“Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“Want me to lower it for you?”
“Please.” He lets it down slowly to not make me feel even worse than I already do. “Thank you. I’m the worst travel companion ever.”
“Trust me,” the leather groans as he wiggles in his seat, “you’re not the worst.”
“How so?”
“Well,” he coughs in a nervous way, “you haven’t hit me yet.”
“God, Teddy. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“You deserve more than you’ve been given.”
He sighs beside me, the kind that sounds sad and desperate for something better. I wish I could be the person who gives that to him, but I don’t think I am.
29
Teddy
Vanessa eventually got over her flight sickness, but not until the second half of the trip when we were an hour away from touching down in Greece.
Her cheeks are flushed with color and her eyes are a clear crystal blue when we load into the waiting car that will take us to the boat dock where we’ll board the yacht.
I’m trying not to think about the entire week that’ll be spent on a boat with my parents. It’s a mega yacht, but there are still only so many places I can hide from my father.
Vanessa spends the car ride glued to the window and drooling over the scenery. I’m so fucking pathetic that the look of awe on her face makes me hard. I need to get laid, but until I graduate, or until Vanessa realizes my feelings are real and that she wants me too, I’m stuck with my hand.
“Look at this place.” Her nose is practically plastered to the glass. “Are you seeing this?”
“Oh, I’m seeing it. It’s beautiful.” My gaze doesn’t stray from her. She’s the only view that matters to me.
Fuck, I’m whipped, and I’m not even in an actual relationship. Someone give me a beer and a cigar so I can feel more manly.
The car takes us to a private dock where Vanessa is stunned to learn we have to take a boat to the yacht.
“We’re riding a boat to an even bigger boat? This is incredible!”
I feel hungover from the flights, but Vanessa seems to be full of energy. Maybe it’s the excitement of being in a new place.
Her hair blows in the wind created by the boat as we speed across the water to the yacht anchored farther out. Her smile is easy, sunglasses perched on her narrow nose. She looks more carefree and happier than I’ve ever seen her. Even if we have to endure this trip with my parents, I plan on making it an unforgettable experience for her.
“Wait, that’s the yacht?” She gapes as we approach. “That thing is huge? You seriously crashed one of these?” She gives me an incredulous look.
Fighting a smile, I shrug. “I was drunk, and there might’ve been other substances involved.”
“Other substances?”
“Look, I’m not proud of most of the shit I’ve done, so yes, I used drugs occasionally. I’ve never been an addict, and I’ve been clean since last summer. I mean, you’ve seen me, I don’t even get drunk anymore. Sure, I drink, but not enough for it to be a problem.”
“You know,” she begins, and I’m totally expecting a reaming, “you’re cute when you ramble. Your ears go all red.”
“No, they don’t.”
She throws her head back and laughs, low and throaty, and fuck if it isn’t turning me on. I have to face it, everything she does turns me on. Pulling her phone from the pocket of the shorts she changed into before landing, she snaps a picture and turns the screen to face me.
My stupid ears, are in fact, red.
“Well, guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right.” She pushes dark, windswept hair from her face as the boat slows. “Are you ready for this?” Sadness touches her eyes as she appraises me, searching for any signs that I’m about to lose my shit.
“I’m never ready to deal with my parents.”
Vanessa and I are escorted to our room by a staff member, to which she hisses under her breath, “Your parents even have staff on their fancy schmancy boat. I mean, of course they do.” Then when we reach the room, she lightly punches my stomach and gasps, “This room is bigger than my entire house back home and it’s on a fucking boat.”
“Yacht,” I correct. “If my dad hears you call it a boat, he’ll have words.”
She rolls her eyes, sitting on the bed and bouncing to test the mattress. “Let him. I can handle him. Any man that beats a child is a weak, pathetic excuse for a human being.”
I have to force a swallow past the emotion clogging my throat. I don’t normally get like this, but Vanessa is the first person in my life to know about my father, know and believe me and actively rebuke him. My mom knows, of course she does, how could she not? He’s never hit me in her presence, but I don’t understand how a mother doesn’t know these sorts of things.
Vanessa lays back on the bed, gazing up the ceiling with a million tiny LED lights custom set to match the night sky and constellations. “Growing up, did you ever think about killing him?” I freeze at her question. She lifts her head and I see that she’s seriously expecting an answer. “Be honest. I’m not judging.”
“Yes.” I push the answer past my lips. I sit down beside her and then lie back so we’re both gazing at the artificial night sky. “I’ve imagined a million and one ways.”
“Tell me about one.”
I turn my head her way. “Seriously?”
“Absolutely.” Her face is right there, full lips a breath from mine. If I wasn’t afraid of scaring her away, I’d place my hand on her cheek and lean in until my lips were pillowed on hers. But I can’t make the first move, not in here at least where it’s private. In the public I can show her affection, and that’s the cruelest trick of all.
“I hate to disappoint you, most of them aren’t very creative.”
“Surely, there’s one that is.” There’s humor in her tone.
“Well, there was one.” I start to laugh. “I think I was about twelve, and I’d just received a vicious beating, and I was hiding out in the yard when I saw a hot air balloon in the sky and I thought about being in one and just … pushing him.”
“Did it make you feel better thinking about it?”
“No.” It’s an honest answer. “It always made me feel sick when I thought about killing him. It made me think I was no better than him.”
Vanessa’s warm hand grips mine on him. “I promise you, you could never be your father.”
I close my eyes, relief flooding through my veins. It feels way too good to hear her say that. “You have no idea how much I fear turning into him.” I’ve voiced this to her before, but it doesn’t change the fact that the terror still exists. Just because I can’t imagine laying a hand on my own child, doesn’t mean I’m not capable of it like he is.
She rolls to her side, and I reluctantly meet her look. I hate being vulnerable. It fucking sucks laying yourself bare to someone. Reaching with her finger, she traces the shape of my lips and then glides the tip of that same finger down the bridge of my nose. I feel cold when her touch disappears.