When in Paris... (Language of Love) (37 page)

Before I leave, April hugs me goodbye and murmurs, “Everything will be okay” in my ear. I blink and nod, not really feeling her optimism.

The weight of my backpack loaded down with five textbooks on my shoulder feels like I’m carting around a concrete block. There’s no way I intend to walk across the campus to the science building so I head to my car. I don’t notice Zach’s truck until the driver’s side door opens and he gets out.

My strides slow until he’s standing in front of me.

“I’m sorry. I was a complete ass last night.”

The lump that formed in my throat makes it hard for me to swallow. I feel a corresponding constriction in my chest. Even if I could speak, I’m not sure I’d know what to say.

“The shit going down with Ashley is just that, a bunch of shit. She’s got a lot of emotional issues and I’m doing my best not to make things worse. But that’s not your problem, it’s mine and I’m going to take care of it.” His expression is contrite, his tone impassioned as his hands snake around my waist and enclose me in his arms. “I’m sorry, Liv. Forgive me?”

His lips are on mine before I have a chance to respond. I instinctively angle my head for a better fit, a deeper kiss and open my mouth wider for the slick slide of his tongue along the soft inner flesh of my bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth.

The blare of a horn brings us back to the present and the fact that we are making out in a parking lot…in the cold…at God knows how early in the morning. Zach steers me to my car, having relieved me of my backpack and tosses it onto the back seat after I click the car key to unlock the doors.

I know it shouldn’t, but his apology reduced my mind to mush. Unfortunately what’s wrong between us hasn’t gone away.

His eyes are soft as he gazes down at me, looking as if he wants to kiss me again. I’m determined not to let my hormones interfere with my good judgment.

“What do you mean it’s not my problem?” I argue. “Can’t you see how this thing with Ashley is affecting us? She’s always…there. She calls, she texts, she demands your attention and she gets it. How would you feel if it was the other way around? What if it were Jeff constantly calling me?”

Zach immediately scowls, his eyes going hard and his mouth tight.

After a beat, he runs his bare hand through his hair, clearly agitated. “I get it. I get it,” he says on a heavy sigh. “Look, I’ll take care of it. I’ll make sure it stops.”

I want to believe him. Really want to believe him but I get the feeling it can’t be that simple or things wouldn’t have come to this. I get the feeling that he’s still more emotionally involved with her in a way he himself may not even understand. And my misgivings must have shown on my face because he cups my cold face in his warm hands and kisses me tenderly on the mouth, his lips lingering in whisper-soft demand.

“I. Will. Take. Care. Of. This.” He punctuates each word with a kiss.

Reaching up, I cup his cheeks with my gloved hands—his five o’clock shadow from last night now an eight a.m. stubble—and kiss him hard, running my tongue between the parted seam of his lips. It’s not a long kiss but one chocked with feeling and so much heat my body hums in response.

“Okay, now I’ve got to run before I’m late for class. I’ll see you after rehearsal.”

When I pull out of the parking lot, he’s still standing in the same spot I left him, shoulders hunched, hands in his jacket pockets, watching me drive off.

***

ZACH

A month ago, I didn’t want a serious relationship with anyone, now I’m ready to do whatever it takes to make sure this shit with Ashley doesn’t mess up what I have with Olivia. And it’s just a matter of time that it will if I don’t take care of it soon. Which means cutting all contact off with Ashley—a prospect I dread.

Last week, Ashley called me in tears over the fact that she wouldn’t be coming home for Thanksgiving because her parents decided to go to California to spend it with her there. The news had been a huge weight off my shoulders. Yeah, it’s delaying the inevitable, but I’m just glad I don’t have to deal with it when I get home in a couple days. Until I take care of it though, I’ll make sure to shut off my cell whenever Olivia and I are together.

That evening when I pick her up after a particularly brutal practice and her rehearsal, I can tell by the crease in her brow something’s wrong.

I don’t bring it up until we’re back at my place. “What’s going on?” I ask as I pull her onto my lap. I point the remote at the flat-screen TV and turn down the sound.

Instead of her body curving into mine the way she normally does, she’s feels stiff and rigid, a faint line marring her brow.

She speaks so softly, I have to strain to make out the words “My parents are getting a divorce.”

Information like that should not have surprised me. Every week for a year, I expected to hear the same news from my mother, my aunt or through the rumor mill at school. But as time went on, I just figured either Olivia’s father never found out or their marriage—unlike my aunt’s—had weathered the storm.

My arms tighten around her and finally, she settles into me, her body curving into mine. “I’m so sorry, Liv.”

She nods as I kiss the top of her head.

“
Do you know why?”

A cloud of blonde hair swirls around her shoulders as she shakes her head. “My mom didn’t want to talk about it on the phone, and I’ll talk to my dad when I get home, I guess. I called him earlier today and he didn’t answer. Samantha knows something about it because she called me last night to offer her sympathies but when I called her back today, she was at work and couldn’t talk.”

She tips her head back to peer up at me, her head resting against my shoulder. “I get the feeling it’s my dad who wants the divorce.”

Four years have passed since my aunt’s divorce. Could her father only be finding out what happened now? I mean they could be divorcing for any number of reasons. All I know is I’m not going to say anything to her. This is between her and her parents.

I feel her chest rise and fall against mine as she lets out a heavy sigh. She tucks her head in the crook of my neck, her hair soft and silky against my skin.

“
Don’t worry, everything will be all right,” I murmur, breathing in the flowery scent of her shampoo, my arms tightening around her.

“
What time are you leaving tomorrow?” Her question is muffled by my shirt.

“
Probably around two. Coach called a meeting for one.”

“
Do you want me to wait?” she asks, running her hand idly down my chest, leaving a firestorm of desire in its wake.

“
No, you go without me. I’ll call you as soon as I get in.”

This is where things get tricky. My mom’s going to have a cow when I tell her who I’m dating. But shit, we’re both adults. My mom’s beef is with Olivia’s mother, not Olivia, and if she can’t separate the two, she can either fake civility or not plan on me coming home all that often.

“
Will I see you Thanksgiving Day?” I ask.

“
With the way things are with my parents, I’m not sure,” she hedges, tipping her head back. As I stare down at her, all I can think is that I’d do anything to remove the sadness from her eyes.

I press a kiss on her parted lips, lingering over the pleasure of the simple gesture. “That’s cool. We’ll play it by ear.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
S
IX

OLIVIA

With April and Rebecca gone, both having flown back to their respective homes in Naperville, Illinois and Reno, Nevada, the day before, Zach’s the only one to see me off. And as many times as I told him he doesn’t need to come, I’m secretly thrilled when he shows up at my dorm eight the following morning looking so good, all I want to do is haul him up to my room and make full use of my bed.

I gladly settle for the toe-curling kiss we share as he presses me against the driver-side door of my car. Breathless and aroused, we finally separate, my mouth swollen, his cheeks ruddy and eyes all sexy sleepy-looking.

“If you want to leave now,” he says hoarsely, “get in the car.”

I smile, resisting the overwhelming urge to take him up on the blatant offer in his eyes. “Bye, I’ll see you at home.”

~*~*~

“Hey, Mom.”

My mom greets me at the door wearing an old knit sweater that’s lost its shape, her arms first wrapped around herself before she hugs me tightly.

Luggage still in hand, I give her a one-armed hug and breathe in the familiar scent of her Estée Lauder perfume.

“I thought you’d have been home hours ago,” she says, angling back to look me in the eyes.

Yeah, without traffic, it should have been a four-hour drive. However, an additional two hours had to be tacked on for the traffic-from-hell I got trapped in on I-180 near Williamsport.

“I called and left you a message to let you know I’d be late.” That had been four hours ago.

She releases me, giving me a perplexed look. I take that moment to put my luggage down, remove my jacket and boots and store them in the hall closet.

“I had to run some errands this morning but I didn’t see any messages.”

“Did you actually check, Mom?” My mom is notoriously bad at that. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter now ’cause I’m home.”

“Yes you are,” she says softly.

For a few seconds, my mom and I stand in the foyer staring at each other. I’ve only been away for less than three months but my mom looks like she’s aged five years. She has dark circles under her eyes that not even her expert make-up hand is able to conceal.

She clears her throat. “Come on, let’s go out to eat. I bet you’re hungry,” she says, trying to sound normal and not as if she’s on the verge of tears like the glassy sheen of her brown eyes clearly indicate.

“Mom, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you and Dad?” This is exactly how my mom has always dealt with bad news. She likes to deliver it in a public place, preferably when both parties’ hands and mouths are occupied. This is great for filling in those awkward silences and helps temper the negative reaction, thus reducing her discomfort and guilt.

“Not now. Over lunch,” she says firmly.

Sighing, I eye her before grabbing my suitcase and hoisting it upstairs to my room.

~*~*~

“I cheated on your father five years ago.”

I hear my mother’s words but I’m not able to fully grasp their meaning. The simple fact is, they don’t make sense. At least not in my world.

We’re sitting at a table in my favorite Italian restaurant not far from home. The waitress has already taken our order and after nearly a half hour of waiting for my mom to broach the subject, I demanded she tell me why she and Dad are getting a divorce. And boy does she let me have it with that one sentence that have gigantic implications.

While that scenario had briefly crossed my mind, I’d immediately dismissed it. I know my mother and she’d never cheat on my dad. I’d convinced myself it must have something to do with their finances. Maybe my mother put our family in major debt. But cheating? Absolutely not. My parents love each other. Acts of PDA between them have always been part of my life, so much so, I don’t bat an eye when their kissing causes my brother to mutter,
God, aren’t you guys too old for that
? Or,
Get a room
.

“
You what?”
I try desperately to keep my voice down but I can’t on the last word.

With her gaze lowered to her hands clasped together on the table, she whispers, “Don’t make me say it again. It was hard enough the first time.”

She still won’t look at me but I stare at her bent head, mind reeling, stomach revolting as tears sting my eyes. “Five years ago? Are you cheating on him now? Are you leaving Dad for th-this guy?”

Her head snaps up and she shakes her head so vigorously, blonde strands of her chin-length bob slap against her face. “This happened almost five years ago. I haven’t seen Char—him in four years.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you getting divorced now?”
And not five years ago?

“Your father only learned about it this week.”

Okay, this makes absolutely
no
sense.

I gulp and whisper incredulously,
“You told him?”

My mom makes a self-deprecating sound in her throat. “No, I didn’t tell him. He was getting the car ready for sale and he found some correspondence.”

Correspondence? That’s it? What is she talking, love letters? Hotel receipts? Am I even allowed to ask? I wait for her to elaborate but she doesn’t.

Okay, now I’m positive I’m living through a bad episode of some too highly rated reality show. Because stuff like this does not happen to
my family
.

“But why would you cheat on Dad?” Hurt and heartbroken, my question comes out more an attempt to understand than accusatory or condemning.