Peter
sighs and tips his head back against the seat. "I would have told you, Sidney.
I wanted to tell you, but it's not easy to talk about. You out of all people
should realize that."
"Yeah,
I do. I get it, but the thing is, I told you what happened to me. I told you
all of it. You only told me half. If you don't trust me—"
"That's
not it."
"Then
what is it? Oh my God, say something! You just sit there brooding all day like
a disgruntled supermodel. What the hell is wrong with you? Just say whatever it
is you have to say!" I'm so mad at him. I haven't spilled my guts to anyone the
way I did with him, and Peter held back. I can't stand it. I can't tolerate the
notion that he knew me inside out and I don't even know his goddamn name.
"I
can't, Sidney! I just can't!" He's yelling now, his hands flying like they
don't know where to go. "I screwed up, I know that. Nothing I say will fix it.
Nothing I do will show you how sorry I am. I lost you, but you're sitting right
next to me!" He grips the dashboard and turns to look at me. "You've destroyed
me. I thought I could handle this, I thought I could—"
Peter's
rant gets cut off. He glances behind us at the same time flashing lights do the
disco in my rearview mirror. Peter glances at me and slides down into his seat
with his hand over his face. "Shit. How fast were you going?"
I
cut him an evil look as I pull over. I have no idea. I want to scream and
punch. There are a million emotions that are fighting to break free inside of
me. I lock my jaw as I stop the car and pull over on the grass at the side of
the road. I put down the window and sit there with my hands on the top of the
steering wheel where the cop can see them.
He
takes his time walking over. It's a state trooper. He's an older guy, skinny
with weathered skin and angular features. He leans in and looks into the car.
"License and registration please…" The man blinks like his eyes are broken and
then tips the end of his pen at the backseat. "What are you two doing with that
animal?"
Oh
my God. I forgot about the bird. "Taking it to the vet. He's hurt."
The
man looks at me like I'm crazy. Then his gaze shifts to Peter. "Sir, what are
you doing with that bird?"
"What
she said. It can't fly and was wandering back and forth on the interstate. My
friend didn't want it to become roadkill."
The
officer gives me a strange look as I hand him my cards. He looks at them and
says, "Not many people would save a bird like that, Ms. Colleli."
"I
know. They would have asked for a fork and eaten it."
The
trooper's face scrunches together and he leans forward. He looks at the bird
again. "No one eats those things. They're living garbage bins for roadkill."
"What
do you mean? It's a turkey."
The
man straightens and laughs, like big loud belly laugh. Peter glances at the
bird and then back at me. He shrugs. The trooper is still smiling when he bends
over again. "That's a vulture, a turkey vulture." He tries not to smile, but I
can tell he wants to. "Can you tell me why he's wearing a bra, miss?"
"My
friend is afraid of birds and I didn't have anything else to tie him up with."
The
man's eyebrows lift up to his hat. He addresses Peter. "Is that true, sir?"
"Yes."
Peter gives me a look. The officer's eyes narrow as he looks at Peter. "What's
your name, son?"
Peter
leans back into his seat like he doesn't care. "Dr. Peter Granz."
The
man continues to stare like he's trying to place Peter's face. "And you didn't
know what type of animal this was, a man with your level of education?"
"I
can't really dissuade this woman from doing something once her mind is set on
it."
The
officer glances at me and then back at Peter. "Well, I know what you mean."
He's quiet again and then he flinches like someone splashed water on his face.
Recognition grows with his smile. "You highly resemble someone—you're Pete
Ferro, aren't you?" Peter smiles and nods. "Well, why didn't you tell me that?"
The state trooper continues to talk, and I sit there and listen. Peter is
clearly uncomfortable with the attention, but he smiles all the same. He talks
with the man, the same way he would with anyone else. It's clear that the cop
is a little starstruck.
When
the cop finally is ready to leave us, I'm handed a warning and told to slow
down. "Make sure she does it, Mr. Ferro."
Peter
smiles and waves. "I will."
I
put the car in gear and pull out, accelerating slowly. Peter slouches back down
into the seat and presses his thumbs to his temples. I look at him out of the
corner of my eye and say, "So I totally forgot about the turkey."
Peter
glances up at me. There are dark circles under his eyes. His expression is
worn, beaten, and totally stressed out—but when he looks up at me he smirks,
then the smirk turns to a smile, and he laughs. "You rescued a vulture."
Peter
starts laughing and I can't stay silent. Giggles erupt inside of me. I'm too tired
and too stressed and this seems so funny.
"And
you put him in a pink bra." I can barely get the words out. Tears blur my
vision and my stomach hurts by the time I stop laughing. "God, he had to think
we were nuts."
"He
thought you were nuts, Colleli, not me."
"Do
people always act like that around you?"
"What?
Fake?" I nod. It was like the officer morphed into a shiny version of himself.
His words were excited and filled with flattery. It was like an instant wall
and there was no way it could come down once it shot up. "Yeah, most of the
time. I did the scruffy look when I was younger. That's how most people
remember me. If I stay cleaned up, I might look like a Ferro, but they don't
usually ask me outright like that."
I
nod, thinking. Glancing over at him, I say, "You don't trust anyone either, do
you?" Peter is back in his defensive I-don't-care pose with his arms across his
chest. It's a shut down, fuck-off stance.
"Not
so much, no."
The
laughter is gone. It's been sucked from the car and in its place is this empty,
hopeless feeling. Keeping my eyes on the road, I start to ponder out loud.
"We're so messed up, Peter, and it's not fair. But life's not fair, is it?
There are no do-overs no matter how much you wish for them."
Peter
watches me in the darkness. I can feel his eyes on the side of my face even
though I don't turn to look at him. "Keep going forward, Sidney. Looking at the
past only drags you back into it."
"Yeah,
but you can't learn from it if you don't look back."
"You've
learned everything you need to know."
I
smirk at him. "No, I haven't. How could you think that? I made a mistake with
Dean and I did the same damn thing with you. I can't judge character, like at
all. I was totally wrong about both of you."
My
words hit Peter hard. I might as well have swung a crowbar into his stomach. He
doesn't look at me. "That's what you think, that we're the same?"
"It's
the same deception at the heart of it, isn't it?" I'm seriously asking, because
the hard part of my mind says yes, but there's a spot with a softer voice that
says Peter is not the same at all.
"Maybe.
A lie is a lie." Peter stiffens and shuts down.
I
wish I hadn't said it. "Maybe. Maybe not. Why'd you do it?"
Peter's
gaze cuts to me. It's so sharp, so bitter, that I want to look away. "I didn't
want you to know. You're right, okay? We both lied to you, we both took things
we shouldn't have, and neither of us is sorry for it."
I
blink slowly like he didn't just say that. I can't breathe. It's like his words
were a fist that shot straight into my stomach. There's an exit right in front
of me. I nearly pass it, and decide to get off at the last second. Peter
doesn't say anything when I change lanes abruptly.
We
stop in front of a motel and I pull up under the overhang. Fuck this. I wish I
left Peter in Texas. I kick open my door and go inside and get us a room. Peter
doesn't follow.
When
I come back out with the room key, I see him shake his head and end a phone
call. He runs his fingers through his dark hair and looks back at Mr. Turkey. I
slip into the car and look back at the bird. "You untied him, sort of." The
bird is still wearing the bra, but his beak is free.
"Yeah,
he wanted to talk."
I
stare at Peter for a moment, wondering what could possibly be going through his
head, why he's here, and what he wants from me. "Why did you insist on coming
with me?"
Peter
looks at me like he's tired of the question. "I already told you."
"Saying
you already know
isn't a reason. Tell me. Just say it."
Peter
shakes his head and smiles. "Fine. You want to do everything on your own, but
you can't. When you're around that guy, Dean, it's like your brain shuts down.
You get sucked into your past before you can blink. I read your poem, I see it
on your face, and I know what'll happen if he gets you alone. He's not getting
you alone." Peter's gaze locks onto mine as his words burn with intensity. I
need to swallow, but I can't.
"You're
all about the chivalry." I used to tease him about that, but now I'm not.
"Something
like that."
My
heart is in my throat. We stare at each other for too long and our gazes melt
together. Neither of us can look away. It's like we're both lost, drifting
aimlessly, getting torched by life and everything that's happened to us. When
my pulse is slamming in my ears like twin drums, I look away. It feels like
there's a rubber band on my head and it pulls me back, but I refuse to turn.
I
park the car. When Peter turns and gets out, I follow him into the motel room.
There's a small double bed, no shag rug, no kinky sexy tub. It's just a plain
old motel room.
CHAPTER
11
Peter's
phone rings and he disappears outside while I take a shower. When I come out, I
clutch the towel around my shoulders to hide my sheer pajama top. My hair is
still dripping with that just-crawled-out-of-the-gutter, tangled look. I need
to wait for Peter to jump in the shower so I can brush the tangles out.
Peter's
gaze flicks up when he walks inside. He sees me standing there looking like a
drowned rat. "I untied the vulture and put him down in the grass by the car. Since
he's crippled, I don't think he'll go anywhere."
"But
what if a cat gets him?"
Peter
lifts a brow at me. "I think the cat needs to be the worried one in that
scenario. He'll be okay. He survived up until now on his own." Peter clears his
throat as he walks over to the bed and digs through his bag. He pulls out a
pair of sweatpants and looks over his shoulder at me. "My brother called back.
Would you mind if we took a detour through New York? I need to get something
from him."
"What
part of New York? What do you need to get?" I sit down on a wicker chair by the
door.
"The
city, so it's not too far out of the way, but it'll probably add a day to our
trip." Peter shucks his shirt as he's speaking and tosses it in his bag. When I
don't say anything he looks over at me. My eyes are locked on his abs. Each one
is clearly defined like Peter does a thousand sit-ups every day. "My eyes are
up here, Sidney."
I
startle and blink as my face burns from the rapidly spreading blush. The
corners of Peter's mouth tug up. I hate that smile. It makes me want to do
stupid things. Peter walks over to me with that confident swagger and stops.
His boots are nearly touching my toes. He bends at the waist and lowers his
face to mine. The movement makes me nervous. I try to sit still in my chair
like I don't care what he does, but I can't even lie to myself—I'm attracted to
Peter on a carnal level. It never shuts off, and it's annoying as hell. I
swallow hard, wondering if he's going to kiss me. His lips are a breath from
mine, and he's still wearing that sexy smirk.
"Yes?"
I manage to say. Thank God my voice came out. I feel like I'm made of raspy
panting sounds and that's it.
Peter's
gaze dips to my lips, where it lingers way too long. The tension between us
makes me want to giggle or punch something. Energy is building throughout my
body as my stomach twists into curls. I want to lean in and kiss him. I want
his arms around me. I want to run my fingers over the dips and curves of his
chest, but I don't. I just sit there and raise a brow at him, waiting for him
to do or say something.
"Hmm?
Oh, nothing. I just thought it'd be easier for you to not treat me like man
candy if my eyes were closer." Peter flashes a wicked grin at me.
My
lips contort into an O and then a playful smile. "Jackass."
Peter
doesn't move. He stays right there, and when he speaks his lips nearly brush
mine. "Ogler."
"Pushy."
"Leerer."
"Jerk."
"Gawker."
"Jackass."
He
grins. "Nice comeback, and you already used that one."
"Shut
up."
"Make
me." Peter looks so perfect, so utterly kissable. "Make me, Sidney." His voice
drops to a whisper that's barely a breath when he says it. His sapphire eyes
drift to my lips before returning to my face. He stays there, watching me from
under those dark lashes.
My
lips tingle, wanting his touch as my heart races faster and faster. Suddenly, I
have no words and can't remember how to talk. Heat creeps across my body like
someone pulled a blanket over me after taking it out of the oven. My fingers
twitch as I think about slipping them through his hair. Oh God, why is he doing
this to me? It's torture to have him so close and not touch him.