I stopped dead, waiting for the next part.
Amelia stopped, too. She didn’t run, just squared her shoulders, like she was waiting for a tornado to hit and maybe she could out-stare it. I wanted to tell her to go, to get away before he noticed her, but it was too late for that.
My dad stomped over, boots scraping on the sidewalk, not even bothering to close the car door. “Get in the truck,” he shouted at me, yanking me away from where I stood.
I didn’t dare to look at Amelia again.
He just shoved me toward the truck, and I stumbled, backpack flapping and nearly tripping over a pothole. The door was still open, and he threw me into the passenger seat.
“You wanna explain what you were doing with that girl?” he spat once seated in the drivers seat. His breath stank like beer and stale gum. He leaned in and I could see the stubble on his chin, the way it bristled like cactus needles. “I said, what were you doing?”
I wanted to say, walking, or nothing, or just that it was a free country and she lived on my block, but none of those wouldhave worked. I said, “I don’t know, we were just walking near each other,” because sometimes the truth is the best shield, especially when it’s empty.
He slammed the door so hard my teeth clicked together.
“She’s a Langston. You know what that means?” He jabbed his finger at my chest, poking hard. “You get close to her, you’ll catch what her mother’s got, and then you’ll end up alone and—” He cut off, maybe because he didn’t want to say the rest.
He looked at the beer in his hand and then back at me, and for a second I thought he might cry or hit me or both.
His hand balled the can so tight I thought it would pop. "You don’t talk to girls like that," he said, slow and dangerous. “If I see you talking to her again, I’ll pound your face in. You understand?"
He turned the key and the car shuddered awake. He pulled out so fast the tires squealed, and I watched Amelia shrink in the side mirror, her hair whipping around her face in the wind.
I wanted to wave, or yell something, but I just watched her get smaller and smaller until she was gone.
37
AMELIA
The griefof my dead mother had lessened to a numb tidal wave again. Being in that house, and crying the times that I did, it had sucked the darkness out of me and morphed it into a steady stream of bittersweet memories and aching moments of longing.
And so, I found solace in the quiet moments, in the shared silence that spoke volumes of the bond we once shared.
When Dante asked me if I was going to be leaving soon, I had hesitated. I wasn’t ready to fall back into the normalcy of life yet. When he offered to take me to his family’s lake house cabin for the day, I eagerly jumped on the opportunity.
I told him that I would be fine with Caiden coming along, because I wouldn’t want him to feel left out.
I wasn’t sure if I made the right decision.
Being there with both Caiden and Dante, two men who were becoming irresistible, was going to be a challenge.
I replayed the kiss I had shared with Dante, how sweet and soft it was.
Next, I thought about the desirable allure of Caiden, and how I melted when he held me against the wall, inhaling my lips and feeling every inch of my body.
I thought I wouldn’t be able to be intimate, not after what happened with Blake, but I surprised myself when I fell into Caiden’s passion.
When he held me at my mom’s funeral, pulling me back from shredding into a million pieces, I remember feeling so safe and secure I felt in his arms, wanting to melt into him for eternity.
With Caiden, it was like a match to dry grass. Hot, crackling, beautiful, a flame I wanted to press my palm against even as it blackened the skin.
I didn’t know if he’d ever move beyond the gravitational pull of his father’s cruelty, or the volatility that hummed just beneath his skin. I did mean it when I said I was finding forgiveness, but there were still moments of doubt.
But sometimes, when I caught him staring at me like I was the only refuge in a world of sleet and black ice, I wondered if that was the kind of love that lasted, the kind that survived the storm.
But then there was Dante. Dante with his slow-burning smile and his hands that never wandered unless I wanted them to.
I was a fool, really. I wanted the comfort of both of them—the steadfastness of Dante and the heat of Caiden—but I also wanted to fly away, to leave the whole mess of myself behind.
