Chapter 23
We’re on the porch again. I’m wearing a different sweater and a fresh pair of pants. Michael had a box of plain clothes of various sizes, but it was all for men. My sex tingles from what we did, my core aching from his two fingers. His response when I told him I was a virgin blew my mind.
He said I could only be that way forhim. He owns me. I know he doesn’t mean forever. I know he doesn’t mean white picket fences, kids, and all the stuff I’m too embarrassed to talk about. Still, in that moment, he meant it.
What about Mom? It’s wrong, but I’m starting to think she lied. I believe Michael. I can’t keep denying it. A part of me also watches with a frown, like I’m the Old Amelia, suspicious of everybody except Mom. Now it’s reversed.
Old Amelia is telling me to stop until I know everythingfor sure. Just because I have lovey-dovey feelings about Michael doesn’t mean he’s telling the truth. People lie all the time. He could easily be lying, too. I need to think, not feel, but I can’t. I’m lying to myself if I say I can fight it.
Mom is still asleep. It’s been maybe twenty minutes since the stuff went down. As the world grows darker, we’ve just been sitting out here, Michael across the short table from me. It’s strangely comfortable, sitting silently without talking, Lion sleeping on the porch.
I’m not sure how long Mom will be asleep, though. “You never answered my question.”
He smiles over at me, almost sadly. “You never answered mine. I asked what you wanted to do, and you looked at me like I was crazy, Amelia. Like you’ve never stopped to think once about what you could do with your life. Or that you could do anything.”
I fold my arms, staring stubbornly at the lake. He’s hit my most sensitive spot without even trying. At least, I hope—think—he wasn’t trying.Think, not feel. Yeah, right.
“But you can be,” he says fiercely. “You can be anything you want. Find a career. A passion. Or find a man, settle down, maybe have some kids.”
His voice gets husky. I look at him. He’s watching the lake. It’s like he won’t look at me. My thoughts go to a depressing place. Not for him, if it’s true, but he’s older than me. It’s possible.
“Do you have kids?” I ask.
He looks at me sharply, almost offended. “No.”
“Sorry.” My heart drops. “Are you against the idea of having them?”
“No,” he says, his tone savage, equally offended. “It would be a good thing, Amelia, to raise children and do it right. Give them the time, the attention, the love they need. Support them and protect them.”
There’s a tickling deep within. I won’t let myself think insane things, like my desire is talking to me, urging me to do the right thing. To climb into his lap and grind against him, feel that huge manhood between my legs, slide up and down, coax him inside. Take his seed—all of it.
“I’m sure you could’ve had a family years ago.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. I’ve seen what happens when a man doesn’t love his woman. It’s a sad sight.”
“Your mom?” I ask.
He somehow smirks and frowns at the same time. “Nothing gets past you.”
“Who was it, Luka?”
His eyes get that furious glint. Before, I thought it was aimed at me. When he pulled up at the red light, when this first began—hell, days ago—I thought he’d hurt me. I can’t imagine it now. There’s too much between us, even if a lot of it is unspoken orimagined.
“No,” he says. “My dad, a cliché as old as time itself. He used to beat my mom. We lived out in Cali in the middle of nowhere. It was a good place. Picturesque. I could’ve been a real-life cowboy in a different life. Then Dad beat up Mom badly one night. She thought I was staying at a friend’s house. She decided to burn him down. Then she heard me yelling and tried to save me. Got herself killed… and Dad.”
He lists all this off like it’s instructions for some military tutorial. His voice is numb as he calmly relays it, but there’s a slight note of pain. He’s burying it. “You don’t have to be tough with me all the time, Michael.”
He smirks. “Says you?”
“Maybe neither of us has to be as tough as we think.”
“You’re wrong,” he says fiercely. “The world’s a nasty place. A man has to be tough.”
“But not a woman?” I counter.
He reaches across the table and slides his hand toward mine. I know it’s, yeah,wrong. Everything we do feels like that, but I grab his hand anyway, hold it tightly, praying he’s telling the truth every moment we share. What a horrible position to be in—hoping my mom’s a liar.
“Not if she’s got a man who’ll always look out for her,” he says passionately.
I squeeze his hand. My heart is thumping fast again. If we didn’t have to sneak around, would we ever be able to keep our hands off each other? “I think a woman should still be tough. What if her man’s not around, and she needs to protect the kids?”
He presses against my hand warmly. Sometimes, it’s like a ball of fire is expanding inside him. He becomes so hot. So focused. “You’re right. That’s how a good mother thinks.”
I lick my lips, moving my finger over his knuckles. I know he wants to do it as badly as I do. I know he wants to grab, spank, and get obsessed with me. “I hope I’ll be one.”
“So you want kids, too?”
“Yes,” I say passionately. “I never…”thought much about it before you.I still don’t know if he’s talking about having kids withme. Even if our steam comes as naturally as a married couple and burns hotter each time, it doesn’t mean he wants to make me pregnant.
What if I said it? Make me pregnant, Michael. Then he dropped my hand, stood, and turned. He’d smile at me indulgently, an older man with his silly, confused young girlfriend.“I didn’t mean it like that…”
“Never what?” he says, leaning down, staring right into my eyes like he’s going to kiss me.
“I was never sure,” I murmur, “but lately, I’ve been thinking about it. I’d want to give them the best life, Michael. Not like you had. Not like…”
“It’s okay,” he says, more emotion in his voice than I can remember. We’re so close to kissing. His warm breath moves all over me. “You can still love your mom and admit you didn’t have it easy.”
I let out a croak. He’s taking me on an emotional rollercoaster—first the lust, now this. “It’s not the same. Your mom, your dad… Michael, I’m so, so sorry. It’s evil. Nobody should have to go through that.”
“Your father was taken from you. A random act of… I don’t know what.” He sighs darkly. “A plane crash… It’s not fair.”
“Let’s not make it a competition,” I say. “Let’s say we both had it crappy. Let’s say when we’re parents, we’ll both be better.”
Suddenly, he stands. It’s an almost violent way of standing. His chair screeches across the porch. He walks to the railing and squeezes it like he’s going to break it. Lion looks up at him like something’s wrong. “Is that what you want? For us to have kids? Together?”
My head is swimming. He’s gaslighting me. Or is he? Surely that’s whathemeant? But now he’s acting like it’s the craziest thing ever. Which, okay, maybe it is. Perhaps it’s something I shouldn’t even think, let alone say, but he was basically saying it too.
“N-no,” I reply, panicking. “I was talking about the future. Whatever. When you find a wife. When I find a husband. I don’t know. I need to… check on Mom.”
“Your mother’s fine.”
But I’m not listening. I walk into the cabin and down the hallway. I need to find the truth from Mom. I have to know why she got so awkward earlier. I have to hear her admit she’s lying. It’s a vicious thing to do. She was only rescued yesterday. She probably still has some of that man’s blood in her hair.
I knock on the door and wait. “Mom?”
No answer. No big deal. She’s exhausted. I probably shouldn’t even be waking her up. I should let her sleep and recover, but now my heart is pounding for a different reason. It has nothing to do with steaminess. I knock on the door again and again.
“Mom?” My voice is getting louder now. I look down the hallway at Michael. He marches toward me. “She’s not answering.”
“Susan?” he yells, far louder than me. “Susan, are you in there?” He grabs the door and pushes it. It’s locked. He rams his shoulder against it. Lion barks when the lock explodes from the wood.
The door swings open. The room is empty. The window is open. Mom’s gone.