I can’t run away. They need me.
A calm swells in my chest. It’s not a soothing calm. Awfulness is still sloshing around inside me, but my mind is clearing. I’m centering.
When I get to the Promenade, I’ll ask someone to use their phone. I’ll call Shirlene to come get me. She will.
I’m not alone.
And that’s when I hear the roar of Forty’s bike. I consider ducking into an ally, but there’s none convenient. Besides, I stand by that middle finger. I am absolutely willing to repeat myself.
Hell, maybe he’s going to whiz by with Amelia riding bitch. Maybe he’ll be alone, and he’ll just keep going.
I stiffen my spine and school my face.
He pulls up parallel to me and shouts something.
I can’t hear him over the engine.
I keep walking.
He duck walks his ride along Gracy Avenue. Cars swing around him. None of them dare honk.
“Nevaeh! Get on the bike!”
I heard him that time. I roll my eyes and keep truckin’.
“Goddamn it!” He passes an open parking space and pulls in.
I’m nearly a block further when he jogs up behind me, boots clomping on the pavement. He grabs my upper arm. I jerk my elbow forward, and his grip’s tight, so I end up digging his fingers into me. A small whimper escapes before I can swallow it.
He instantly drops my arm. “Nevaeh, stop.”
I start walking again, picking up my pace.
He sighs and falls into step beside me.
“Where are you going, Nevaeh?”
“Doesn’t concern you.”
“You’re not safe walking around on your own.”
“Noted. You can fuck off now.”
“Come back to the bike. I can drop you back off at the clubhouse.”
“I’m not going back there.”
“Goddamn it, Nevaeh.” He stops in his tracks, spearing his fingers through his hair. I keep marching. He huffs and trots to catch up.
“I didn’t fuck her.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’re acting like you care.”
“I don’t. It’s not my business.”
“Nevaeh.” He sounds exasperated as hell. As if I’m a child having a temper tantrum, and he’s the reasonable one. That’s always been his position. And didn’t I oblige?
I take a deep breath, and I stop by one of those pretty benches they added when they redeveloped downtown. I exhale slowly.
“Listen. This is a mess.” I wipe sweat off my forehead with the collar of my T-shirt.
“I just broke things off. We’d been on a few dates. That’s all.”
I shake my head. That doesn’t really matter. I sink down on the wrought iron bench. There’s a huge maple tree behind it, so the metal is cool against my thighs. Cars shush by. Across Gracy Avenue, there’s an old church with a red door, its front yard filled with hydrangeas.
Shirlene told me something interesting about hydrangeas once. Their colors depend on the pH of the soil. The ones across the street change from blue to purple to pink.
Forty stands, looming, back straight and face hard, as if he’s waiting for orders.
I draw my knees to my chin, wrap my arms tight around my calves.
Finally, he lowers himself next to me. His jaw’s tight. He’s radiating tension.
“You want the truth. All of it.” I hug my arms tighter. “Okay. Here goes.”
I don’t know where to start. So I start at the beginning. “The night I came home from the eighth-grade dance, my stepdad came in my room and jacked off on me and told me if I didn’t say anything, he wouldn’t tell my mom that I came onto him.”
Forty makes a strangled sound beside me. I wait. He doesn’t say anything.
I’m staring straight ahead at those hydrangeas. A light breeze is rippling the blossoms. “He kept doing it, with like, variations, and I didn’t tell anyone, and I pretty much pretended in my mind that it wasn’t happening. Except for when it was. And then I met you.”
He’s breathing heavier, pained breaths.
“I wish I could say he stopped, but he didn’t. He said what would your boyfriend think if he knew what a dirty girl you are?”
The rotting ball of shame and fear, the ugly thing that lives in my chest, rattling around, sucking blood and weighing me down, it rises and sticks in my throat like tar.
“And then you decided to enlist. And I knew it was going to get worse. I tried so hard to convince you not to go. But when I was a kid, I was also really good at pretending things weren’t actually happening. I think I was genuinely surprised when you left.”
I remember waking up and thinking what are Forty and I gonna do today? And then I remembered driving him to the airport the day before, and I had a panic attack in the shower.
“I never really cheated on you. But I tried to make you think I was. It was childish. You were right.”
Forty is motionless beside me. I don’t dare look at him. I don’t want to see the disgust on his face.
“Anyway, I was a mess. But in the end, it was good, you know? I lost my mind, messed around with all those guys when I knew there was a sweetbutt there to take a picture. It was like I was blowing up my own life. When Annie and Harper beat my ass, it was permission to leave. I should thank them one day. They gave me the push to save myself.”
I lay my cheek on my knee. “So that’s the truth. All of it. You can go now. We’re good. We’re done. It’s settled. I don’t want to do this anymore. You can go now.”
I exhale. There’s a hot prickle in the corner of my eye. I watch the cars go by. Whatever he’s going to say, I don’t want to hear it. I wish I could kill him. You should have told me. How could you let him do that? Why didn’t you tell?
Maybe he’ll make one thing in my life easy and stand up and just walk away.
I count thirty-two cars before he finally makes a move and stands. Reflexively, I look up.
His face is grim. Shuttered. His jaw is tight. Every muscle in his neck is standing out.
He holds his hand out to me, palm up. And he leaves it there.
I search his face. I can’t read it at all.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go home now.”
I stare at his calloused hand. It’s huge. I shouldn’t take it. I can’t trust it.
I never really tried, though, did I?
“I’m not gonna hurt you, Nevaeh. Not ever again.” He’s not pleading. He’s promising.
If I was a different woman, if I was wise or tough like Shirlene, I’d walk away and keep walking. But I’m Nevaeh Ellis. For good or ill, I can’t be anyone else.
I take his hand. It’s rough, and he squeezes too tight.
It feels good. Leaping without looking. Hope placing a wild bet against experience. It feels crazy and risky and dangerous.
It feels right.
I don’t ask where he’s taking me. We head out of town, up toward the bluffs. I hold on around his waist, but unlike this morning, he covers one of my arms with his, twining his fingers in mine and pressing my hand to his hard belly. This is how we used to ride when we were kids.
The sun beats down on my helmet, and my scalp is itching from the sweat. I think I’m getting a sunburn. I feel wrung out and nervous, and my stomach’s growling.