Page 77 of The Last Special Thing

He admired the shirt again. “This really is the coolest. You’re the best girlfriend ever.”

Reaching back, he pulled off the Deadbeat Nightlife shirt he had been wearing. Her eyes lingered on his flat stomach before he covered up with the Travis Barker shirt. Maybe she’d see him shirtless later. Although there needed to be an alternative to the air mattress.

Down toward the beach, they played their favorite game of people watching. Two middle school boys skateboarded by—headed to ballet class. An elderly couple splitting a plate of nachos—scam artists.

The wannabe Shirley Temple concoction became bearable the more she drank. A lightheadedness and giddiness in her chest.

Stepping off the boardwalk, they headed toward large boulders. Art climbed up on one and outstretched his hand for her to join. She scrambled up with his help, and they sat slightly off kilter. Resting her head on his shoulder, she breathed him in: woodsy body soap and vodka. A salty breeze drifted past them, and the sun's orange glow began its descent behind the ocean.

It wasn’t until the sun had dropped entirely and the vodka had emptied that she was ready to talk. She nuzzled against his shoulder, carefully situated. There would be nothing worse than him lying to her face.

“So, Madisson said something strange.” Her words wavered. She was no more put together than the ocean.

“Yeah.” He stiffened underneath her.

She brought her head up. “You know?”

“I mean, yeah. You didn’t want to see her today,” Art started. His chest fell, his eyes fixed on the horizon ahead. “I asked her what was up, and she told me.”

“Madisson said you were dealing.” Amelia forced a laugh.

“Yeah.” Even if he hadn’t admitted it, she would have known. His face creased, his ocean blue eyes haunted.

She pulled her back. “Yeah?” Her voice cracked.

This was not going how she expected. She had thought they would laugh about it, and he would assure her that Madisson was wrong. They would get drunk, make love, and bury the accusations under the rug.

He gently reached for one of her hands, rubbing his thumb over it. She let him.

“It’s just enough to get by. I need new music equipment. I need to pay rent.”

“But what about Asher? Why would you do the same thing that got him locked up?” It didn’t make any sense.

He ran his free hand through his hair in anguish, and it pained her to see him distraught.

“It’s a little on the side. Nothing dangerous like what he was doing. Only people I know. Friends of friends and coworkers, and their friends. It’s nothing crazy. I swear to you that I would never do anything that would put myself or anybody else at risk like he did. You know, I want to pay you back for everything. It weighs on me that you always pay. I know you don’t mind. But I promise you–one day, I’ll make it big. I know you know that too. You believe in me.”

His voice was choked, and his eyes shone with tears. He kept talking. She wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself that what he was doing wasn’t horrifying and dangerous.

“One day, you’ll be with me. You’ll be on the side of the stage, living out the Kourtney dream. I can’t wait for you to come to my show this week–to see me in action. You’re going to be so proud of me, Princess.”

He kissed her tentatively. When she didn’t pull away, he moved a hand to her cheek. They kissed hard until she couldn’t breathe, the kisses drowning her sorrow. She loved him. She would continue to love him more than she could hate him for what he did. She kept kissing until she was crying.

When she broke away, his cheeks were tear-stained as well. She had never seen a grown man cry before. Her dad never did. Weston never did.

“I accused Madisson of lying,” Amelia said. Guilt filled her chest. Fuck. Why hadn’t she believed Madisson?

“I should have told you. I’m so sorry.” Art brought his thumb underneath her eye and wiped her tears away. “I’ll stop if you want me to. I’ll do anything for you.” His words were quieter, pure.

She wiped his tears as well. She’d never doubted he loved her, and even now, his words were heavy with honesty.

Her head dipped, whether in acceptance of his stopping or acknowledgment of the offer, she didn’t clarify. She never envisioned she would be in this situation.

Amelia’s fingers trembled as she raised the thermos to her lips again, only to remember it was empty.

“We need more.” She struggled to breathe with the weight of his confession.

How had she not detected it? It made sense. He always had access to every drug. When he told her he was running errands, she never asked what that meant. It was foolish for her to assume he was getting Top Ramen or buying toilet paper. Then there was the time he told her he tested ecstasy.