Joyride (26 page)

Carly's tears slide down her cheeks now, small rivulets of worry that disintegrate his willpower down to mere memories of good intentions. Arden stops fighting it, the need for her. He grabs her wrist and pulls her to him. She's startled at first, and attempts to resist, drawing herself back. It's something he'll never forget, this subtle but pointed rejection in the emergency room of Sacred Heart Hospital. He meets her eyes then, pleading. “I need you,” he whispers. It's not what he meant to say. He meant to say that he's here for her, that she doesn't have to worry alone. “I've needed you for so long now.”

Indecision washes over her. That, and anguish. But he can tell the moment she relinquishes her hold on the resolve that made her pull away. This is the beauty of Carly—the ability to let go when it counts. She comes to him then, rests her head against his chest. The feel of her in his arms again almost brings him to his knees. He hates his father even more for keeping this from him. “How are you holding up? Are you … are you okay?”

She lifts her face to his. Her lips are so inviting. “I'm worried about him.”

He leans down, sighing into her hair. “I am too.”

“I … I was hoping Cletus told you why I have to stay away from you. I told him, so that maybe he would pass it on. My family…” She chokes on the word.

He pulls away then, unable to stop his finger from lightly caressing the back of her cheeks. Catching a tear in the crook of it, he lifts it to his own lips and kisses the saltiness there. “You don't have to explain anything to me.”

“I do, though. For my sanity. I shouldn't have kept it from you. And I want you to know that I understand, you know, that you have to move on.”

“‘Move on'?”
What?

“I saw you talking to the new girl. Jessica, I think.”

“You saw me talking to someone and you assumed I've moved on? Are you insane? So should I be worried that I saw you talking to Chad Brisbane?” Because now he's stressed. Cletus is in the hospital and Carly is moving on? Surely life isn't that sucky. He curses under his breath. “Did Cletus tell you why I have to keep my eyes off you in the halls?”

She sighs. “Yes. And you're doing a great job of that, by the way.”

“I'm going through the motions, Carly. But it means nothing to me. Jessica, seriously? Who the hell is that? Tell me I still have you, Carly. Tell me you haven't given up on us. Because I haven't. I'm yours. All of me. All the time. Every second of every day.” He wants to shake an acknowledgment out of her. He wants to hear her say that she's still his, that she's as bad off as he is. He wants to kiss the perpetual logic from her face.

“But you've been acting as if I don't exist. I watch you. You look at other girls.”

He runs a hand through his hair. She's backing away from him again. Dammit. “I'm looking at some
thing,
not some
one
. Something,
anything
else but you.” He won't let her take another step back, he won't. He hasn't been looking at other girls, not once. If he was staring, it wasn't
at
them, it was
through
them. There
are
no other girls. There is only her. He closes the space between them yet again, pulling her back into his arms. She tries to wriggle free, but he will not—cannot—allow it. Not until she hears what he has to say. She can make a scene if she wants to. He won't back down. Not now. “I'm in love with you, Carly.”

His confession shuts down the hissy fit she was about to throw right here in the waiting room. He traces his fingers along her lips as they quiver under the weight of his words. He's glad she realizes how profound they are, coming from him.

“You are?” she says, eyes round and wide.

Arden nods, sucking in a breath. “How can you not know that?”

She nestles against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. It's the best feeling in the world. It's like being embraced by bliss. “If my family wasn't at stake, I wouldn't be able to stay away from you,” she says, her voice vulnerable.

“It's the same with me. Did Cletus tell you? Dad threatened me with your parents. He'll send them back.”

She presses her cheek into his chest. “I know.”

“If not for all that, I'd tell him to go to—”

“I wouldn't finish that sentence, if I were you.” They both turn to face Sheriff Moss in all his rage veiled by a thin mask of indifference.

The large room seems to shrink. His father's presence, especially right now, is a smothering force. Arden's lungs feel heavy. What will his father say? What will he do? Surely nothing, in front of all these witnesses. “Kindly unhand Miss Vega, son. Miss Vega, you're free to go.”

Carly pulls away as if Arden had burned her. This nearly kills him. “I was just, I'm the one who called the ambulance,” Carly says, a tremor visibly running through her. “I wanted to make sure Clet—Mr. Shackleford—was okay.”

The sheriff's indifferent expression doesn't change. He doesn't even look at her. He keeps his eyes strictly on Arden as he says, “I said you're free to go, Miss Vega. Now.”

She bites her lip. “If it's okay with you, sir, I'd like to stay until we get word on Mr. Shackleford.”

Finally, his dad looks at her, steel in his eyes. “Do tell your brother I said hello.”

And just like that, Carly's face falls. Hurriedly, she collects her purse and walks out. Every step she takes pounds in Arden's head.

His father fixes his glare back on Arden, closing the distance between them in three loud, militaristic strides. Then he makes it a point to soften his expression. “Son, have you heard any word on your uncle? Your mother called me. I came as soon as I could. She should be here any minute.”

Arden knows his mother didn't call. The news had spread over the police scanner. Cletus is the sheriff's uncle, if only by marriage. If an ambulance was called for him, his father would know about it in about ten seconds.

Stupid, stupid,
Arden thinks. As soon as he saw Carly he should have told her to leave. He shouldn't have indulged in her company, shouldn't have risked her family's safety like that. He should have known his dad would show up, even though he despises Cletus. It's all about appearances. Especially since tonight is the memorial for Amber's death. Now he's had to make a hospital visit to ill family, in addition to giving a speech about how he misses his daughter later this evening. The crowd will practically be eating out of his hands.

Even now, he's acting like Father of the Year. But Arden will have none of it. He wants to stay and see how Cletus is, but he can't stand the thought of remaining under his father's scrutiny any longer. He thinks his uncle would understand. “She was here for Uncle Cletus,” Arden says, keeping his voice low. “Not for me.”

His father arranges a pleasant smile on his face, tucking away his fury for a more private setting, Arden is sure. Even his voice is monotone when he says, “You can see how I might have trouble believing you.” As far as the spectators are concerned, he just made mention of the weather or the number of patients in the waiting room.

“It's the truth. I swear to you, I'm staying away from her.”

“We'll talk about this later.”

“You'll see that nothing happened here.”

The sheriff offers a slight nod. It's the best he's going to get, Arden realizes. Who knows how long his father intends to keep him in suspense. But at least Arden is showing a cooperative attitude. It's all he can do to fix this, to make it better.

No, that's not true
. Instant nausea overcomes him.
I can do more
.

He clasps his father's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “I'm so glad you're here, Dad,” he says loudly. Then he brings a very surprised sheriff in for a hug. “I expected you to be making the last few arrangements for Amber's memorial.”

The waiting-room audience might as well be passing around a tissue box. The sympathy is almost palpable here. Arden wants to yell at them, to scream at them for being such naïve little fools.

His father pats him on the back before separating himself from the embrace. “Everything's going to be okay, son,” Sheriff Moss says, his voice resonating throughout the room. He can't quite hide the astonishment in his eyes though. This is the most Arden has ever given him, since way before Amber's funeral, and they both know it. “You're probably worn out from football practice, aren't you? Listen, why don't you run on home and get showered for tonight? I'll stay here until we get word on your uncle.”

Arden nods obediently, trying not to press his lips together, doing his best to look anxious instead of disgusted. “Thanks, Dad. I don't know what I'd do without you.” The words taste bitter, acidic on his tongue. Bile competes with expletives to be next out of his mouth. But neither wins. He pushes himself further than he thought he could. “Can I grab you some dinner from the cafeteria? You must be starving, what with all the extra shifts you're working. I don't know how you do it.”

His father smiles, and this time it's authentic.
And why wouldn't he be genuinely pleased with his son's newfound enthusiasm for public family unity?
“Thanks, son, but you need to rest up. I'll see you at the house.”

Fighting regurgitation, Arden makes his way around the sick and injured people, and out the automatic glass doors of the waiting room. Behind him a chatter builds, and he hears his father greeting someone with a false, emphatic camaraderie. The sheriff is playing the part, and the crowd is gobbling it up, like he's some sort of celebrity.

A bit of doubt claws at Arden's insides as he hoists himself into his truck.
Did I do enough? Will the sheriff have mercy on us this time?

He tries to reconcile the word “mercy” to his father. And he can't.

 

Twenty-Nine

I unpack a box of clothes and set it on the bed to fold and put away. The next box has books in it; I can shelve those later.

Miss May's house is not as grand and spacious as Cletus's mansion, of course, but it's pretty nice. Modern. Clean smelling, which is more than can be said about some parts of the old plantation house I just moved out of, I guess. And the best part is, she has an honest-to-goodness spare bedroom, which she doesn't use to store other things in, like most people do.

But there's something missing here at Miss May's. I have a key, free run of the pantry, and my own bathroom. Rent is cheap. It's even closer to the Uppity Rooster than the mansion was.

What's missing is Cletus. Our philosophical conversations. Our breakfast banter after I get off work at the Breeze. Our mutual, slightly psychotic craving for caramel cheesecake at four in the morning.

At least he's not dead. Which, after the stroke he's had, the doctors say, is a miracle.

But there is not room for me in Cletus's house anymore. For the next few months, he requires round-the-clock care, so the nurse had to take over my room there—it was the only space not used for storing old books, magazines, or deer heads and other miscellaneous, unfortunate taxidermy.

Plus, I saw the look on Sheriff Moss's face when he caught me in Arden's arms at the hospital last week. It was this look of finality. If I stayed at Uncle Cletus's house any longer, the sheriff might misinterpret my intentions toward Arden. I've tried calling the sheriff every day since the hospital incident, to explain myself. That it's not what it looked like. That Arden and I were both there for Cletus and nothing more. But Sheriff Moss is too busy to return my calls.

Too busy. Too holy.

Whatever.

I finish unpacking another box and decide that the smell of frying bacon in the kitchen downstairs is just too tempting to pass up. I follow the alluring scent until I'm practically drooling over a plate of it cooling on the counter. A napkin absorbs its greasy goodness. Miss May pours me a glass of orange juice.

Then she picks up a crispy piece and bites at the corner of it. “Almost unpacked?”

“Yep,” I say. That's the great thing about not having many material possessions. It takes very little effort to play musical houses with them. Uncle Cletus would add that having fewer possessions gives you less to lose too.

But so far, I feel I've lost everything already and it has nothing to do with my clothes or my earphones or my books. No box could ever feel the emptiness I feel right now. Arden and I still have to ignore each other at school, which is actually way more difficult now that I know he loves me. I didn't get a chance to say it back to him—well, I didn't collect enough courage in time to do it. And now he might not ever know.

The only comfort I have is that my family will be here soon. I'm hoping Mama will take pity on me and have me back at the house. I don't want to miss out on the twins, and more importantly, I have to start pushing my parents to get documented this time. To apply for citizenship. It will be much easier to stay on them about it if I live in their house.

“Have you heard from Cletus lately?” Miss May asks, extracting me from my line of thought.

“Talked to him yesterday. He doesn't like the heart-healthy diet he's on. And he thinks he's hallucinating without the moonshine.” He also said the nurse was curved like a mountain highway in Argentina, but that seems too vulgar for Miss May's proper ears.

“Sounds like Cletus.”

My pocket vibrates then, and I know it could only be Julio. He's been calling and giving me updates on my parents as they make progress toward us. At first, the calls were short, just a sentence or two. Then, as he got more excited about their arrival, we would talk at length about what we'll all do together when they get here. I suppose he's forgiven me in his own way. But he hasn't invited me back home yet, so maybe not. Ultimately, it will be Mama and Papi's decision though.