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“And even if you were right, I’d have told him I love you and he’d understand that, he’d—”
“You’re assuming he’d believe you,” he says. “Grizzly sure didn’t back at the motel.”
And my dad didn’t either when I told him on the phone, but there’s no reason to tell him that.
He scoffs again. “They’re all so worried about you and so set on keeping you away from me. And yet they let you leave on a cross-country trip on your own after they just killed off more than a hundred men and didn’t even get all of them. Where were they when that freak tried to rape you? Not anywhere near, that’s where. But I was. So maybe we can focus on that some more.”
“You were, but…”
“And I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon,” he adds. “Especially not back to prison. There’s ways to stay out of sight. Or I could cut up my face, then no one would recognize me, for example.”
I clamp my hand over his mouth to make him stop talking. I don’t even know if he was serious or just messing with me because of my father and his scarred face. And if he was serious then I don’t know if that’s the weirdest or most romantic thing he’s ever said to me.
He peels my hand away gently, yet firmly and continues to hold it as he looks deeply into my eyes, so deep I feel like he’s looking right through me.
“You don’t want words from me, Harper, you want actions,” he says. “And I’m here.”
I shake my head. “You’re wrong. I do want words. And promises that you’ll keep. And for you to tell me what’s going on in your head once in a while. You say there’s no one but me for you yet you don’t believe that it’s the same for me. The only difference is, I don’t see why we can’t be together as clearly as you can. Even if you were on death row I’d wait for you.”
He lets go of my hand. “That’s fucking ridiculous, Harper. Come on, we have to ditch this car.”
He lifts up the hem of his t-shirt and starts wiping down the steering wheel and gear shift vigorously before opening the door and doing the same to the door handle.
I exit the car and watch him do it. Loud music is coming from a brightly lit bar about two blocks away and rising behind it is a Motel sign. I could use a drink. I could use some sleep. But more than that, I want to finish this conversation.
He might be OK cutting it short, it’s his way whenever talking gets too deep and uncomfortable, but I’m not.
“Why don’t you ever fight for us?” I ask.
He’s next to me in a flash, towering over me, his eyes flashing with green flame. No surprise there. He hates that question.
“I try, but it’s never good enough.”
I’ve never been afraid that he’ll hit me, not once in all our time together, no matter how heated our arguments got and they sometimes got pretty wild. And I’m not afraid of him now. I also don’t want to argue anymore.
So I just wrap my arms around him, press my head against his chest and hold him so tight my arms hurt.
“I can’t live without you,” I mutter. “Why can’t you see that?”
He sighs and says nothing. He has no answer for me. None I’ll be happy with. So I’m happy he’s not trying to give it.
* * *
Jax
The music from the bar across the parking lot from our motel room is loud, as is the laughter, and whooping of the people partying there. We could be there too, dancing, having fun, getting drunk, enjoying ourselves. The smell of fries, burgers and other grilled goodies was hanging thick over the parking lot when we arrived and it’s coming in through the cracks in the thin walls of our room. We could’ve been eating that too.
Instead we were stuck with snacks and drinks from the motel’s vending machine, including cup of noodles, of which I’ve seen enough of on the inside and never want to see again. But there was no choice tonight.
And now we’re cooped up in this small room that smells of dust, food we can’t have and food we don’t want, furniture polish and regret, neither of us speaking, because what the fuck else is there to say?
She laid it all out pretty clearly in the car. Nothing I can say will change any of it. And what’s worse, nothing I can do will either.
She’s lying on the bed, still fully dressed minus her shoes and it’s not right that I want her as bad as I do, not when I owe her so much.
That’s why I’m not next to her but sitting at the small table picking at the chipped wooden surface of it and trying not to wish things were so very different.
I’m free and she’s here with me. I’m sharing a room with the love of my life and not the father who I hardly know. It’s all I really wanted. Ever.
