Life In Reverse(49)

“There was a time when I thought he was my hero. He was… well, he was the dad who used to take me to karate tournaments and cheer for me instead of yelling whenever I missed a key move. When I was frustrated with math because I sucked at it, he sat with me patiently to help when all I wanted to do was beat my f*cking head against the wall.” He laughs, the warm sound filling me up. “My dad used to take me to the library even when he had other things to do. He’d bring his newspaper and stay with me for hours on end because he knew how much I loved being around all those books. I wanted to live there.”

I pause with my fingers immersed in the clay. “So what happened?”

“I don’t know.” He stares past me and I know I’m losing him. “Life I guess.” His lips flatten into a line, a hardness forming around his eyes where there was none. “He’s not the same person anymore.”

Though I know this might upset him, I’m unable to hold back. “Don’t you think your mom becoming ill had an effect on him? It has to be really difficult.”

“Yes,” Vance agrees, his eyes returning to mine. “You’d think it would be, right? But as far as I can see, he’s gone on with his life. It’s business as usual, while my mother is wasting away in there.” He looks away then back to me. “Mind if we change the subject? It’s not my favorite one.”

“Sure.”

“Now I have a question for you. What was up with that dude in the bar? I can’t picture it. It’s just that you’re so….” With my hands firmly planted in the clay, I wait for the words he searches for on the ceiling. But they never come. “How did you guys even hook up?”

The single breath I held tight releases itself and I tell him the not so sordid story. “It’s not that deep, really. We met at an art show. His parents were benefactors and… I don’t know. He loved art, too, and he knew a lot about it. And we just… clicked.”

His gaze beams against my face like bright sunlight. “I don’t know shit about art, but I can spot an * a mile away.”

My laughter echoes throughout the room. “Good to know.” Still trying to reconcile it in my own mind, I go on. “I don’t know. He fooled me, I suppose. I thought he was something he wasn’t. I’m just not that… experienced, I guess. I told you, dating has never been a priority for me.”

The words until now roll around in my brain. This thing with Vance. It feels like… something. I want to reach for it, like grabbing a star from the sky.

“Why not?” he asks, dragging me from my momentary daze.

The structure of Vance’s jaw takes shape and I tilt my head to admire it. “My studies and my art were my focus. Besides,” I add, “Avery had enough interest for the both of us. I think she started dating when she was nine.” My hands still on the clay as my mind sends me back to fifth grade. “I remember this one time, she had me lure Steven Corbett onto the playground just so she could try to kiss him. She told me he liked those double-stuffed Oreos so she bought a huge pack and I basically bribed him.”

“Did it work?”

My answering smile gives me away. “Of course it did. We’re talking about Avery now. She gets—”

“Geez, Mickey. Is my head that big?” My eyebrows lift and he gestures with his chin toward the partially formed likeness. “The sculpture?”

“Ohhh. It’s a work in progress. And your head isn’t big.” I smirk. “It’s round.” He pokes his tongue against his cheek, trying to muffle a grin. “But your hair….” Dried clay sticks between my fingers and I tear a paper towel from the wall dispenser. As I scrape it off, I walk over to him. “I can’t see your eyes. Your hair is in the way.” I reach out, my hand pausing in mid-air. “May I?”

Wariness flashes in his eyes. He pushes past it and gives me a nod accompanied by a gradual swallow. My only thought—this is my free pass to touch him—and I intend to take full advantage of it.





GENTLE FINGERTIPS DANCE across my forehead, sweeping the fine hair over my brow. My breathing stutters then halts, her touch like the softest f*cking kiss along my skin. “Vance,” she whispers. “You can breathe.” My shoulders sag as her hand disappears. Heat rises everywhere she touched, electricity crackling in the narrow space between us.

Needing to break the tension, I say whatever words come to mind. “You were just using this as an excuse to touch me.”

“Maybe.” An absence of teasing in her voice makes my heart thunder inside my chest. It’s been a long time since anyone has touched me like this—with something approaching tenderness. And while it’s completely foreign to me, with her, it almost feels necessary. She feels necessary.

And I’m f*cking scared. But I’m sick of being scared.

The world I’ve constructed for myself, for years, is falling apart. My control is slipping. The walls crumbling and I need to scramble to put them back up. Only I can’t. Something about Ember makes me helpless to do any of it. I’ve shut myself down for too long and part of me wonders what it would feel like to let someone in, to share that closeness I’ve denied myself. Still, fear chokes me until I want to pry its hands from my neck.

“Vance, hey.” Her soft tone invades my thoughts and I stare up into the most beautiful pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. “You disappeared on me.”