His lips moved up to mine. “Chloe,” he said against them.
I panted in response. Then he paused and pulled away. “I’m sorry, Chloe,” he whispered.
My eyes snapped open. “What?”
“I can’t . . . I need to break up with Hannah before—”
Then a door opened downstairs. It sounded far away, but it wasn’t.
I forced myself to look away, trying to compose myself. The footsteps on the stairs got louder.
“Shit!” I pushed him away, stood up, and adjusted my dress. He did the same, adjusting his hard-on trapped in his jeans.
“Hey, Blake, come shoot some baskets,” Sammy said from my doorway.
Blake opened his mouth to speak, but I did it for him. “Blake needs to go home now,” I said. “Say good-bye, Sammy.”
“Five minutes?” he begged, his eyes pleading.
I inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry, Sammy, but Blake’s leaving now. I’ll come out in a bit and play, okay?”
“Okay.” His footsteps faded as he walked back down the stairs.
“Chloe.” Blake reached out, but I pulled away, taking a step back.
“This is exactly what I didn’t want.”
“Chloe,” he repeated, quieter this time. “What are you talking about?”
“You and me . . . us . . . This can’t be a thing.” I pushed back my sob before speaking. “I can’t be what you want, Blake. I’m sorry. Can you just leave? Please?”
I could tell he didn’t want to go, but he turned and left without another word.
I watched him get into his car from my window, with tears streaming down my face. It was too much. I never should have let him get so close. Now he was willing to change his life for me, and I couldn’t do the same for him. No matter how much I wanted to.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Blake
I’d left Chloe’s last night and done what I’d told her I would do: I’d broken up with Hannah. It had been easier than I’d thought. Especially when she’d told me that she’d been fucking Will for the last six months. I could lie and say that I cared, but I just didn’t. And apparently, neither did she. “You’re the asshole, and I’m the girl with the heartless ex-boyfriend who dumped me for no good reason. Everyone’s going to take my side,” she’d said.
I’d gone running after that. I’d gotten home and tried to sleep, only to push the covers off, put my sneakers back on, and bail. I’d been unable to get Chloe out of my head.
Which was why I was currently at school, walking to my locker in a complete zombie state.
A roar of laughter pulled me out of my daze. I strolled over to where a crowd had formed in front of a bay of lockers. Since I was taller than most of the other students, I was able to see what everyone was looking at. The word Whore, spray-painted bright red on a locker.
“Excuse me.” The crowd parted. I knew her voice before I saw her face. And when I did, I wished I hadn’t. She brushed past me, her head down.
I tried to get her attention with my hand on her arm. “Chloe.”
She yanked it away. “It’s fine,” she mumbled, never looking up from the floor.
My fingers straightened, releasing their hold. The sadness in her tone caused an ache in my chest. Then she looked up at me, her glazed eyes locked with mine. Silence fell, or it could have just been in my head. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She just shook her head and walked away.
I followed her out to the parking lot, but by the time I got there, she was already in her car driving away.
I wanted to follow her and make sure she was okay, but Hannah was waiting for me at my car, which was odd because classes hadn’t even started yet. She must’ve known I’d be pissed about Chloe and would want to take off. Which meant that she knew what had happened to Chloe’s locker, even while she was out there, waiting for me to show up. I wanted to believe that it hadn’t been Hannah’s doing, but seeing her standing there, with a smug smirk on her face—there was no doubt. “You’re a bitch.”
“And your new girlfriend’s a whore.”
“Fuck you.”
My tires spun and screeched as I sped out of the school parking lot.
By the time I pulled up to the curb outside Chloe’s house, I had calmed myself down. I wanted to see her. No. I needed to see her. Only her car wasn’t there. And neither was anyone else’s. There was only one other place I knew to look, but she wasn’t at Clayton’s restaurant, either. I pressed the buzzer to Clayton’s apartment, and he appeared in the same disheveled state, the way I’d always seen him.
“She doesn’t want to see you.”
So she was there. “Maybe she can come down and tell me that herself.”
He raised his hands above his head and gripped the door frame. The muscles in his arms and shoulders bulged. He was a few years older than me, but I was taller. I wondered for a moment if I could take him, just long enough so I could run up to his apartment and see her. I looked over his shoulder, hoping for a glimpse of her, but all I saw were stairs.
He moved his head, blocking my view. “I don’t know what happened, but something obviously upset her. If you care about her at all—just give her some time. Some space. Okay?” He didn’t sound pissed, more like concerned. But he also didn’t wait for my answer before closing the door in my face.
Chloe
Skipping school was easy when you didn’t have parents that cared. Skipping work was also easy, although I might lose my job, considering I hadn’t even been there two weeks. I didn’t care. I didn’t need a job. I had money. The money I earned from the bowling alley was just going into a bank account for the kids so they’d have something from me when I left. The only thing that was hard—and that I couldn’t ignore—were my feelings for Blake.
I was falling for him.
Which was why when I pulled up to the house on Thursday afternoon and saw the kids in the driveway, skating around on new boards and wearing all the safety gear a kid could handle, my guilt increased tenfold.
“Where did all this come from?”
The kids stopped immediately. Mary stood up. “I don’t know,” she said, stopping next to me and putting her arm around my shoulders. “Damnedest thing. We got home, and it was all laid out on the porch. The kids’ names were attached to each set. Whoever got it must know the family well and care enough to buy the protective gear.”
I shrugged out of her hold and turned to her. “Yeah,” I agreed, pushing through the lump in my throat. “Maybe a little too much.”
“Maybe he’s just doing it to get in my pants.”
Clayton’s laugh grated on my nerves. “Sure, Chloe. If that’s all he wanted, then why break up with his girlfriend? Why not just score with you and keep it a secret?”
“I don’t even know if they broke up. It’s just what I heard from all the jerks who were standing around my whore-painted locker, laughing at me.”
“So you haven’t spoken to him about it?”
“No!” I huffed. “What am I supposed to say to him? That he did it for nothing? That I can’t be the girl to replace her? That he’d have had better luck just scoring with me and moving on?”
He chuckled under his breath.
“What’s funny?”
He shook his head, his eyes wide, but his smile stayed in place.
I slumped down onto the sofa and watched him set two coffees on the table.
“I don’t know.” He sat down next to me. “Seems like he cares about you.”
“That’s the problem, Clay.”
He laughed again.
“You’re not helping.”
“Fine. He’s a jerk. An asshole. How dare he show any sign of caring? Or friendship? What a dick. Did I say he was a jerk? We should go egg his car.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
He hid his smile by tak
ing a sip of his coffee.
I rolled my eyes and scanned the walls of his apartment. He didn’t have much. A single bedroom, a bathroom, a tiny kitchen, and the living room, where we both sat. My eyes caught on a picture, framed, resting right above the TV. I’d never seen it there before. “Does Mary know you have that?” I motioned to the photo before standing up and walking over to it. It was of him and me, sitting on the porch steps, I was smiling at the camera. Clayton was smiling at me. That same sad smile I’d known ever since he had moved into the house. I wore one of those paper party hats on my head. It was my thirteenth birthday. I remembered it because Clayton had given me so much shit about being a teenager.
I had been with Mary and Dean only a few weeks when Clayton had joined us. We were both withdrawn and quiet, and somehow, that attracted us to each other. He’d never had a mom, I’d never had a dad, and that was the basis of our early relationship. Soon after I’d moved in, I’d told him about my life, about losing my mom and my aunt. Clayton—even though he was young at the time himself—had known enough to keep his secrets until I was old enough to understand them. When I was twelve, he’d told me about his past. And that had been when Clayton had become my hero. Because despite the fact that I’d lost everyone close, I had been loved, and I was left with those memories. The love, and the laughter, and the joy of my family. Clayton—he was left with nothing but nightmares.
He cleared his throat, standing behind me now. “No. I stole the album and got a bunch copied, then returned it. She never knew. She’d kick my ass if she knew I’d taken it.”
I laughed. He was right, she would.
“Mary and Dean are amazing people, huh?” There was something about his tone. A sadness I recognized but hadn’t heard in a while.
I turned to him, but his gaze was still on the picture. A slight smile graced his face. “Are you okay?” I asked.
His eyebrows furrowed before he looked at me. “Of course. Why?”
I shrugged. “Nothing,” I said, even though a part of me didn’t believe him.
Sighing, he sat back down on the sofa. “I’m just tired, Chloe. Don’t take it personally. The shifts are taking their toll. Lisa being away in college and barely having time for phone calls. You—with this whole Blake thing—”
“It’s not a thing.”
“Are you sure? Because I never thought I’d see the day when I had to start turning boys away for you.” He grinned now, the amusement evident.
“I’m positive,” I assured him, then changed the subject. “Did I wake you when I showed up?”
“No,” he said quickly, though I knew it was a lie. My expression must have shown it, because he added, “Yes, but it’s no big deal.”
I grabbed the cushion from behind me and set it on my lap, patting it twice as an invitation. He didn’t hesitate, just set his mug down on the coffee table, rested his head on my lap, and kicked his legs up, settling them over the arm of the sofa. His eyes slowly drifted shut while I ran my fingers through his hair. “This is nice,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“It’s been a while.”
“Yeah, you stopped having nightmares after a while—actually, right after my thirteenth birthday—and you didn’t need my help anymore.” I knew why he’d stopped having them, but I didn’t want to bring it up.
It was silent for a moment before a chuckle escaped him. His eyes snapped open.
“What?”
“Remember you used to sing to me while you did this? I tried to deal with it for like, a week, but then I couldn’t take it anymore. Your singing voice is ass.”
“Shut up!” But I was laughing, too.
“Seriously, Chloe. You sound like a dying cat whose claws are being scraped down a chalkboard.”
“I’m not that bad!” I got another cushion and started hitting him with it. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll start again.”
“Oh shit. Please don’t.”
I started hitting him again, harder this time. He let me get a few good shots in before pulling the cushion from my grip. He threw it, hitting our picture on the wall. He got up quickly to straighten it before resuming his position.
“It wasn’t that bad, actually. In fact, I want to hear you again. What was that song you used to sing?”
I remembered the tune; Mom used to sing it all the time. Looking back now, the words held more meaning than I had ever realized. A lump formed in my throat, but I spoke through it. “Eric Clapton. Tears in Heaven.”
“That’s right.” His mind seemed to be somewhere distant. He blinked hard, bringing himself back to the present. Then his eyes bore into mine. “Sing it?”
“Clayton, I can’t—”
“Please?” And there was that little boy I grew up with. The first, and only, person I’d ever let love me after my mom and aunt died.
“Okay.”
His eyes seemed heavy as they drifted shut.
And I started to sing.
I sang through the giant knot in my throat, the memories of my mother and of Clayton filling my mind.
Clayton lay still, his eyes closed. I watched his handsome face, void of emotion. His eyes were red when he finally opened them at the end of the song. “I love you, Chloe.”
“I love you, too, Clay.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Chloe
The squeal of my hand brake made everyone turn and look. The yelling and laughter stopped, and the smile on Blake’s face faltered for a second. He quit skating and held the basketball under his arm, then did that flick thing with the skateboard to hold it upright. The kids tried to copy him and failed.
“Hey, hon.” Mary waved from the swing seat as I got out of my car.
I waved back before making my way over to Blake. “What are you doing here?”
Sammy answered for him. “He’s playing skateball. You wanna play?”
I looked down at him. “No, I’m good, thank you.” Then to Blake, I asked, “So?”
His shoulders sagged. He released the ball, letting it bounce away. No one bothered to chase it. “I can leave. I’m sorry,” he said quietly, looking down at the ground.
He got only a few steps before Sammy grabbed his arm, pulling down on it in an effort to stop him from going any farther. His helmet fell forward and covered his eyes, but he adjusted it quickly and said, “No. Stay, please. If she doesn’t want you here, she can leave.”
Silence.
My voice came out hoarse. “It’s fine.” I smiled at Sammy, then faced Blake. “You can stay.” I turned quickly and walked toward Mary, too afraid to witness his reaction.
I tried to listen while Mary chatted, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Blake. I watched the way he moved on the board . . . The way he’d stop to help the kid . . . The way he ran to Sammy the second he fell off the board to inspect his scraped knee . . . The way he laughed and joked with Dean . . . The way he winked at me and nodded once, as if thanking me for letting him be there.
And I knew it then. He was absolutely everything I had never let myself dream of having.
“Dean! Amy has little-league practice,” Mary shouted.
Dean looked at his watch and grumbled.
“It’s okay.” I stood up. “I’ll take her, Dean. You keep playing.”
Amy ran up the steps to get her gear while I walked over to Blake. “Are you going to be here when I get back?”
He looked at his watch and frowned. “I have to leave in an hour to watch Tommy.”
“Okay.”
He grabbed my arm and gently pulled me closer to him and looked in my eyes. “Are we good?”
“I don’t know yet,” I told him truthfully. “Maybe.”
He let out a breath. “Maybe’s good enough.”
Blake
Skateball was exactly what the name implied. Basketball on skateboards. Josh and
I had made up the game when we were ten, combining two of our favorite things. We’d thought we were so smart. We’d even talked about how much money we could make as pro skateballers.
I stood in Mary and Dean’s kitchen, laughing to myself as I turned on the tap to fill Sammy’s water bottle.
“Do you have any of your own brothers or sisters, Blake?” Mary said from behind me.
I tensed at her question, wondering why she would ask something like that. And then it dawned on me—I’d been buying them gifts, showing up unannounced, hanging out with them for no real reason. Of course, I was overstaying my welcome. I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry. I’ll go now.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. Stay as long as you want.” She pulled a container of ice cubes out of the freezer and proceeded to drop a couple in each of the water bottles. “It’s just that you’re very good with them, is all.”
“Oh. Thanks, I guess.”
“Did something happen between you and Chloe?”
I tensed. I had known the moment was coming, but I didn’t know whether it would be with her or Dean, and honestly, I didn’t know which one I’d prefer.
I couldn’t lie. “Yes, ma’am.”
“The last time you were here for dinner? When you went up to her room . . . something happened?”
“Yes, ma’am.” But then I paused, thinking about how that had sounded. “No. I mean—we didn’t sleep together . . .”
“Okay . . . That’s not really my business, though. What is my business is the fact that she locked herself in her room and cried most of the night.”