Tears sting my eyes as I’m confronted with the truth.
“Don’t you want more?” He waves his arm in the air. “We don’t have a dime between us. I’m working at a scrap-metal yard; you’re not working, since Diane has you acting as her live-in babysitter.”
“I started pet . . .”
Shaking his head, he says, “Doesn’t matter.” He wipes a tear off my cheek. “I really want to get the hell out of here. Go explore somewhere else, be near a beach, and nice weather, and start living. Wish for more than inheriting another scar from my mom’s piece-of-shit husband.” Tucking back a strand of hair off my cheek that got caught in my tears, he kisses my forehead. “Your hair looks nice, by the way. It suits you.”
“Thanks,” I murmur.
Unbuckling my seat belt, I climb out as his eyes relay a deep sadness to me. “Elizabeth!” he hollers after me as I turn toward the apartment. Halting my steps before I shift, I almost don’t want to know what he’s going to say, because deep down I already know.
Slowly I face him, and I see the tears. His face matches mine, pained and hollow.
“If there’s one thing I know, it’s that I love you. So don’t ever question that, okay? But this has me thinking about how serious we’ve become, and I don’t want to hold you back, or vice versa. Skateboarding is my life—you know this—and becoming something.”
The thought of forming words is too much, so I nod.
“I think we should take a break, Elizabeth, and just be teenagers.”
With that, I turn on my heel, my world spinning out of control.
I don’t dare look back as I half sprint to the stairs.
CHAPTER 18
Charlotte
Worn out from the night’s turn of events and afraid I overreacted, I feel a stab of guilt. It wasn’t my intention to raise my voice at Elle or scare her.
On the flip side, even though I feel a hint of remorse, stealing, whether it’s done for good reasons or not, is something I won’t tolerate. And trust, in my situation, is paramount. I can’t expect Elle to understand my life or why it matters more to me than most.
I trudge up the stairs to the office when I get home, skipping my usual nighttime tea of lavender and chamomile. After exchanging dress clothes for a pair of sweats and one of Noah’s V-neck tees, I sink into the desk chair. I boot up my laptop and start to grade papers, but my mind keeps drifting, and I’m forced to reread paragraphs, the words swimming in front of my eyes.
Pandora’s box.
I shouldn’t open it.
But a woman’s gut is all she can trust.
My hands pause over the keyboard, electricity shooting through each digit, my body wired into an anxious, frazzled ball.
I balk before typing in his password.
Noah has no idea I keep such close tabs on him. He would be appalled if he knew; it would sever every bit of trust between us.
I have to know, though.
A hunch tells me I’m right.
I deserve to know.
Justifying it because of our future as not just partners but parents, I need to settle the unease in my gut. After accessing his email, I find at least fifty new ones since the last time I checked, all bold text, a signal they’re unopened.
Most are junk, but as I scroll down the list, the dreaded name stands out as if it’s emblazoned in red and spelled out in ALL CAPS.
It’s from her.
The screen becomes a blurry mass of words. I shut my eyes, in part to block out the hurt and in part to keep from absorbing the rest of her bullshit. Will this ever stop? As I rub my temples in agony, the pounding cues a headache is building.
When will Lauren take a hint?
Furious, I hit the delete button hard and drag the email to the trash, where it belongs, just like her. I permanently erase it from his email, which I wish I could do with her once and for all. If only we could get rid of Lauren this easily, eliminating her from our thought process and lives. Why can’t she let us be happy together?
The synopsis is always the same, even though Lauren struggles with her writing. Her thoughts are all over the place, scattered as the misspelled words run rampant.
But it’s always the same message, loud and clear.
She wants Noah, and she won’t take no for an answer.
Helpless, I move to the window seat, grasping for a pillow as the room spins out of control. I tighten my fingers around the silky fabric, gripping something that’s tangible, unlike the never-ending history between Lauren, Noah, and me.
Screaming at the pillow, I punch it repeatedly, one blow after another. After letting out all my raw emotions, I stop yelling, my energy expended from all the lies and bullshit. This wasn’t how I envisioned life progressing.
Angry that I even have to keep checking Noah’s account, I contemplate how to respond and if I should.
I don’t want Noah to be aware I know she’s still contacting him.
Should I threaten a restraining order?
Don’t waste your emotions on her, I warn myself. It just breeds negativity.
Switching gears, I reach for my phone but then automatically set it down.
Elle said her phone was broken, and besides, if she’s sleeping I don’t want to wake her, wherever she might be.
CHAPTER 19
Elle
We live on the fourth floor, and I’m weary by the time I reach the second set of steps and completely out of breath as I enter our apartment. Diane’s passed out on the couch, snoring up a storm, a quilted afghan wrapped around her shoulders. Due to our paper-thin walls, I can hear the television down the hall. After struggling to locate the remote, I find it lodged in an empty bag of chips.
Longingly, I imagine what it would be like to have a mom I could confide in.
Hell, a foster parent even.
Recollections of my own mother are fleeting. She’s been out of my life for so long, since I was seven. And the last memories I have of her are not happy ones.
I check on the boys, both asleep in their bunk beds. After switching off the small lamp on the dented dresser, I trip over a Hot Wheels before catching myself.
I mouth every cussword in my vocabulary and shut their door behind me. I’m tempted to hurl the damn toy car out the window, but instead I set it on the counter.
After dragging my mattress into the hallway, I curl up in a ball, shutting my swollen eyes. The tears come easy, and I silently cry before I drift off, the drowsiness pulling me in swiftly.
I wake only when I feel a painful nudge to my arm.
Ignoring the angry gesture, I burrow my head deeper in my shoulder.
“Get up,” a gravelly voice demands. “It’s time to get up.”
Another push, this time more forceful.
Opening one eye, I see Diane’s bare foot next to my head.
I moan.
“First off, young lady, it’s almost seven thirty. Second, I need you to cash a check for me this evening.” I want to cover my ears at the sound of her voice, an evil squawk.
“Why can’t you?” I mumble.
“Account’s overdrawn.”
“Can’t you go to a payday place?”
She kicks me with her heel. “Can’t you shut up and do as you’re told? Geez, you have a roof over your head, and you still act like an entitled brat.”
Rolling over, I sigh, “Fine, just stop talking.”