The First Taste(84)

“Hey.” I pull her hands from her face and hold them. “You’re not stupid. You’re not blind. You trusted him, and he manipulated and betrayed you on purpose. He knows what he’s doing.”

She looks me in the eyes. “This isn’t what you signed up for. We were supposed to spend one night together, and now you have to deal with this mess—”

“I don’t have to. I could walk away right now if I wanted. I’m not here out of obligation.”

She goes quiet, frowning. “You’re a good man.”

“Then don’t push me away. I told you I care, and I do, and I said I was your boyfriend, and you know what? It felt f*cking good to say it. Because I think that moment on the sidewalk you told me you’d never be mine, in a way, you already were. I didn’t know it, but you won me over right there.”

Her hands loosen in my grip. She looks close to tears, and just like with Bell, it grabs onto something at the core of me and holds on. “You’re right,” she says. “I’m being crazy. I’m—I’m . . .”

“It’s okay,” I say. “You can be crazy. Just don’t walk away . . . even though we sort of had a pact that we would walk away.”

That gets me a smile, albeit a slight one. “What a mess.”

“A mess we created, so it can’t be bad.”

She glances at our intertwined hands and shifts her eyes to my watch. “You really should go, Andrew.”

I let go of her with a nod and a wave of relief. There’s still something off, but I think I’ve gotten through to her and that’s all I can do now. I need to go get Bell, and there’s a small part of me that wants to be a few minutes late or ask Sadie to take her to gymnastics instead, which is how I know Amelia’s right—I need to go get my girl.

“Let me walk with you,” I say. “At least to the train. You’re upset.”

She shakes her head. “I’m going to the office.”

“Then I’ll walk you there—”

“I’m fine. Really. I’ll get a cab.”

I put my hands in my pockets. “Are we good? Can I call you tonight?”

She hesitates and then nods, smiling. “Yes. Of course. Once I’ve gotten some work done, I’ll feel better. I’m always anxious when boxes on my to-do list go unchecked for more than a day.”

I don’t tell her I understand because I’m not sure I do. There are times, when my mood is dark, that burying myself under a hood feels like the only thing I can do. It got me through a lot with Shana and that’s possibly the reason the garage is doing so well today. I guess that’s how Amelia feels, so I can’t really begrudge her that, even though I think she works too hard.

She turns away.

“Hey, whoa,” I say. “Can a boyfriend get a kiss?”

She stops and turns back slowly. Her expression is passive. I can’t tell how she feels about my new title, and it makes me a little uneasy. She takes a few steps toward me, rises onto the balls of her feet, and kisses my cheek. Before I can grasp her, keep her there, show her how to really kiss her boyfriend goodbye, she’s hurrying off, slinking between the barricades that block off the street. Clutching her purse to her side, she steps into the street. Within seconds of raising an arm, she’s hailed a cab that scoops her away.





TWENTY-THREE



At times, occasionally, I’ve been accused of exaggerating when it comes to Bell.

But evidence doesn’t lie.

As soon as Bell walks into gymnastics, her friends perk up and yell for her to join them. Her coaches wave. Parents smile. She brightens up any room she’s in, including one as large and well-lit as this gymnasium. She takes off for the group of girls gathered in the center, and I start to call her back but stop myself. I’m not into this new thing where she forgets I’m around as soon as she sees someone else, but that’s what I’m supposed to want for her. She should be excited about what’s ahead of her rather than too anxious to leave my side. Still, my gut sinks watching her skip off.

But then, she skids to a halt and turns around. She sprints back to me, and I ooph as she jumps into my arms. “Promise me you’ll stay and watch,” she says.

“When have I ever not?” I kiss her forehead before removing her shoes and putting her down. “I’ll be right over there in the bleachers.”

I sling Bell’s hot pink, rainbow-glittered duffel bag over my shoulder and find a seat. I didn’t use to ooph when I caught her. Either I’m getting older, or she’s getting bigger. I prefer to pretend it’s neither of the two.

Kiki Brown spots me and shuffles her daughter in my direction. “Andrew,” she says, fixing the collar of her white blouse. “How are you?”

“Fine.” I nod at her daughter. “Hi, Brynn.”

“Where’s Bell?” she asks.

“Don’t be rude,” Kiki says with a nervous laugh. “Say hello first.”

“Hello. Where’s Bell?”

“Brynn. Try again.”

Jesus Christ, I want to say. Let the girl go see her f*cking friends. Brynn scowls but says, “Hello, Mr. Beckwith.” Then, she goes quiet since she can’t ask the only thing she wants to know. “Um. How are you?”