The Love Story (The Things We Can't Change Book 4) (22 page)

He begins to step away, greed overtaking him, but stops to narrow bloodshot eyes at me suspiciously. “A check can bounce.”

I sigh. “I own Parker Pediatrics. And I have some friends in very high places. So unless you want them to take a sudden interest in every aspect of your life for the next few years, I suggest you take this deal and come out of it with a lot more than you deserve.”

He gets moving, hustling into the small, dingy house. He emerges a moment later with a leash and a cheap plastic pen that I accept with two fingers. I write out the check and pass it over, disgusted by the transaction. He pushes the leash at me and flees.

I get down to my knees and speak softly to the dog, trying to coax it out. It’s trembling all over and in the end I have to grab it around the middle and just haul it out. I don’t want to stay in this man’s yard any longer.

Once free of the table, the dog seems to liven up a bit. It’s tail is still between it’s legs but when I clip on the leash, it trots down the driveway, knowing this routine.

I follow it and only when I’m a good two blocks away from the house do I come down from the adrenaline rush and crash. I stop walking and sit down hard on the pavement, trembling a little.

He could have hit me. He could have beat me down as easily as he beat the dog. It had been terrifying… and exhilarating. I’d never felt so
strong
before. Felt such a sense of purpose. I’d never been able to stand up for anyone like that before—or defend anyone. I was always the one in need of defense.

It had felt good. Incredibly good. And in the back of my mind, I know I am onto something. I know there is more to this, something else to be done tonight.

A wet nose butts my hand and I almost jump at the foreign sensation. I come back down to earth and look at the dog. It’s looking back at me, head cocked to one side.

“I’ve never had a dog before,” I tell it honestly, keeping my voice low and calm. The way Zeke always used to talk to me. “So we’ll have to figure this out together.”

Very carefully, I reach out a hand and pet it’s head. It ducks down at first but then pushes up into my touch when I’m gentle, and especially when I scratch it behind the ears. It’s back leg thumps the ground and I giggle.

“Yes, you’re a handsome boy. Er, pretty girl,” I amend as I chance a look underneath a back leg.

I stop petting and study her, trying to look underneath the matted fur and dirt. She really is a pretty dog, medium sized with golden fur and a foxy-looking tail. Her ears are triangular and stand almost straight up and now that she’s panting in contentment, she looks gorgeous. Anxious for more attention, she crowds into my space and shoves her head under my hand. I laugh, petting her again since she doesn’t seem very scared of me anymore.

One victim always knows another.

I can’t remember who said that to me. Not Zeke. Dr. Gottlieb maybe? It doesn’t matter. It seems to hold true.

“All right then. I shall call you…” I cast about for an appropriate name and grin suddenly. “We’ll call you
Lola
.”

She licks my hand as if in agreement and I gather her leash and stand up. “Come on, Lola. We have another drunk to confront tonight.”

I make it back home just as its getting full-on dark outside. I hesitate for a moment before I let Lola off her leash. Then I shrug and unclip it. She did her business on our walk and she isn’t a puppy. Besides, I am more than capable of cleaning up a few messes.

To my surprise, she follows me from room to room, straying to sniff and explore but always trotting after me. I wander the first floor, then move to the second, finally finding Clarissa in my dad’s office.

For just a moment, I feel sorry for her, thinking of my own times of grief spent in this room. Then she turns slightly in her chair and catches sight of me. Her lips thin and her eyes, bloodshot just like the man’s earlier, narrow at me.

“What are you doing, bringing that filthy thing in here?” she asks, her voice only a little slurred and lispy. “Get it out.”

“No.” I say it quietly, but it’s the first time I’ve defied her in a very long while.

Her eyes widen. “Get out! You and that mutt!
Out
!” She lurches to her feet, half-filled wine glass in hand.

I brace myself as she steps forward, even as Lola slinks around to hide behind my legs, tail down once more. I stand tall and straight even as Clarissa bears down on me. She invades my personal space. I can feel her spit on my face as she talks, trembling with drunk, irrational anger.

“Get. Out.”

I lean forward of my own accord, using everything that I have to not close my eyes and turn my head away and take it, just as I have all my life. I’m trembling with fear but I make myself do it anyway.

“No. And quit telling me what to do in
my
house.”

I have to stop her and stand up to her. Zeke is right. She could be dangerous, or she will be eventually. I’ve allowed her to use me as an outlet for her anger and grief, a punching bag. But someday she might see me as a punching bag of a different kind. A literal one.

I saw the man tonight for myself. Drunk beyond thinking rationally, harming an innocent dog who didn’t know better than to lay down and accept it.

I don’t want to just lie down and take it. Have I really escaped Tony and moved on from him just to allow myself to fall into the same situation with Clarissa? Abuse is still abuse, verbal or physical. Whether from stepmother or boyfriend.

And I’m not a dog. I’m smart enough to fight back. And to try and help Clarissa. Starting with some tough love and honest truth.

“You ungrateful, disgusting little-” Clarissa begins, and raises a hand to point directly into my face.

Zeke told me once that he hated this gesture more than anything else in the world. Now, I can perfectly understand. It’s rude, disrespectful and purposefully dominant. And Clarissa has come way too far into my personal space.

I reach up and knock the hand away, just as Zeke once did to me. Clarissa is so surprised that she stops mid-sentence, eyes wide. In the second most violent gesture I have ever committed, I knock the wineglass from her other hand and send it flying. It hits a wall and shatters, loud in the silence between us.

I stalk over to the chair where she was sitting and grab the two wine bottles from the side table, disgusted to find them already empty. At the door of the office, I turn back to Clarissa and I already know my eyes are hard.

“Stop drinking or get the hell out of my house. You have a week to pull yourself together or I’m really going to do something about it.”

Ezekiel

106

I dread going to school on Friday. I don’t want to face Evie after that stupid episode at the club. I feel stupid every time I think about it. It seems as though the sum of my relationship with Evie has only been me either making stupid decisions or acting stupid. Maybe my dad has always been right and I really don’t ever learn.

I don’t deserve Evie and I’m sure she’s finally starting to realize that. The thought fills me half with panic and half with relief. Panicked because she’s Evie. She sees all that is good in me and believes I’m worth fixing. Because of the way I feel about her—so deeply and strongly I know it will never let go of me. I know the name of what I feel, know all I have to do is say it to Evie and all will be forgiven, but it’s something that still scares the shit out of me.

Relieved because if she breaks up with me it will all finally draw to an end. I won’t have to be wracked with guilt every time I look into Evie’s eyes, every time I wake up from the new, troubling dream where I re-live that moment in the alley with Cameron and Dr. Parker over and over again. Where I won’t have to be terrified every time I picture how Evie could be ripped away from me just as everyone else in my life has been.

I’m so anxious about seeing Evie that I purposefully arrive late to school and slip into art with seconds to spare. Paula gives me a reproving look that I ignore. Instead, I doodle on a corner of my paper, worry over a dozen different things crowding my mind and making me feel anxious.

Worry over my piece in the art show that night, worry over how I’ll top it for other competitions if I actually win, worry over Evie and what will happen over lunch. I drum my pencil faster and faster until Paula finally glares viscously and I have to keep all my anxiety inside and just wait it out.

Contrary to all my expectations—and maybe a little bit to my disappointment—a very well-adjusted looking Evie is waiting for me at the lunch table. Actually, to be totally correct, she isn’t even really waiting for me. Her books and purse are tossed on the table and Koby, Jenny, Paula, Paula’s friend Allison, and at least five other people I vaguely recognize from the dance set up yesterday, are crowded around Evie, looking at something on her phone. They’re all talking over each other and exclaiming loudly at whatever she’s showing them.

Dominic appears at my elbow and surveys the table with something akin to horror. “Is that… the dance committee?” he asks.

“Yup.” I wonder how things could change so rapidly in just a few weeks. At the start of the year, most people avoided even walking past our table.

“I never actually thought I would miss eating with Cameron, but now…” Dominic trails off and I can’t hold back a laugh at that and as I do so, Evie hears and looks up. She scans the crowd until she sees me and then smiles warmly.

Panic actually steals my breath for a moment at the action. A warm smile, kind and… happy. Evie is happy to see me.
Why?
I’ve been pushing and shoving her these past few weeks and now we’re back to square one?

Irritation—fueled more by fear than anything else—rises up inside me as Dominic and I approach the table. Dominic sends an accusing look at Koby, who shrugs helplessly and then returns to staring discreetly at Jenny, who is still at Evie’s side.

I can’t exactly ignore her when she’s right there, so I slowly circle the table to come closer to Evie. The crowd around her is quick to move aside and allow me to pass though. Clearly, not all things have changed so quickly. Still, all the people remain at our table, sitting down and chattering excitedly about the dance tomorrow.

“Hi.” Evie actually chirps the word at me.
Chirps.
She looks as though yesterday didn’t even happen. As though we aren’t even on a break.

With surprise, I realize Evie looks
happy
. There are no shadows under her eyes and I feel vaguely ashamed that I actually forgot what happiness looks like on her face. I shove that thought away, though it only goes far enough to fuel my anger.

“Hey,” I reply, as casually as I can. “What’s up?”

Evie beams at me. “I got a dog.”

All I can do is stare at her for a full minute. I can’t think of a single thing to say at first. At last I manage to push out, “A dog? Since when did you want a
dog
?”

Evie shrugs a little, smiling sheepishly. “Kind of always. My dad was allergic and Clarissa, well, you know how she is. But things just kind of aligned yesterday and I ended up with a dog. She’s a… rescue.”

Evie passes me her phone and I find myself looking at a panting Australian Shepherd-kind of mix with happy brown eyes and a wide doggy smile.

“Cute,” I say honestly, still surprised by the sudden change of events. But I reflect on that big, empty house and Clarissa’s behavior and decide this is a good thing. Evie shouldn’t be alone all the time the way she is right now. “What did you name it?”

“Her,” Jenny adds helpfully. “It’s a girl.”

“What did you name her, then?” I correct myself.

Evie is looking at me speculatively, almost apprehensively. I find out why a moment later when she answers in a low voice, “Her name is Lola.”

My first instinct is to laugh. It’s perfect, hilarious, really. Except it’s that usual flash of perfect understanding that Evie and I have always had from the very beginning. The one that has always been too strong and always made me feel far more than I am comfortable with. Especially now, when I’ve been fighting so hard to get some distance.

So instead, I say offhandedly, “Cute name. A lot hairier than my Lola, though.”

There’s a flash of surprise and hurt in Evie’s eyes but it’s gone just as quickly as it appears. She pulls herself together and gives me a small smile. I think I’m the only one who sees the tightness in it.

“True,” she says, and Jenny giggles and moves to sit down.

“I’m going to get lunch,” I mutter, turning around.

“I’ll come with you,” Evie says quickly.

I kick myself but I can’t exactly tell her no, so we set off for the lunch line. Just my luck, its long and the longer we stand there in silence, the harder I feel pressed to say something.

“How did you really end up with the dog?” I burst out as we inch forward. I know Evie well, too well, and I know I don’t have the whole story.

Evie shrugs and looks at the floor with a small, secret smile. “I’ll tell you later. It’s kind of a long story. But it made me… realize some things.”