Never Let You Go(69)

“I’m your father. I’m worried about you.”

I stand up. “Just leave me alone!” Jared also stands up on the other side of the table.

Andrew grabs my forearm. “Listen to me, Sophie. Someone is screwing around with you and your mom. Maybe you should stay with me for a few days. I can protect you.”

I laugh. “You’ve never protected me.”

“I was there for the first seven years of your life and I made sure no one ever hurt you. I was the one who taught you to swim, to ride a bike, everything.”

“You hurt me,” I say, my voice breaking. I can feel people watching us, but I don’t care anymore. “Don’t you get it? You’re the one who hurt me—and now you’re stalking me!”

“Come on, Sophie,” Jared says. He’s standing behind me now. “Let’s go.”

I stare down at my dad’s hand on my arm, and he slowly lets go, drops it in his lap. He looks sad now. It doesn’t make me feel guilty anymore. Mom was right. It’s all an act.

“Stay away from me,” I say, then walk away with Jared. When we climb into his car, I see Andrew still watching from inside the coffee shop. I turn to Jared. “I want to go back to Greg’s. Drive fast. I don’t want him to see where we’re going.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


LINDSEY



I squirt soap into the sink until the suds rise, then dump our plates, salad bowls, and cutlery into the water and scrub at the melted cheese and tomato sauce. I can see out of the window into the dark of Greg’s side yard. I reach up and tug the blinds down. Greg is moving around behind me, putting away the leftover pizza. I’ve been to his house many times, but I’m uncomfortable tonight and not sure why. It could be because he keeps telling me to “make yourself at home,” or because of the look on Sophie’s face when Greg implied we might stay indefinitely. I glance over at him as he shoves the pizza box into the recycling.

“You okay?” he says, catching me watching.

“Yes, just thinking about Sophie.” I give him a smile. “Thanks for all this.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He stands straight. “So, what would you like to do now? Watch TV?” He’s uncomfortable too, I realize. Whenever we spend time together, it’s a “date,” or we go straight to bed. Neither of us knows how to just be around each other. We’ve never had weekends puttering at home or evenings spent doing our own thing under the same roof.

“Sure, TV sounds great.” It will come, in time, I tell myself. But I still have an itchy wanting-to-run feeling. I’m not ready for this. Not ready to play house with him.

Greg finds an action movie and I say it sounds good, but I don’t really care what we watch and would have agreed to anything. I’m distracted, wondering about Sophie and Jared. Maybe I should have told her to stay home, but I wanted to see her smile again.

Headlights pull in the driveway and cast streaks of light on the wall. I stand to look out the window and recognize Jared’s car.

“Sophie’s home,” I say. My relief is short-lived when I see the silhouette of their two heads coming together for a kiss. I move away from the window.

Downstairs I hear Sophie softly closing the front door, unzipping her coat, pulling off her boots, then light steps as she walks up the stairs. She leans against the entranceway of the living room, wraps a strand of her hair around her finger.

“What are you guys watching?”

“Iron Man,” I say. “Want to join us?”

“Thanks, but I’m tired.” She gives us a small wave and disappears down the hall.

I try to focus on the movie, but I can’t get into the plot. “I’m pretty tired too. Think maybe I’ll just go to bed.”

“Yeah? You want me to—”

“No, no, stay and enjoy your movie.” I get ready for bed, washing my face and applying cream, brushing my teeth. When I’m done, I hesitate for a moment about whether to place my toothbrush beside Greg’s in his holder. In the end, I tucked it into my overnight bag.

I walk down the hall to Sophie’s room, knock gently, but she doesn’t answer. I want to go in and talk to her but decide to give her some space.

When Greg comes to bed an hour later, I’m still awake, staring at the ceiling. I hear the rustle of clothes as he moves around the bedroom, the water running in the bathroom, his electric toothbrush. I should feel happy about these domestic noises, maybe even comforted, but I miss my bed at home, miss the weight of Angus on my feet. Greg slides into bed beside me and drapes his hand across my stomach. I slowly roll onto my side, away from him. His hand drifts over my hip, pulls me against his body while he kisses the back of my neck.

“Not when Sophie is in the house,” I whisper.

“She can’t hear from her room.”

“That’s not the point.”

He lets his breath out in a sigh as he rolls onto his back. “It’s not about Sophie.”

I roll over too. “What do you mean?”

He props himself up on his elbow and turns to face me. “This isn’t going to happen for us, is it?”

“It just feels strange with Sophie in the house. I’m sure after a few days—”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”