Carter
Kissing Boone is like finally coming home.
I don't want it to be the case, but it is. I can't help it. He's not just some drug I can't seem to quit—he's a lifestyle. Boone has and will always be my home.
He's the one who ends the kiss first, even though I'm not sure enough time passed to call it a kiss. I think it was really more of a peck. Still, it was enough to make a blush creep over my cheeks and leave me breathless.
I try to focus on the kiss and the way his lips felt against mine, instead of his fingers as they press the Band-Aid over my cut. I wish this all wasn't stemming from what that man did.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Back at the gas station was the most terrifying experience of my life. The guy somehow managed to seem scarier than he did the first time. He had obviously gone without drugs for too long, because he seemed desperate. I've always heard that of anything a person can be, desperate is the worst. It can make them aggressive and mean and horrible. Most of all, it makes them unpredictable.
This time, he didn't ask me for cigarettes, just demanded money. He wasn't even asking for the money in the cash register—he was asking for my money, as if I were to just carry it on hand. When I told him I didn't have it, he told me Tish said I do. I tried to barter with him—to tell them I could go to the bank and get some for him. He didn't like the idea, saying I would only get the cops involved (which I without a doubt would).
So instead he grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head into the counter and the candy display. As if violence would make the money materialize. He only ran because I sprayed him with the mace, which distracted him enough so I could dial 911. He didn't have any other option, unless he wanted to go to jail.
He could've hurt me worse or taken advantage of the situation, which makes everything so much more alarming. Anything could have happened. I did fine on my own, but what if he hadn't been scared off so easily?
"Carter, what's wrong? Was it the kiss? Or are you …" Boone trails off. I guess it clicks because he reaches for me and pulls me into him. I've been so scared since I left the gas station, and I didn't think I would want to be held—the thought of being touched made me feel sick—but I need him, like I needed Kara. I feel safer with his arms wrapped around me and like everything isn't falling apart. "He's not going to hurt you again. That ain't going to happen."
I want to believe him, but I can't. I'm worried if I do, the man will come back. It's like taking an umbrella when there's a chance of rain—you're being prepared because if you don't take it, that'll be the time it will rain. I thought the man would come back, but I didn't expect to come away bruised. If I was more prepared I might have.
Outside of Boone's breathing and his thumping heartbeat—and mine, too—I hear Kara come back into the room.
"Is she okay?" she asks softly.
Boone's head moves against the top of mine. I'm not sure what his answer is, but he'd be lying if he said I am.
The couch gets displaced beside me as she sits down. "Gabe is coming home."
"Is he ready to hunt this guy down?" Boone asks. "Good old fashioned search party through the town with pitchforks and fire?"
Boone's ever-present humor always comforts me just as much as it can annoy me. He knows how to make a situation better and diffuse it.
"Let's just say after he talked me down, I tried to talk him down," Kara answers.
I pull away from Boone. Kara's eyes roam over me, as though checking to make sure I was really there. Her gaze lingers on my face, which feels like it's the size of Texas and hot like the desert.
"Would you like some tea?" she asks, brushing my hair away from my face. "Or maybe to go lie down?"
"I think I just want to lay down," I say.
"Okay, but I don't want you to be alone." Good, because I don't want to be alone, either. "I need to talk to Gabe, though. Boone, can you sit with her?"
"Yeah," Boone says.
I'm surprised Kara's suggesting it, but this whole thing has forced an armistice. If she'd have seen the kiss, she'd know it's not even close to that.
#
Carter, 16
Dinner is awkward, as always. Dad is picking apart his salad—and me—while Deirdre has completely given up on small talk. Kara is clearly smiling through her pain, and Gabe looks as if he wanted to clock my dad. I'm sure I look as though I want to bury my head under the lettuce. One small, almost insignificant comment about how I've been having car issues and my dad launched into a Declaration-of-Independence-sized rant about how he refuses to pay for something that's going to keep breaking down. Little does he know he hasn't put a cent into it. Even if he did, it sounds as if he'd prefer to just buy me a new car that won't break down because he prefers the hassle-free route, as always. If he loved me or was looking after my best interest, he'd know how much my beautiful, ratty, old car means to me.
I reach for a piece of bread and start to nibble on it. I can honestly understand why stress eating is a thing.
Kara stops her pretend-smiling and cocks her head, frowning. "Do you hear that?"
"What?" Gabe asks, looking around. If the house was on fire, we'd all rejoice.
"It sounds like someone's … yelling?"
We all take a break from our drama and listen. Sure enough, I hear someone yelling—wailing. Gabe immediately stands up and heads to the front door. We all follow behind him, curious to see what's on the other side when he opens it up.
I'm not prepared for where the yelling is coming from—Tish. I'm surprised I even recognize her because I haven't seen her since Kara took over guardianship. Her hair color isn't the same (now a brassy red that almost looks purple), she's thinner the last I saw her, and she's dressed like an early-2000s throwback in a matching hoodie and sweats (which are pink but turning brown from wear). She's horrible looking compared to what I remember, which is scary because she's the thing of nightmares.
Still, I recognize her sort of like you recognize the symptoms of getting sick. You just somehow know it's there—that you're about to come down with a nasty flu. Every single wall and fence and mote I built as a kid to protect myself from her instinctively goes up.
She's in the neighbor's yard across the street. Her head is thrown back, and she's screaming something incomprehensible, with only the obscenities decipherable. The woman who lives in the house is outside in her pajamas, yelling back at her to leave, while the man is on the phone—no doubt calling the cops.
"What is she doing here?" I say, almost to myself. "Why is she here?"
"Who is that?" Deirdre asks, but it also sounds as though she already knew the answer. They've never met, and I'm sure she's wondering what was so good about my mom that my dad slept with her. I don't know, and I don't think I ever will. He probably won't, either.
"Tish," I answer, unable to call her anything else.
"How'd she find out where we live?" Gabe asks. "Have you talked to her, Carter?"
I shake my head.
"It's my fault," Kara admits. She looks at me apologetically. "I thought maybe she might get clean and want to be a part of your life, so I gave her our address when we first moved."
"You gave her your address?" our dad repeats incredulously. "What the hell were you thinking? She's not going to change."
For a split second, I want to argue with him. I agree with what he's saying about Tish, but I don't like the fact that he's telling Kara she's wrong when she was only trying to help. Kara believes in people, and she's the reason why I'm still hopeful. She shouldn't be told she's wrong for that.
But I can't do it, because that would mean I believe Tish can be better. If I'm being honest, I've missed Declan and Boone, even after what happened, but I've never missed Tish. The second I moved out, I gave up on her. I replaced her with better people—a new family. I haven't thought about her nor wanted to.
I don't have a choice tonight. I swallow, reigning in my courage, and then push passed Gabe and out the door. I hear him yell my name, but I trudge down the driveway toward Tish.
"Tish!" I call.
The woman in her pajamas looks up, surprised, which quickly fades into anger. My mom, on the other hand, only looks more agitated at the sound of my voice. She turns around and points a long, bony finger at me.
"You're comin' home with me."
I stop in my tracks. "What?"
"You heard me, girl."
The husband and wife start backing up, heading back to their house. I hear a mass of footsteps jog up behind me. I wish my family wouldn't have followed me. This isn't just embarrassing; it's sickening. I don't want them to know this was the sort of thing I dealt with every day.
Her vision focuses on something behind me, while the rest of her twitches and convulses. "You owe me more for her—she's my daughter."
Kara steps up beside me. "You should leave."
"I want more money," she says. "You owe me money."
She doesn't really care Kara took me away from her—she only cares that her cash flow is dry.
"I can't do that," Kara says calmly.
"Yes, you can," Tish screeches. "You think I don't know how loaded you are—your daddy threw money at me to fuck me. I know it's there. I want it."
"No," Gabe says, firmly.
"It's either the money or the girl."
The girl. Like she doesn't know me from any other brunette who could be her daughter. "You should leave," I say, keeping my voice level. "The cops are going to come."
She doesn't even look like she cares. She walks toward me, her hands outstretched and ready to grab me. "We're leaving."
I yank my arm away before she can grab it. "No, we're not. You are."
"You don't speak to me like that."
"Leave," I repeat.
"No."
My gaze is deadly, but she's unfazed. She doesn't care about anything except for her drugs—not even that the cops might show up or that this might all hurt me.
More footsteps. My dad appears, checkbook in hand. "How much do you want?"
#
"Hey kid, you wanna wake up?"
I stiffen, because Gabe hasn't woken me up like this in years. Did I sleep through Sunday breakfast? Or maybe Dad's coming over tonight? I wrack my brain, trying to come up with the reason why Gabe is waking me up as if I were fourteen years old again.
I open my eyes and I'm met with Gabe's worried stare. That's enough to bring the last few hours back to me in a rush. My face starts throbbing in tempo with my heartbeat as I remember the junkie.
"How're you doing?" he asks, reaching out to touch my face.
I flinch, bringing my hand up to hide it. Hurt registers in his expression, and I instantly feel guilty. I did the same thing with Boone and Kara—I should know to just let it happen. They're all kind—they're not going to slam my head into a counter.
My gaze jumps around, looking for Boone. When we came in here, he walked over to the chair in the corner of my room and sat, telling me to sleep. I had the urge to ask him to crawl into bed with me and hold me—only that—but I figured Gabe's nerves would be too frayed to catch us like that.
Boone's still there with his hands clasped, forearms on his thighs. His forehead is wrinkled, and he looks ready to hold me in a second's notice.
Kara is just behind Gabe, holding a fresh ice pack and looking displaced.
"Talk to me, Carter," Gabe orders.
"I'm not doing okay," I say softly, sitting up and bringing my purple sheets up around me.
"That's all right, sweetie," Kara assures me, taking the spot next to him. She slowly sets her hand down on my blanketed leg, making sure I'm okay with it. "You're allowed to not be okay."
"I'm sure not okay," Gabe admits. "When Kara called me, I was scared out of my mind." He leans and says in a mock whisper, "You're sort of my pride and joy." His serious face shows back up as he eyes the gas station vest I'm still wearing. "Listen, I think maybe you shouldn't go back there."
"I have to," I sputter. "I can't quit."
Gabe narrows his eyes. "Yeah, you can and you should. What if he comes back again?"
"That's not fair," I say.
"But it's true."
It is.
Kara pats my leg. "Gabe's right. Maybe you can just find another job."
I don't think that it'll be easy to just find another job after this whole thing. I'm officially going to be the girl who got attacked and nobody is going to want to hire me because it might happen again. I don't blame them. I'm already the girl with the crazy mom. Bad mojo spreads like wildfire in a small town this small.
Over in the corner, Boone clears his throat. Gabe's been actively ignoring him since I woke up. Their coexistence is some sort of a miracle in need of documentation.
"I, uh, actually know of somethin'," Boone says, his accent exceptionally deep. "You'd have an office and chances are you wouldn't be alone. Pay would be good, too."
Pay doesn't really matter much, but the idea of an office and safety sound good. I loved getting a job because it felt as if I was on the road to something—as though I was being independent and doing well for myself. Growing up, I never knew anyone who worked. I thought people who did have jobs, like Kara and Gabe, were professionals. I wanted to be like them and having a job has always made me feel like I was.
I don't mind quitting the gas station or the ugly vest, so long as I don't have to quit my independence.
"What job is it?" Kara asks.
Gabe's jaw pops.
"A secretarial position," is all Boone answers.
Gabe turns. "Who's the boss?"
Boone points at himself. "And a friend."
Gabe shakes his head, "No," just as I say, "Yes."
We stare at each other, gazes warring. "Carter, you can't be serious,” Gabe argues.
Too bad I am. I rub the palm of my hand into my eye, a tension headache brewing. We need to talk about Boone and what happened at the gas station and so much more, but I don't think I want to right now.
Kara senses this and says, "Why don't we talk about it later, all right? This is all …"
"Overwhelming," I finish with a half-smile.
Both Kara and Gabe stand, but Boone remains sitting. The expression on his face—panic—is pretty indicative he's not ready to leave me. I'm sure I have the same look; I'm not ready either. I don't want any of them to leave.
I sit up, but Kara waves me back down. "Stay," she commands.
"No, I'd like to be downstairs with you guys." I pull my lip in between my teeth, which is a bad idea. It makes the side of my face throb and a stinging start on the inside of my cheek. I must've bit there or something. "And I'd, um, like Boone to stay."
We all automatically look at Boone. His gaze doesn't waver, burning me a higher temperature than my cheek is. He somehow looks out of place in my room, but also as though he belonged there with us.
He's clearly shocked by my words, but a slow smile pulls at his lips. It's not egotistical or flirtatious—it's genuinely happy and relieved. He didn't see what happened as it was happening, but he saw the aftermath. No matter what's gone on between us, we have a history together, and I know this has got to be hard on him. We both know how easily events like today's can taint you forever.