Crash (14 page)

I knew if Jude and I continued on at this rate, I couldn’t keep them a secret from one another, but for tonight, it was the easiest solution to the situation that was Jude.

Pulling the door open, I tried not to gawk, but it was the only thing that seemed appropriate with Jude Ryder standing under the light of my front porch, dressed in a tux, a corsage box in hand. His trusty beanie in place. If anyone could rock the formal meets grunge trend—if one ever cropped up—it would have been him.

“I’m early,” he started, “so I know I should blame it on losing complete track of time, but really I just couldn’t wait to get here.”

Stop staring, Lucy. Stop staring, Lucy,
was my mantra, but it wasn’t working.

“Okay, so don’t take this the wrong way, because I’m enjoying the view,” he began, averting his eyes to the ceiling, “I’m
really
enjoying the view, but I promised myself I was going to be one of those schmucky gentlemen all night and you’re not making my promise easy to keep.”

My head was foggy and I was still incapable of speech, but at least I could muster up an expression of confusion.

“Ah, hell, Luce,” Jude cursed, wincing when he glanced the shortest look over at me. “You forgot to tie your damn bathrobe.”

Gazing down confirmed it. Nothing but a strapless bra, a matching pair of panties, and a hell of a lot of skin were on full display. Honest mistake? Maybe. Freudian slip? Positively.

“Sorry,” I said, spinning around to properly cover myself up.

I heard his footsteps as he came up behind me. Brushing my hair away from my neck, his mouth fell just below my jaw. “I’m not,” he whispered, sucking the tender skin.

One touch, one kiss, and I was a mess. Right then, I wanted nothing else but to turn in his arms, tear off both our clothes, and leave nothing to the imagination that night. It was intoxicating, and overwhelming, and some part, deep within, knew it was marginally unhealthy.

“Go get your dress on so I can go show you off,” he said, pressing one final kiss into my neck before stepping back.

“Why don’t we skip the dance?” I turned to face him, playing with the tie of my robe.

“Dammit, Lucy,” he groaned, using my full name for the first time in a long time. “It’s taking every last ounce of willpower I have to keep from throwing you down on the table and doing everything to you I’ve played out in my mind a thousand times,” he said, waving his hands from me to the table to the sky. “But you’re better than that. You deserve better than that. You don’t deserve to be one of those girls screwed on your parents’ kitchen table. You deserve so much more than that,” he said, challenging me with his eyes. “So leave that robe in place and don’t tempt me again.”

I felt embarrassed and rejected, but special and flattered at the same time. It was a very confusing mix of emotions. “Sorry,” I said again, shooting him an awkward grin as I started to climb the stairs.

“Hey,” he grabbed my hand, “don’t apologize. I want you in every way a man could want a woman. I just don’t want to screw this thing up, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’m in unchartered territory here, Luce. I need a little help.” His fingers curved through mine.

“Me, too,” I replied.

“Yeah, I suppose you are.” He squeezed my hand before letting it go. “I’ll help you out then, too. Now go get that sexy ass dress on so I can dance with you all night.”

“Fine, bossy,” I said, making my way up the stairs. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be down in five.”

“Oh, and Luce,” he called out, snapping his fingers. I looked back at him from the top of the stairs. “When it comes to underwear selection,”—his eyes were gleaming—“you get an A.”

As if I needed another confirmation, men were impossible creatures. Grinning tightly at him, I cinched my robe tighter. “And when it comes to underwear removal, you get a sucks ass.”

“Ooo, Luce,” he said, grabbing the banister, “now that was a good one. Hanging around me has vastly improved your comedic delivery. Learning through osmosis, I suppose.”

I plunked a hand on my hip. “How can someone who knows what osmosis is be flunking all their classes?” Jude was not dummy, but his grades reflected otherwise.

“Unequivocal talent, baby,” he answered, grinning like the devil, “unequivocal talent.”

I’d just slid my last earring in when I heard the familiar sound of tires crunching over gravel.

“Luce,” Jude’s voice carried up the stairs, “you expecting company?”

Grabbing my vintage cardigan from the bed, I rushed out of my bedroom, now hearing the familiar sound of the garage door retracting.

“It’s my parents,” I said, hurrying down the stairs.

Jude’s forehead lined. “And they don’t know I’m the one taking you to homecoming?”

Pausing at the end of the stairs, I shook my head.

“And because I’m so good at guessing, I’d say they don’t even know we go to the same school, do they?” he asked, trying to play it off like it was nothing, but to me, it felt like the worst kind of betrayal.

I shook my head again, not able to look at him.

“All right, what’s my exit strategy?” he asked, looking around the room. “Front door, back door, or window?” He wasn’t smiling, he was serious. Something broke inside my heart.

“No exit strategy,” I said, taking his hand and walking across the living room. “I’d like to introduce my date to my parents.”

“This ought to be good.”

“Yeah,” I said with sarcasm, “it’ll be a blast.”

“Any advice?” he said, shouldering up beside me in the kitchen doorway.

“Yeah,” I said, watching the garage door twist open. “Buckle up.”

“Who the hell’s car is in the—” Mom came to an abrupt halt in the doorway. So abruptly dad bounced off of her.

“Dad, Mom,” I cleared my throat, putting on a face that said everything was normal, “you’re home early.”

“Your dad wasn’t feeling well,” she said in a clipped tone, leveling me with a glare.

I cleared my throat. “You remember Jude.”

Stepping into the kitchen, she gave Jude that look. The same one she’d given him the first day she’d met him. The one that said go back to whatever hole you came out of. “One has a tough time forgetting the face of a felon led off your property in handcuffs.”

That flash of temper was begging to be taken off its chain.

“What are you doing here?”

Jude stepped forward. “Taking Luce to homecoming, ma’am.”

“No,” she said, “you most certainly are not. Where are your friends, by the way?” she went on, looking over his shoulder like she expected to find them lounging in the living room. “Are they in the backseat, waiting to burn the rest of my daughter’s hair off? Or are they waiting in the school parking lot, ready to douse her in a gallon of gasoline again?”

Jude winced, looking down.

“Mom,” I warned, “those guys were not Jude’s friends. And cut out the parenting act, it’s too little too late.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me that way, Lucille!” Mom shouted, pointing at me. “You are grounded until the day you move out of this house for lying to your father and me.” She could really wield her index finger as a weapon. “And yes, those were”—she glared at him—“
are
his friends. You chose not to look at the police reports I’ve seen. Those boys and Jude committed their first crime together years ago. Drug dealing, wasn’t it?” she said, not as a question to be confirmed or denied. “Jude and the rest of those drains on society at that boys’ home need to all be locked up and have the key thrown away. They don’t deserve to take good, hard working girls with futures to homecoming dances.”

I lurched forward, something mean and loud on the tip of my tongue, when Jude pulled me back.

“I never said I did deserve that,” Jude said, meeting my mom’s eyes.

I could tell, from the blood vessels bursting in her eyes, that this was seriously pissing her off, that this person didn’t cave to her superiority and lower their gaze.

“And those guys never were and never will be my friends. If they ever find their way out of prison and I run across them, I will repay them every hurt they took out on Luce.”

“How refreshing. The felon suggesting we repay violence with violence.”

“Sometimes that’s the only answer,” Jude said, his fingers flexing in my hand.

Mom’s face shadowed. “And sometimes that gets the people you love most killed.”

A figure moved from behind mom. I hadn’t even noticed he was here, his presence was so absent. Shuffling around her and by us, Dad’s face was as shadowed as Mom’s. He tapped my shoulder in passing. “Goodnight all.”

It should have gotten old, mourning the person my dad once was and, at times, hating the shell of a human being he’d become, but it hadn’t. He’d checked out of every facet of life, letting craziness and compulsion rule his few cognizant moments.

Mom steepled her hands over her face. “Lucy, time to say goodnight.”

I grabbed Jude’s arm, steering him for the front door. I couldn’t get out of this crazy house fast enough. “Goodnight, Mom.”

“Lucille Roslyn Larson!” she shouted after us. “Get the hell upstairs right now. And you, Mr. Ryder, get the hell off my property before I call the cops.” Her voice was less angry and more desperate now.

“No, Mom!” I shouted, letting my temper loose. “I’m going to homecoming and I’m going with Jude, because I’m with him and he’s with me and if you can’t handle that, then say goodbye to your only child!”

I’d stabbed her in the soft spot, and it registered immediately on my face. “That boy almost got you killed, Lucy,” she said, her voice a whisper.

I was still every phase of pissed, so my voice was nowhere near a whisper. “This man also saved my life!” Throwing the door open, I practically lunged down the front steps with Jude’s hand in mine.

“Lucy,” she begged from the living room.

“I’ll be home by one,” I said over my shoulder, the anger dimming to a dull roar now that I was certain I’d won the battle. But I was sure I hadn’t won the war. There’d be hell to pay tomorrow morning, so I’d make sure tonight really counted. “Everything will be fine,” I emphasized before turning the corner to the driveway.

“When you say buckle up,” Jude said, pulling a set of keys from his pocket, “you mean suit up for the damn apocalypse.”

“Pretty much,” I said, curling my nose. “Sorry about that back there.”

Jude waved it off, but he couldn’t hide from me how much my mom’s words had cut him. Just liked she’d hoped they would.

“No, those were awful, awful things to say to another human being,” I said. “My parents, they’re complicated people,” I understated, not sure when or if I could ever explain the mess that was the Larson family.

“Luce,” Jude said, stopping me, “I get what a piece of shit I am, and it’s not awful or unfair or incorrect for people to call me out on what I am. But I’d like to think a person can change, and I swear to you I’m going to try to leave my piece of shitedness behind.” His eyes were so earnest, you would have thought he was about to get down on one knee.

“Shitedness?” I repeated, nudging him. “That must be one I missed in Webster’s.”

“Nope,” he said, “that’s one plucked right out of Jude Ryder’s urban dictionary.”

“Nice,” I laughed, tip toeing across the gravel so that the stones wouldn’t trip up my three inch heels.. “And in Lucy Larson’s book of shitedness, you’re nowhere on that list.”

“That may be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he said, tickling at my sides. “Something about a hot woman in a damn fine dress lying through her teeth about me not being a piece of shit is a real turn on.”

“Glad I’m so . . .” And then I noticed the car parked in the driveway, and I stopped in my tracks. “What is that?”

I didn’t speak boy, but I knew that gleaming silver coupe was fast, expensive, and would attract all cops within a mile radius.

“It’s a car,” Jude said, opening the door for me.

“Don’t treat me like one of your one night stand girls,” I said, looking up at him.

“My god, woman,” he said, leaning over the car door, “what does a man have to do to get a free pass from you?”

“I don’t believe in free passes,” I threw back. “I believe in honesty. I’m all old fashioned that way.”

“It’s a ’66 Chevelle,” he said, shutting the door before I could ask any more questions.

“Is it yours?” I asked as he crawled into the driver’s seat.

“Nope.” He turned the key over and the engine fired to life. “It belongs to a buddy of mine.”

“A buddy at the boys’ home?” I knew this line of questioning was making him tense, as his jaw could attest to, but I couldn’t understand why.

“Does it seem like any of us have any family who gives a damn, jobs that pay a damn, or an inheritance worth a damn that would allow guys like us to afford a ride like this?” Stretching his arm across my seat, he looked over his shoulder and backed out of the driveway.

Mom was staring at us through the living room window, for the first time ever looking as lost as my dad was. Something heavy dropped in my stomach, something that felt a lot like guilt.