Escape In You (20 page)

My phone buzzes with a text message, and I’m so engrossed in my own horrible internal monologue that I jump in surprise.

I’m out front
.

Taylor. I breathe a huge sigh of relief. Taylor is here, and he’ll take me away to somewhere I won't have to hear all about how horrible and selfish and useless I am.

I scramble from the bed and grab my bag, slipping my feet into my flip-flops before throwing the door open. Jerry stands there gaping at me, his face red, his chest heaving. He didn’t expect me to do anything but cower in my room.

“Get out of my way,” I say, my voice low.

“You don’t listen, girl! You don’t tell me what to do, this is my house and you’re—”

Before he can tell me what I am, I duck around him and rush down the hall. If I can just get outside I know he won't follow me. I’ll be with Taylor and everything will be—

“Where in the hell do you think you’re going?” he yells, and grabs my arm, spinning me around to face him. Everything Ellie has ever told me about beating the crap out of men echoes in my ears. This isn’t like last night. I can defend myself against this scum.

“Get your hands off of me.”

“What are you going to do?” His face twists up in hatred and bitter amusement. I want nothing more than to punch him right between the eyes, to use my nails to claw at his horrible face until he bleeds. The only thing that stops me is the thought of my mother in the next room. She doesn't need this.

“Let me go or I swear to God I’ll scream,” I say, fighting to keep my voice even. “There’s a guy outside waiting for me. You do not want to see what happens if he hears me scream.”

He narrows his eyes and tightens his grip. “You’re in my house.”

“And he’ll have no qualms about coming in to get me. And beating the ever-loving shit out of you if he sees your hands on me.”

I yank my arm back, and he lets go. Breathing hard, I turn and hurtle down the hall.

“I always knew you were no better than some little whore,” he yells, but I’m beyond caring. As soon as I can get the door open, I’ll be free.

I run down the lawn to Taylor’s car, pull open the door, and practically dive inside.

“Hey,” he says, surprise and concern clear on his face. “What’s—”

“Just drive,” I say, my voice shaking. I bury my face in my hands, trying hard to regain control of my breathing. “Please, just drive.”

For a second I’m afraid he’s going to demand an explanation. I should have known better. Taylor always seems to know just how much to press, what to demand, what I need. Without a word he puts the car into reverse and backs down the drive.

Still not speaking, he reaches over and takes my hand in his. And he doesn't let go the entire drive.

Taylor

I want, more than anything, to know what upset her so badly. I want to know who it was that made her breathe like that, all shaky and panicked, so I can go into that house and kick the living shit out of them. But I can't deny her when she begs me to just drive away. If that is what she needs, then that is what I want to give to her.

We drive in silence, her breathing slowly coming back to normal. I had done that for her, had given her the calm and escape that she needed. The knowledge that I’m capable of that, that I can be a source of comfort for her, takes away a bit of the guilt and self-hatred I’ve been feeling since the night before.

I’m falling head over heels for her. I realized it this morning when I saw her in my kitchen. Her hair was rumpled, her face creased from sleep. When she looked up at me, I actually saw her remember what had happened. She was reliving the entire goddamn thing, and there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it. As I watched realization and pain crash over her, I knew, in that moment, that I would do anything to protect her. I’d give anything I had to keep her from hurting. I was pretty sure I’d die for her.

It scares the hell out of me, feeling like this. It was never supposed to get this far, not between us. We’re both too fucked up, too broken. What kind of life can we ever have together? I know she isn’t ready to hear that I might just love her. I doubt whether she’ll ever be ready.

All I can think of is finding a way to make sure she’s never hurt like that again. I’ll give up the drinking, the parties—whatever it takes. I need to be able to protect her. The thought makes me want to laugh—I don't think I’ve ever met someone so capable of taking care of themselves as Zoe. The idea that some asshole like me could do anywhere near as good a job as she could herself is ridiculous. But I can't shake the thought.

So I proposed the idea of us cutting out the booze for a while. I was sure she’d refuse. I’ve watched her go under enough times to recognize a kindred spirit—just like me, she drinks to escape. How can I get her to give that up?

The fact that she agreed so easily surprised me. Her question about what we’d do instead almost broke my heart. There was a time when the entire world seemed open to me. Jim and I would sit out on the deck, sneaking beers when our parents were out, and talk about where we’d go, what we’d see when we were finally free of high school. The world was huge, and we wanted to experience as much of it as possible.

Then Jim died, and it was like the world died with him. It no longer seems like a place of wonder and excitement waiting for me to stake my claim. It has grown cruel and dark and lonely. Jim won't be living those dreams. How can I live with myself if I get to go forward when he will be forever eighteen, forever buried in the cemetery a mile from our house?

In the diner with her I’d hesitated, just for a minute, not wanting to think about the world beyond what had become my shallow existence of parties and screwing around. But when she looked at me with all that fear and shame and pain in her eyes, I couldn’t stand it. I might not deserve a better life, but Zoe sure as hell does. And I’ll figure out a way to give it to her.

By the time we reach the lake, she seems to be back to normal. She lets me hold her hand the entire way there, and after a few minutes she lifts her head to stare out the window. When I tentatively turn the radio on she doesn’t object and goes so far as to bob her head along a little when a Beatles tune comes on.

I park the car and turn to her with a smile. “I hope you’re wearing your suit under there.”

She smiles back, somewhat weakly. “Yup.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

I packed a cooler for our trip, darting around the grocery store like an excited little kid picking out all the things I thought she might like. I pull it from the back seat, along with a large blanket, and take her hand again.

“Let me take that,” she says, reaching for the blanket. “A blanket, huh? Are you expecting to get lucky here, mister?”

I waggle my eyebrows at her. “A man can hope.”

We walk hand-in-hand down to the beach. It’s crowded with families and couples, so we keep walking until we find a more secluded spot right near the tree line.

“This good?” I ask.

“Perfect.”

She spreads out the blanket, and I open the cooler to grab a few sodas before sinking down to the ground. I grab her around the waist and pull her onto my lap.

“Hey!” She laughs and hits my shoulder.

“Sorry.” I kiss her forehead. “Just thought you needed some help getting comfortable.”

Never breaking eye contact with me, she reaches down and pulls up the hem of her shirt. I groan softly. “You’re way too sexy for your own good,” I say.

She giggles and throws the tank top on the blanket. Her bikini is red and just skimpy enough to make me insane. I look down the beach at the kids playing in the water, wondering if any of their parents could blame me if I made love to her right here and now.

When I turn my attention back to her, she’s lost her cut-off shorts and is settling down onto the blanket. I take off my shirt, and my heart races at the way her eyes rake up and down my chest. There is literally no better feeling than knowing I affect her the same way she affects me.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she says as I stretch out next to her. She reaches out a hand and trails her fingers across my belly, making my muscles clench uncontrollably. I want her so bad. The shower feels like ages ago.

She closes her eyes and tilts her head up toward the sun. “I gotta tell you,” she murmurs. “If all boring normal shit is like this, I might just be a fan.”

I lean down and brush my lips across her neck, unable to resist the exposed delicate skin. “I’m with ya, babe.”

We drink our soda and munch on chips, not talking much. It’s enough just to be close to her, just to look at her and be able to touch her whenever I want. Her skin dews with sweat in the hot sun, and I make a game out of capturing the beads on her shoulders with my tongue before they run down her arms.

“You’re going to have to stop that,” she whispers, her voice low and husky. It goes straight to my center. This girl could make me hard with just her voice.

“Why’s that?”

Her eyes snap open, dark and bright. “Because you’re driving me crazy.”

“I like you crazy.”

She smiles lazily. “Seriously. I’d rather not be arrested for indecent exposure today, and I’m in grave danger of ripping your clothes off right now.”

“Let’s swim,” I say, tugging at her hand.

“Yeah, cooling off is probably a good idea.” She stands with me.

“I have something else in mind,” I whisper. In one fluid movement, I grab her around her waist and pull her up over my shoulder.

“Hey!” she shouts, smacking my ass. “Put me down!”

“Touching my ass is really no way to convince me this is a bad position for you.” I flip her around so she’s cradled in my arms and stride into the water, not stopping until I’m waist deep. “Ready to get wet?” I ask, then plop her down into the water without waiting for a reply.

She gasps at the sudden cold, and grabs my arms to balance herself. “Jerk,” she hisses.

“You said you wanted to cool off.”

She sticks her tongue out at me—big mistake. I swoop in and capture it with my mouth, swallowing her moan, the sound sending my heart into overdrive. I wrap my arms around her, walking backwards deeper into the water. When the waves reach her shoulders, I pull her legs up around me, and rest my hands on her ass.

“God,” she murmurs, pulling back. “Every time. How do you do this to me?”

I shake my head, knowing exactly what she means. Just one touch, one kiss, and my blood is on fire, my limbs melting into nothing. I want to wrap her more tightly around me, wrap myself around her, find a way to meld us together until I can't tell where she ends and I start. I let my hands drift from her ass around to her belly, my fingertips ghosting across her skin, dipping under the bright red fabric.

“Taylor,” she says, her eyes wide as she grasps my arms. “We can’t.”

“No one’s over here.” I look down the beach. There’s no one for a good fifty yards. Most of the families have already packed up. It’s getting close to dinnertime. “No one can see.” I turn her gently so her back is pressed to my chest. I wrap my arms around her waist, my hands in a better position to slip below her suit. “I just need to feel you. Please.”

She whimpers, and I dip my fingers farther, brushing against her center. She whispers
yes
, and I groan, triumphant. She’s so hot against my fingers, her skin wet and blazing, creating a delicious contrast to the cool water. I find the spot that always makes her fall apart and am rewarded with her soft, breathy moan.
God
. I love that sound, crave it. Imagine it all the time—when I’m at work, when I look at her, even when I dream. She’s gotten so far under my skin now, I’m not really sure there’s a way out.

“Taylor.” She groans, her hands tightening on my arms. I know that she’s close, and it fills me with a rush of primitive pride. Knowing I do this to her, that I’m the only one—it makes me crazy in the best possible way.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper in her ear. It’s true. Only her head is visible above the water, tilted back and resting against my chest. Her neck is exposed, long and white and so gorgeous. I wish we were at home in my bed so I could rub my lips along it, across her sweet- smelling skin, all the way to her breasts. I feel this way every time, like it’s not enough, like it will never be enough.

She whimpers again. “Taylor.” Her cheeks are flushed and pink, her chest rising and falling with her shaky, erratic breaths. She is seriously the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, and it scares me, a little. There’s no way in hell I deserve anything as beautiful, as good, as this.

But then she opens her eyes, and cranes her head back so she can lock her gaze on mine, and I forget every self-doubt I have. I can read it in her face: she needs me like I need her. She’s looking at me like she can't bear for me to stop, like she can't live if I let go. I forget to worry about what I deserve—I want nothing more in that moment than to be what
she
deserves. What she needs.

“Let go for me, baby.”

With one last soft moan, she does, and it’s amazing. So intense and beautiful and ridiculously perfect that it makes my chest ache. And all I can do is bury my lips against hers to try and stop the pain.

Chapter Eighteen

Zoe

We fall into a nice pattern over the next few weeks. Most days Taylor picks me up from class, and we get lunch. Sometimes, on the days I’m done with class before he finishes work, I go to his shop and hang out in the break room, where I can sit and do homework in relative peace all while having the chance to look up at him out on the floor every so often. I don't get a ton of work done.

I’m spending more and more time in his apartment over the garage. We’re together most of the time, either alone or with Fred and Ellie, just hanging out, playing cards and listening to music or drinking a few beers. Sometimes, when the silence and the heaviness of my house gets too much to bear, I sneak out after everyone is in bed and make my way across town to knock on his door. It should have scared me, how much refuge I was taking in him. No longer getting wasted every night means that falling asleep on my own is getting harder and harder. My psych professor would have said we were becoming codependent, replacing our reliance on alcohol with a reliance on each other.