in and tune everything else out, I can pretend for just a moment that I’m not my mother’s son.
I’m so fucked. But I can’t help myself. All I can do is hope that when this all goes sideways--because it will--I’ll have loved her so hard, so fiercely that she forgives me for my unforgivable sin.
Chapter 9
Phoebe
We stroll away from the coffee shop, hand-in-hand, a tacit agreement between us to go somewhere more private. The feel of his kiss lingers on my lips and I don’t want my good day to end just yet.
“Are you done for the day?” he asks.
I nod. “I finished early in the studio. And I need to head to work in a few hours, but I have some time.”
“Are you hungry? We can grab a bite at Wolfie’s, or we could head to my place. It’s not far. I’m not a great cook, but I make a mean sandwich.”
“I already ate, but I never turn down a snack.” I smile up at him, taking in the handsome outline of his face, and ask, “Mind if we drive? I’ll need my car to get to work, so…”
“Yea, that’s fine. I walked.”
“Great, I’m down the hill in the lower lot.” We walk there in companionable silence, our hands still linked. I’m half-afraid to say too much, for fear of ruining the moment and waking up from the dream of Ty’s embrace.
But Ty? Lit isn’t the only subject he’s highly qualified to tutor in. Lord have mercy, the man can kiss.
We arrive at my car and I click the locks. “Your chariot awaits, sir.”
He laughs, opens the passenger door, and then looks up at me. “Um… there’s a clay pot on my seat?”
“Hazard of being an art major. Hang on, I’ll put that in the back.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want it to break…”
“It won’t. It hasn’t been fired yet. Besides, I’m not doing 80 to get to your place. I think it’ll be fine.” I set the cardboard box holding one of my works-in-progress on the back seat. But it’s kind of big, and decently heavy, so it lurches forward, and damn it. I think Ty’s right. It won’t break, exactly, but it could get damaged, despite the bubble-wrap surrounding it. Hmm. “Got it!” I call out in triumph as I buckle the box in place.
“Genius,” Ty says, stepping up behind me, his breath on my neck.
