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I spin on my heel and march out of the dingy, little place. By the time I reach my condo, I am fuming mad. I fling open the door and call out for her.
No answer. I look at my watch. It’s 2:12 in the afternoon.
I go to her bedroom door, turn the knob, and go inside.
Marah is in bed with that boy, Paxton. Naked.
An ice-cold wave of pissed off overwhelms me and I shout at him to get off my goddaughter.
Marah scrambles back, pulls a pillow over her naked breasts. “Tully—”
The boy just lies there, smiling at me as if I owe him something.
“In the living room,” I say. “Now. Dressed. ”
I go to the living room to wait for them. Before they get there, I take a Xanax to calm my runaway nerves. I can’t stop pacing. I feel a panic attack forming. What will I tell Johnny?
Like a mama hen, Johnny. You can trust me.
Marah walks in quickly, her hands clasped together, her mouth drawn into a frown. Her brown eyes are wide with worry. I see how much makeup she has on—heavy eyeliner, purplish black lipstick, pale foundation—and I know suddenly that she has been hiding this, too. There is no work uniform. She dresses like a goth when she goes out. She is wearing skinny black jeans and a black mesh top over a black cami. Paxton comes out beside her. He doesn’t move so much as glide forward in his tight black jeans and black Converse tennis shoes. His chest is skinny and bare, so white it’s almost blue. A scripty black tattoo unfurls from his collarbone to his throat.
“Y-you remember Pax,” Marah says.
“Sit down,” I snap.
Marah complies instantly.
Paxton moves closer to me. He really is beautiful up close. There is a sadness in his eyes, amid the defiance, and it is perversely seductive. Marah never had a chance with this kid. How did I not see that? Why did I romanticize it? It was my job to protect her and I failed.
“She’s eighteen,” he says, sitting down beside her.
So that’s how he wants to play it.
“And I love her,” he says quietly.
Marah gives him a look and I realize how deep this trouble runs. Love. I sit slowly, looking at them.
Love.
What in the hell am I supposed to say to that? One thing I know for sure. “I have to tell your dad. ”
Marah gasps. Tears flood her eyes. “He’ll make me move back to L. A. ”
“Tell him,” Paxton says, taking Marah’s hand. “He can’t do a thing. She’s an adult. ”
“An adult with no money and no job,” I point out.
She pulls away from Paxton and comes toward me, kneeling in front of me. “You said my mom fell in love with Dad the first time she saw him. ”
“Yes, but—”
“And you had an affair with your professor. When you were my age, and everyone thought it was wrong, but you loved him and it was real. ”
I should not have told her so much. If I hadn’t been caught up in my book and seduced by you’re my best friend, I’m sure I wouldn’t have. “Yes, but—”
“I love him, Tully. You’re my best friend. You have to understand. ”
I want to tell her she’s wrong, that she can’t love a boy who wears guyliner and tells her what she feels, but what do I know about love? All I can do is try to undo the damage, to protect her. But how?
