I’m afraid to find out. I’d rather stay in this comfortable limbo we’re in forever than risk losing her or seeing any sign of rejection in her eyes.
She folds the blanket, drapes it back over the chair, and then glances at her watch. “Can you take me home?”
I look at the wall clock. “Now? It’s only two.” Usually, I take her home around four or five.
“I’m going out to dinner with Zac and Anna tonight, and their friend John. Zac said he had something exciting to share with me.”
My jaw twitches. “Then I’ll drive you home.” I was hoping she’d stay longer today and have dinner with me for the first time. I have no right to be upset, though, since that wish only lived in my head and I never actually asked her to stay.
Maybe next time.
While we drive back to her apartment, she watches the trees go by for a few miles, before she turns to me. “I’m nervous about dinner,” she blurts out.
“Why?”
“Because of what I mentioned earlier…people recognize me sometimes. They stare at me, and ask questions.”
“I get the same. Ignore them.” Oh, like you do, Ty? Hypocrite.
“It’s hard to.”
“I know.”
“I wish you could come too,” she says wistfully. “I feel better when we’re together.”
My heart jumps in the air, grabs her words, and runs back to the darkness to savor them. “Trust me, they’ll stare more if I’m there.” The people of this small town would go nuts if they saw Holly and me together. The murderer and the Girl in the Hole to some, the hero and the victim to others. Both the scarred-up freaks in one place for them to stare at and spread rumors about.
No fucking thanks.
“Can I text you later? When I get home?” she asks when I pull over at the usual place in front of her apartment. I always stay parked there, watching her, until I see her go inside, safe and sound. And sometimes, I still watch her window, late at night, just so I know she’s still okay, and so I can be close to her. Is it stalking if you’re trying to take care of someone from afar? Does that, in fact, put me in that feeding-the-stray-cat category?
Fuck it if it does.
I’ll love someone however the fuck I want to.
Like them. I meant like them.
“Tyler?”
Shit. “Sure.” I clear my throat. “Text me. Take a picture of your dinner and text it.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “I can’t do that…it’s food.”
“Everyone does. It’s weird if you don’t.”
Throwing her backpack over her shoulder, she laughs. “Okay, then. I’ll try.”
After I watch her close her front door behind her, I continue to drive into town, turning down a side street to drive past the pet shelter my mom runs. I eye her car as I do a u-turn and head back to the main road. Then I drive past my family’s motorcycle shop, noting all my brothers’ cars out in the parking lot. Where mine should be, too. A new sign is hanging on the outside of the building, much larger, bolder, and brighter than the one that was there before. I hope that means business is doing good for them. Tor used to send me text updates about how the shop was doing. He’d text me pictures of bikes that were scheduled for custom work, trying to entice me to come back to work my magic. I ignored his messages for months until he gave up. Now he just deposits money from the business into my bank account every month. Money I get because my last name is on the sign, not because I deserve it.
I donate most of it anonymously to my mother’s pet shelter.
I miss my family, but they’re better off without me there reminding them of all the heartache I caused them and giving them more grief.
17
Holly
The restaurant is dim with jazz music playing in the background. The tablecloths are bright white, the tables, chairs, and booths black wood. The floor is so shiny it’s like a mirror, and I don’t like walking on it. Everything feels expensive, and I feel cheap and out of place. Anna looks beautiful in her maroon wraparound dress, her dark hair falling in big, soft waves. I should have changed my clothes, but I didn’t because I didn’t know this was a dress-up type of night.
Apparently, everyone else knew, though, because even Zac and his friend John are wearing dark pants, light shirts, and jackets. Not jeans like I am. I’m seated across from my brother and his girlfriend, and John is next to me, on my right. To my left is the wall of the booth and a window. My eye continues to shift to the window, trying to discreetly find the latch, but there isn’t one that I can see. Does the window not open?