Rules of a Rebel and a Shy Girl (27 page)

By the time our lips part again, my dad has tried to call me seventeen times.

“Do you want to do the honors?” I ask Willow with my phone in my hand. “Or should I?”

“I think this is something you should do. It’ll be therapeutic after all those years he’s beaten you down.”

I feel restless as I stare at my dad’s name in my contact list.

“You’ll be okay,” she insists, kneeling on the bed in front of me. “Just call him up and tell him you have some of his files that you’d really like him to see. And do it in your best mobster voice.”

Nodding, I press my finger to his name then put the phone to my ear. He answers after two rings and immediately starts screaming that I’m supposed to be at the office. When he finally takes a breath, I tell him what I need to, and for the first time in my life, he listens.

In the middle of the conversation, Willow gets up off the bed and heads across my room toward the door. Worry builds in my chest that she’ll walk out and never come back or that she’ll come back with a list. And these last five years of getting us to this point will be destroyed. When she reaches the doorway, though, she turns around and smiles.

“I’ll be right back. I’m just going to go make breakfast while you finish breaking up with your father.” She giggles, amused with herself.

The pressure in my chest cracks as I realize that she might be okay.

I might be okay.

We might be okay.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Willow

I’m so glad Beck decided to get out of working with his father. Sure, blackmailing him might not be the best way, but honestly, I think it’s the only way other than Beck selling his house.

As Beck talks to his dad on the phone and explains to him what he found, I wander out to the kitchen to make some breakfast. I feel so well-rested I don’t even know what to do with myself other than smile, smile, smile and do jazz hands apparently. Honestly, I kind of feel as happy as a cartoon character as I dance my way across the spacious kitchen.

But in the middle of my best robot move, I screech to a halt, my jaw smacking to my knees.

“What the heck is this?” I mutter, plucking up a piece of paper held to the fridge by a magnet.

Task #1: Get Willow out of that house.

Task #2: Prove to her that I’m not going to destroy her.

Task #3: Tell her I love her.

The letters are written in Beck’s handwriting below the list of rules I gave him; only, my list has been scribbled out.

Tell her I love her.

Tell her I love her?

“Beck loves me?” I whisper, nearly dropping the list.

My heart rate accelerates. My palms begin to dampen. My brain is wired, soaring a million miles a minute. I’d think I was having a panic attack, except for two things: One, those goddamn flutters go elatedly crazy. And two, I don’t want to run to the front door. I want to go back to the bedroom. So, that’s what I do with the list clutched in my hand.

Beck is off the phone when I walk in, looking both terrified and relieved.

“Well, the good news is that he’s going to sign my house over to me,” he says, tossing his phone onto the bed.

I step toward him. “And the bad news?”

He rests his elbows on his knees and massages his temples with his fingertips. “I’m probably not going to be allowed to family dinners anymore.”

“Aw, Beck, I’m so sorry.” Another step toward him and my fingers tighten around the list. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Family dinners suck, anyway.” He waves me off, but I can see a tiny bit of hurt in his eyes.

“What can I do to make you feel better?” I ask, stopping in front of him.

He leans back on his arms as he angles his head up. “Well, if you’re offering …” His lips curve into a naughty grin.

I tap my finger against my lips. “You want me to tickle your feet again?”

He gives me a tolerant look. “That’s not quite what I was thinking you could tickle. Maybe go up a little higher.”

“What? To your ankle?”

Shaking his head, he snags hold of my hips, lifts me up, and drops me down on the bed.

I let out a laugh as I bounce against the bed and then squeal as he rolls on top of me and tickles my side.

“Just for that, I’m going to make you pee your pants,” he teases, sketching his fingers up and down my sides.

“Please, don’t!” I squeal, wrestling to get out from underneath him.

Laughing, he straddles me, snatches hold of my wrists, and pins my arms above my head. “You are so going down … Wait, what’s in your hand?” His gaze shifts to me, and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he gulps. “Where did you find that?”

“On your fridge,” I whisper, struggling to get oxygen into my lungs.
Breathe. Just breathe
. “Is it true …? Task number three?”

His throat muscles move as he swallows hard. “It is, but I don’t want you to panic. That’s just where I am, but I won’t say it aloud. I know that you’re not there yet, so we can wait for now. I don’t want to overwhelm you or make you feel uncomfortable while you’re living with me. You’ve already spent way too much of your life being uncomfortable in your own house. I don’t want to ever make you feel that way.”

Silence ticks by, filled with our heavy breathing.

“Princess, please, say something,” he pleads, still holding my wrists.

“You make me feel safe,” I sputter, unsure what else to say other than the truth. “All the time. You’re the only one who ever has.”

“Good.” He relaxes, skimming a finger along the inside of my wrist right along my thrashing pulse. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. To make sure you feel—are safe. Ever since the first time I had you come home with me and spend the night.”

“Well, you completely and one hundred percent succeeded.” I aim for a light tone yet sound uncontrollably breathless.

“Now that I got you out of that house, I did.” Then he leans in to kiss me.

“Beck,” I whisper right before his lips touch mine.

He pauses, his eyelids lifting open. “Yeah?”

“C-can I hear you say it?” I whisper. “I’ve never heard anyone say it to me without a manipulative meaning behind it.”

He nods, swallowing hard. “Willow, I love you.”

He says it so easily, without any effort, without wanting anything in return.

I’ve often wondered what it would be like to hear the word love and not cringe. When I was younger, it used to happen, but only because I was so naive. Maybe I’m being naive still, but I really don’t think so. And I don’t cringe. I don’t run. I don’t think of lists and jobs and classes. I think of Beck and everything he’s done for me: when he saved me from sleeping in the car, when he comforted me during the rougher days, when he didn’t judge me for the bad choices I made, when he made me laugh, even when he made me almost pee my pants.

Then I hold my breath and let every single damn syllable sink into my heart.

“I love you, too,” I whisper. “I think I have for a while.”

His eyes widen, but that look only lasts for a heartbeat. Then his lips are on mine. His hands soon find my body, slipping underneath my shirt. His fingers brush my nipples, and my back bows up, my knees pressing against his hips. He repeats the movement again, whispering that he can stop if I need him to. I don’t want him to stop, though.

Ever.

And that’s exactly what I tell him.

He peels off my shirt, and I tug down his pajama bottoms and boxers. Then he lays me back down on the bed and slips his fingers inside me as his tongue parts my lips. He feels me until I can’t breathe. Kisses me until I can’t think straight. Loves me until everything seems right and nothing seems wrong.

I never want him to let me go.

His thoughts seem to match mine as he only moves away to put on a condom. Then he places his body over mine, kissing me slowly, as if memorizing every single brush of our lips.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, looking into my eyes.

I nod with a hint of nerves surfacing. But I shove the feeling down and wrap my legs around his waist, really wanting to do this.

“I love you,” I say.

“I love you, too,” he promises.

Then he kisses me as he slips inside, and I hold on to him, never wanting to let go.

It might not be perfection, but I think it’s definitely close.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Willow

The next few days move by slowly, but in the best way possible. Beck and I spend a lot of time messing around, laughing, and burning dinner because I apparently suck at cooking food that doesn’t come processed and in a box. Beck finds my sucky cooking skills pretty funny, even when I set off all the smoke alarms in the house, and his laughter makes not panicking a bit easier.

To alleviate even more of my stress, I decided to accept a job at the library and a tutoring job at the college. Beck tries to talk me out of taking two, but I want to be able to afford everything on my own, even a discounted, reasonable rent price. I also decide to have Van mail me my final paycheck instead of picking it up, never wanting to go back to that place again.

Van doesn’t seem very happy about me quitting, but I am. And I really start feeling like myself again: the planner, the good choice maker, the girl who loves spending time with her best friend—well, I guess my boyfriend now, which is new to me and completely unplanned. That’s okay. I’m starting to realize that unplanned things sometimes turn out to be wonderful.

Everything seems to be going great until I finally have to accept that I can no longer keep washing my outfit and re-wearing it. I have to return to the apartment to get my stuff and my car. So, on a very early Friday morning, Beck and I climb into his car and drive back to a place I hope to never see again.

Just being there puts me in a foul mood, and I wonder if that’s how I’ve been for years: a walking foul mood. I decide to ask Beck this since he seems to know me pretty well.

“You’re not a walking foul mood.” He rolls his eyes as he grabs the blankets off my bed and stuffs them into a box. “You’re not even in a foul mood right now. You’re just sad because this place reminds you of too many bad times.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” I open the top dresser drawer to clean out my clothes, finding the snow globe Beck gave me. I smile as I pick it up.

“What are you looking at?” Beck asks, stepping up beside me. He has on jeans that are covered with dust from moving furniture, a long-sleeved grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and strands of his hair are askew. He looks so sexy. I can’t figure out how the hell I managed to keep my hands off him for so long.

Talk about too much self-control.

“The snow globe you gave me.” I hold it up and give it a little shake.

He smiles at the fake snow flurrying in the water. “You know, I was really nervous when I picked that out.”

“Really?” I ask, and he nods. “Why?”

He shrugs. “I think because it was just because it was the first present I ever gave you.”

My fingers fold around the snow globe. “It wasn’t the first present you gave me.”

His forehead creases. “Really? What else did I give you?”

“What no one else ever did.” I reach out and thread my fingers through his. “Safety.”

His lips tug into a small, sad smile. “That’s not really a present, though, princess. Well, it shouldn’t be. It should be something that just is.”

“It was to me. When I was younger, I thought about it a lot actually, having someone in my life who made me feel calm instead of so scared all the time.” I stare at the snow globe, tipping it back and forth. “I just never thought it would happen. Then you came along and changed everything. Sometimes, I wonder if maybe I made it out of this place without becoming my mom because you were always there.”

He fixes his finger underneath my chin and urges me to look at him. When our eyes meet, he wets his lips. “I don’t really think I can take full credit for this one. I think you made it out of this place okay because you’re fucking strong.”

I smile then move in to kiss him. Right as our lips connect, voices rise from inside the house.

“Where are you guys!” Wynter shouts through a giggle. “And what are you doing? Because it’s really, really quiet.”

I hear Luna and Grey say something, and then Ari laughs.

I shake my head, my cheeks warming. While I haven’t told her Beck and I hooked up, she’s voiced her suspicions over the phone. Evidently, my voice has a glow to it that it didn’t have a week ago, whatever the hell that means.

“As annoying as she is, I like that she made you blush,” Beck says, grinning as he lightly caresses my cheek.

I smile but then my happiness quickly falters. “Wait. What are we going to tell them?”

“About what?” he feigns dumb, his brow teasing upward.

“You know what. You and me.” I put my hand on his chest to playfully shove him, but he snags my wrist and jerks me to him, our chests colliding.

He rests his hands on my waist. “I’m pretty sure they already know.”

“How?”

“Because it’s been four years in the making, and they’ve had eyes for those four years.”

“Yeah, maybe …” I rub my lips together, unsure what to do.

“Why do you seem scared that they’ll find out?” he asks, trying to hide his hurt, yet his eyes give the truth away.

“I’m not really scared of them finding out,” I admit. “I’m just afraid that, when they do, everything will become so real. And it’ll become that much harder to lose what we have.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures me, dropping a delicate kiss on my lips. “Stop overthinking and just accept that you and I belong together. We’re real, and you’re not going to lose me. You want me, and I want you.”

I nod, nerves creeping up on me as Wynter strolls into my room.

She’s wearing a dark purple dress, her hair is curled, her makeup flawless, and she’s sporting heels.

“I thought I told you to wear something comfortable,” I tell her, realizing too late that Beck’s hands are still on my waist. I consider stepping back then decide to stay put and accept what I want like Beck told me.