Page 56 of Miss Behaved
Tears pool in the corners of Monica’s eyes, and her breath hitches in her chest. She gnaws on the inside of her lip, and I think this is it. This is the moment I finally break her. But when her lips part, it’s relief that flows out of them. Or maybe it flows out of me. Because those big brown pools I could live in soak me up and make me feel whole again.
She closes that inch of space between us, lifts up onto her toes, and presses her mouth to mine. Urgency is replaced with a terrifying pang in my chest as she puts back all the pieces I left behind. Her arms wrap up around my neck as her soft body melts, her curves finding the place they belong—against me.
We’re tumbling.
Falling.
Rolling down the cliff.
No hands reach out to slow us.
My past and my present stand in my arms, smelling like sun-soaked lemons. Monica drinks the air from my lips like it gives her life. And I want to give that to her—everything she deserves and more.
But as we back into her room, the truth flayed open, my heart a mess, and her trust in my hands, my head’s pounding. And I pray to anyone listening that my father’s blood running through my veins won’t hurt her.
23
Carson
Ten Years Earlier
Theroaringengineofmy dad’s truck wakes me up, and it takes me a minute to place where I’m at.
Boy band posters and turquoise walls. The smell of lavender and vanilla mixed together.
Monica’s room.
Her warm body twitches beside me, and I’m reminded it wasn’t all in my head. I’m holding her in my arms, tasting her cinnamon gum on her lips.
She’s all you ever wanted.
Her fingers slide along my stomach as she rolls over, her back nudging me closer to the edge of her twin-size bed. It should have felt smaller, cramming into a space barely large enough for both our bodies. But I held her close while she slept, firmly in the middle of the mattress. Listened to her breathing even out until the sound finally dragged me under.
Don’t go.
My body is already begging me to stay, knowing my mind will shortly force it to catch up. To let go. To get out. The engine outside is a reminder that last night never should have happened.
Years.
I’d spent years keeping that line drawn.
Letting her believe whatever she wanted about us or my relationships with girls at school. Anything that would fortify the wall and keep her safe from the storm raging inside of me.
I slip out of Monica’s bed, and even though my body is physically intact, I can’t help but feel like a part of my soul stays there sleeping beside her. Pieces blown out. Bullet holes her heartbeat shot through me with every passing minute of the last seven years.
I’m pulling on my jeans when Monica stirs. She tugs the blanket up, and I think maybe she’s waking. If only she’d wake up and stop me from being the idiot I know I’m about to become.
But she doesn’t. She tugs the blanket up over her shoulders, curls her knees to her chest, and slips into a deeper sleep. She mumbles something I can’t make out over the chirping birds and insects.
I just need some air. Space. Time to think. Maybe we can make this work. After all, school is over. She’s staying in Washington for college, but I don’t have ties like that. I can get a job anywhere.
Maybe now is our time.
The lawn between her house and mine has never been so vast. As I cross it, I worry that each step away is one I can’t take back.
If she wakes up alone, will she ever forgive me?
“’Bout time,” Dad says, stepping onto the porch with a beer in his hand. It’s seven thirty in the morning—not like that ever mattered to him. “Had to go get my own fucking booze. Why do you even show up for the summer if yer not gonna do shit for your old man?”
