Believe: (Intermix) (True Believers) (12 page)

“I’d show you a picture of me, but I don’t have any,” he said, and the amusement left his voice.

He didn’t sound angry, not exactly, but when I glanced over I saw his fists were clenched, and he released them, one finger at a time. God, what would it be like, to have your memories locked only in your brain, nothing visible to remind you of them? No pictures, no report cards, no childhood toys, no baby clothes? It would be scary to me, like I was a vast nothing, history fluid as our minds tended to twist truth and the past.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it more than those simple words could ever cover.

But he shrugged. “It’s okay. There might be a picture or two at Riley and Tyler’s house. Before Easton, Aunt Dawn was somewhat functioning.” He turned his phone to me so I could see the directions to the cemetery. “Want me to turn the sound on for the GPS so you know where you’re going?”

“Sure,” I said absently. “So why did having Easton change things?”

“He has a different father, which is a bit obvious given that he is biracial. It was also obvious to my uncle, who is blond, who my aunt was still married to at the time. So when he realized she had cheated on him, he ran her over with his car. That’s why he’s in prison. He got fifteen years for attempted murder.”

Jessica had mentioned something about Riley and Tyler’s dad being in jail, but I hadn’t gotten the full story. I made a face, horrified. “How did she survive that? My God, that’s awful.”

“It messed up her back and that is how she got started on the prescription pills. But tell me about your family. You don’t talk much about yourself.” His hand snaked out and took my right one for a second before letting it go.

I shrugged as I followed instructions to turn left. “I don’t know. I told you about my family. They’re just like . . . normal people. I haven’t had a super interesting life or anything.”

“Normal doesn’t mean you’re not interesting. You don’t need drama to be interesting.”

Didn’t you? I wondered again how I would define myself if I had to explain to someone in a dozen adjectives what made up me. Creative? A good speller? Punctual? I wasn’t a good friend, not anymore. I wasn’t fun. So what was I?

“I guess I just always figured I would do what my parents did . . . get a degree, a practical job, a house in the ’burbs. Their happiness comes from each other, from family, not from any personal ambitions or their careers. They worry about bills and medical care and the usual stuff.” I looked at Phoenix, suddenly feeling like I might cry, with no idea why. “Is that happiness? Really?”

“If you ask my mother and the Beatles, happiness is a warm gun, aka heroin. But for the average person, I would say, yes, happiness is about the moment. Not the whole journey. It’s ‘Do I have what I need right now?’ and if the answer is yes, then you should be happy.”

“Yeah?” Following the urgent GPS voice, I pulled into the cemetery, suddenly aware of the irony of our conversation with the headstones rising all around us. When he put it like that, so simple, I realized that I was content. I did have everything I needed. Parents who loved me, a future income, a current job, friends for now, and a guy who looked at me like Phoenix was doing right then. “What if you make mistakes? How do you be happy knowing you’ve hurt people?”

“If you are even thinking about it, then you care enough to deserve forgiveness. We all fuck up, Robin.”

Putting the car in park so we could figure out where his aunt’s grave was, I turned to Phoenix, afraid to look at him, afraid he would see my shame.

But he took my chin and turned my face. “Hey. Want to tell me about it?”

I shook my head, mouth hot.

He studied me for a minute, and I fought the urge to look away.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “But tell me this—are you happy when you’re with me?”

Without hesitation I nodded. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Good. And are you happy when you paint?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s do more of that. Because being with you makes me happy, too.” Phoenix pulled one of the flowers from the bouquet out and snapped off the stem. He tucked it behind my ear, into my hair. “I’m alive, I’ve got my freedom, a job, two bucks in my pocket, and a beautiful woman who sees something in me. What else could I need?”

He actually meant it. I could see that. He was grateful.

And I was, too. For him.

Chapter Nine

Phoenix

The cemetery was too quiet. I wanted to blast some Disturbed or go old-school Nirvana, blaring that crazy motherfucker Kurt Cobain to shatter the silence and bizarre ritualistic quality of the row after row of headstones.

Of course, I would probably get arrested if I actually did. The thought amused me. It probably wasn’t a natural response to grief anyway, but then when did my family do anything normal? We were the opposite of Robin’s family.

I stood in front of the grave of my aunt Dawn and stared at the grass, trying to comprehend that she was buried there. That we died and our bodies were lowered into the ground in a steel box and we stayed there for eternity. It was a head trip, and not a good one. There was no headstone for my aunt. No money for one. Which meant at some point no one would even remember she was here. I set the flowers down on their side. Other graves had a cool flower-holder thingy but again, there was nothing at Dawn’s. I only knew it was hers because we had gone into the office and asked for her plot number at Robin’s suggestion.

Robin was standing respectfully next to me, occasionally wiping at her eyes. I found it oddly satisfying that she was crying, which was fucked-up, but the thing was, I knew she was crying out of sadness for me. I’d never really had anyone care about me like that. I’d never really had anyone stand next to me in the figurative sense, and I had been telling her the God’s honest truth—I was doing all right in the happiness department. Life wasn’t necessarily easy or mess-free, but I felt damn lucky, which seemed like an odd emotion to be having at someone’s grave. But that didn’t mean I didn’t feel bad that my aunt’s life had gone down the way it had—I did. And I hoped that whatever was out there after death, she was finally at peace. Maybe rocking out to some Bon Jovi with big old eighties hair.

“Thanks for the cake you baked me for my seventh birthday,” I said to the grass. “And for letting me stay with you that summer Mom got put in for possession.”

Then because I felt too tall, too overpowering standing up, I squatted down and peeled the plastic wrapper off the flowers. “Sorry I missed the funeral. But just so you know, Easton and Jayden are fine. Riley and Tyler take good care of them.”

Robin’s phone buzzed in her pocket by my ear, and she jerked, then pulled it out and quickly swiped at her screen before shoving it back in.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s okay,” I said, but it really wasn’t. I couldn’t help it. It was starting to frustrate me that Robin wouldn’t tell me what was bothering her. We were doing this thing, a relationship, and I thought she trusted me. But that was for working out later. Right now I needed to figure out how to say good-bye to someone who had always been a part of my life.

There had been times when I was sure my mother was going to die, when she had overdosed and flatlined. Twice I had been the one to call 911, once she had been with someone else, but death had seemed like a real possibility, a morbid inevitability. But now that it had happened to my aunt, it seemed unreal. How did a junkie do it? Gamble with their life every time they smoked meth, or stuck a needle in their arm, or snorted their pills? I guess, even when I had been the weird little kid with no father and an IEP from the guidance office for my supposed disorder, I never thought my life had that little value. Even if no one else cared about me,
I
did.

That was worth something.

But that was the disease of addiction—the user gave up their worth in exchange for the oblivion.

And now Dawn’s oblivion was permanent.

“Some day, we’ll get you a headstone,” I told her. “You deserve that. But for now, I hope you enjoy the flowers.”

Standing up, I realized maybe it was kind of freakish to talk to the ground out loud, but Robin didn’t look like she thought I was certifiable.

“Ready?” I asked her.

“If you are, yes.”

“I’m good,” I told her, and I meant it.

That feeling lasted for two hours then my mother shattered it.

We had picked up art supplies for Robin, and after eating some dinner at her place, we were kissing and I was seriously contemplating taking her into her room for a little action when my phone rang. No one ever called me, everyone texted, so the ring tone caught my attention.

It wasn’t a number I recognized. We were on the couch, my phone on the table next to us, and I asked Robin, “Do you mind if I answer this?”

“Go ahead.”

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Mom.”

Shit. My gut dropped to the floor. “Yeah?” I asked, tone neutral, even though my heart rate had just kicked up a dozen notches.

“Where you at?”

“Around.” I wasn’t telling her a damn thing until I knew what she wanted.

“I need a favor.”

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear what it is,” she said, sounding exasperated. “God, and to think of all I’ve done for you over the years. Could you be at least a little fucking grateful?”

That got me. I didn’t yell, but I came close. “Mom, you moved when I was in jail and didn’t bother to tell me! I don’t know what you expect at this point.”

“I had to leave quick and how was I supposed to get ahold of you? Your phone don’t work in jail.”

I sighed. Same old shit, different day. Always full of excuses. “Never mind. But what happened to all my stuff? My clothes and whatever?”

“I don’t know. I told you, I had to leave in a hurry. Can I borrow a couple hundred bucks?”

“No. I’ve only been out for a week, I have two bucks in my pocket. But even if I had more, I wouldn’t give it to you. I’m not paying for your fix.”

“You’re a little shit. I should have had an abortion, but your fucking father was too cheap to front me the cash. Guess you take after him.”

Then she hung up.

No mention of the fact that I was in jail for protecting her. She obviously didn’t think it was a big deal to have someone take a knife and carve her up like a steak. No mention of the fact that we hadn’t spoken in five months.

I tossed my phone down on the cushion beside me and struggled to keep from exploding. It wasn’t anything new, and she didn’t hurt my feelings, not exactly. I knew that she lashed out to cut when she didn’t get what she wanted. It was what she’d always done, and it was what an addict did when they were desperate for their drugs. But it still made me furious, that she could just pop up whenever she wanted and disrupt my life. She was like a bleach-blond tornado who tore through my trailer park a couple of times every season.

Robin put her hand on my knee. Her face was concerned. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head. “No. I need to do push-ups or punch a wall or something. I feel like my head is going to explode.” I was flexing my fists compulsively, and my knee had started bouncing up and down in agitation. “I should be used to it, but it just pisses me off that she has the nerve to ask me for money for drugs. I don’t think that keeping me in food and Levis gives her the right to guilt-trip me.”

The anger pulsed inside me, and I debated whether to stand up and box it out or drop to the floor and push it out.

But before I could do anything, Robin’s hand turned my face toward her. “Hey, look at me. You’re entitled to feel angry. What she does is wrong. Don’t act like it’s a failing on your part to be mad at her.”

I let out a quick breath. She was right, I knew she was right. But years of bottling shit up made me all too aware of when I couldn’t keep it in anymore. “You don’t understand . . . the anger I feel, it’s like I’m a pop can that’s been shook up, and if I don’t pull the tab I’m going to explode. It feels chemical.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand. But I do know that the way your mother treats you is appalling and unfair, addiction or not. She doesn’t deserve your loyalty, but part of the reason that I love you is that you will still give it to her, no matter what she does. I really admire that.”

I froze, stunned by what she had just said, both by how vehement she had been that my mom sucked and the other part . . . the part that made my nostrils flare and my chest to tighten. “What do you mean, you love me?” She must mean generically speaking. Not love, as in
love
love. Just more like the way when you care for someone.

But she gave me a smile, and her fingers brushed over my chest and gripped my T-shirt. She looked up at me from under her long eyelashes, expression sheepish. “I know it’s probably pathetically soon to say something like that, but this, what I feel, it’s so strong and real, it
has
to be love. And if I love you, it only seems right that you know that, whether you think it’s insane or not.”

Girlfriends had told me them loved me before, but I never believed them, because they didn’t. And I figured that if I was so sure I knew when a girl didn’t actually love me, I would be sure of it when she did love me. But for a second those words hung there, between us, while I tried to absorb what they meant. While I tried to remember this moment, to capture it and own it. “It might be a little insane that you love me, I’m not going to lie,” I murmured, capturing her neck with my hand and pulling her mouth toward mine. “But what’s not insane at all is that
I
love
you
. Because you’re probably the sweetest, most amazing girl I’ve ever met. I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do,” she whispered. “You deserve everything you’ve ever wanted, Phoenix.”

When she looked at me like that, her big brown eyes shining with emotion, expression wide open and honest, I could almost believe her.

“What I want is you.” My hand was shaking, and this time it wasn’t from anger, but from something else I couldn’t really define in any words that made sense. I just knew that I had basically jumped off a fucking cliff and there was no net.

Because I was in love with Robin. Like real, hard-core, all-consuming, how-the-fucking-hell-did-this-happen love.

“Really?” she asked, and her vulnerable uncertainty nearly undid me.

My anger was completely gone, replaced by an urgent, possessive need to show her how truly and deeply I had fallen for her. “Yes, I love you. God, so much.”

I kissed her. Hard. “Let’s go to your room.” Maybe sex wasn’t the best way to express my feelings, but I didn’t know the right words, and I felt caged, contained. Too much emotion.

But she didn’t seem to think it was weird. Robin stood up and reached for my hand.

The second we were in her room, she tugged at my shirt, lifting it up to expose my chest. I finished the job, yanking it over my head. Then I pressed her against the door I’d closed behind us and lowered my mouth to hers. She tasted sweet and delicious and like mine, all mine. I crowded her with my body, kissing her hard and sliding my hands all over her. She had the most perfect curves, the most perfect lips, the most perfect response to my touches.

Emotion, passion, made my movements aggressive, sharp, my blood running thick and hot, thoughts scattered in all directions as I pulled up her dress so I could feel the warm heat of her skin.

“Can I?” I murmured, moving up her thigh.

“Yes,” she whispered, head falling back to expose her neck to me.

That she didn’t even question what I was asking for made me love her even more. This was it, the real thing, the end of the line for me, the moment that made everything else that came before it unimportant. Robin loved me, and that was all I needed to know.

Listening to her heavy breathing, her soft cries as I touched her, her knees falling apart, I fumbled in my jeans for a condom, knowing this had to happen, right here, right now, against this door.

“Oh, God,” she said, eyes going wide with shock, when I lifted her hip to rest on mine and pushed inside her.

She didn’t even know the half of it.

“This okay?” I asked, even as I moved. She was just so tight, so hot, I couldn’t believe how amazing it felt, how perfect we were.

“Yes,” she said, and her voice was breathy, eyes half closed. “It’s good, so good.”

That’s what I was talking about. “Hold me,” I said, “so you don’t slip. Dig in hard, I like that.”

Robin’s fingernail scraped across my back, pressing into my flesh, and the sharpness matched the intensity of my emotion perfectly. I came inside her, gritting my teeth, enjoying the way she squeezed her inner muscles onto me in some instinctive chick voodoo that had me feeling like I’d do anything she wanted, now and forever.

Not wanting her to lose the momentum, I pulled out and dropped down in a squat so I could finish her, her hands in my hair, her shocked exclamation when my tongue touched her almost as satisfying as my orgasm. She couldn’t see the smile I didn’t prevent from spreading across my face as I slipped a finger inside her, tongue still working the swollen button in front of me. There was something about that sound she made, that little moan that was a whole octave higher than her natural voice, that drove me crazy. She was so damn sexy.

“Yeah, babe.” But she didn’t really need my encouragement. She was already there, yanking hard on my hair as she shuddered through her pleasure.

Leaning back on my heels, I wiped my mouth and stared up at her. “I want you to remember that forever,” I told her. “Because I will.”