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“Are you okay?” I asked, wiping her hair out of her face and behind her ear.
“Where’s Carter?” she responded, her hand sliding up against my chest and twisting into my shirt as she held onto me.
“I’m right here.”
“Take me home,” she groaned. The feeling of her soft voice vibrating into my skin caught me off guard, and I suddenly found it difficult to stay on my feet, let alone hold her up as well.
I glanced at The Worm, giving him a pointed look that confirmed it. He shook his head and stalked away. Still holding her against me, I swung open the door to my truck and lifted her into the passenger seat, buckling her in.
Macie handed me Penelope’s purse. “Thank you,” she whispered.
I nodded as I waved them off and came around the driver side of my truck. Penelope’s light snoring stalled only briefly as I turned the ignition and the engine roared to life. Sometime in the ten minutes between leaving the bar and arriving home, Penelope woke up, though she never made a sound. When I pulled into my driveway and turned off my truck, I found her staring at me with her gemstone eyes.
“Hi,” I chuckled. She blinked at me a few times before a grin appeared at her mouth. It wasn’t the special smile reserved for me; it was a little different. It was dopey and sleepy and cute as hell. “We’re home.” She nodded and began to try unbuckling herself. I hopped out of the driver’s seat and ran around to her side to assist.
When I opened the passenger door, she leaned back with her face held up and her hands covering her eyes. “Why is the world spinning?” she asked.
“Because you’re hammered.” I unbuckled her and rummaged through her purse for her keys, hoping I’d be able to sneak her upstairs to her bedroom without waking the rest of her house. As I sorted through her purse, I realized her keys were nowhere to be found. “Pep, do you keep your keys in some sort of secret pocket or something?”
“In my jacket,” she mumbled almost inaudibly. I looked around her feet, and in the backseat. I noticed she was wearing a black sweater and tried to remember if she had a jacket earlier in the day. I think she had been wearing a coat because it had been cold in the morning. I think the coat was beige. I checked the truck once more before determining that she had definitely left her coat somewhere. Whether the school or the bar, I wasn’t sure.
“Your jacket isn’t in here, Pep. I don’t have the keys to get into your house.” I began searching for her phone so I could call Maddie and ask her to quietly come unlock the door. I checked time on my phone and it read ten-forty. Her parents would likely be sleeping but Maddie was probably still awake. “Do you have your phone? I’ll call Maddie.”
“In my jacket,” she mumbled again, this time with an added groan as she doubled over.
Shit.
“Penelope, I don’t have your keys or your phone, and I don’t have Maddie’s number. So, I’m going to have to knock on your front door, it’ll probably wake your parents.”
“No, no, no, no, no,” she whined. “No, I’m already a failure.” I opened my mouth to ask her what she meant when it happened.
She began to cry.Shit, shit, shit.
This couldn’t be about her admissions, could it?I placed my hand on her back lightly. “Pep? Why are you crying?” She shook her head but offered no response. I let out a breath as I considered what my options were. Before I fully considered the possible repercussions of my next actions, I found my arm scooping underneath her knees, and my other arm coming behind the middle of her back.
“I can’t go home, Carter,” she whispered against my chest. It was almost heartbreaking, her tone. I can’t imagine what could’ve happened that could cause her to feel so much like she was failing her family, like simply coming home after a night drinking could be so consequential. No, there had to be more to the situation than just her getting rejected from Stanford. Her parents had never been like that. They expected a lot from their children, but they never judged them. Not in the way Penelope seemed to be afraid of.
I glanced down at her. Her head was tilted inward toward my chest, almost like she was breathing me in. She grasped my shirt, the fabric knotting itself within her fingers. Almost like she was holding onto me for dear life. My stomach tightened at the sight of her. A lost, yet familiar instinct took over me. The instinct to protect her, to care for her, to have her need me. I remember feeling this way even as children. When she would fight with her brother, or when she would ride her bike without a helmet. The first time I watched a boy hurt her feelings. The way The Worm looked at her. Little things that burned me up inside.
“We’re not going home, Pep. But you can’t sleep in the truck,” I said quietly. I shifted her weight onto one arm as I reached over the back fence to my parent’s house and unlatched the gate. I tiptoed through the backyard to the pool house my father had converted into a studio apartment a few years ago– my current residence.
It was a small space, but had enough room for a queen-sized bed, a couch, a desk, and a kitchen. I flipped on the kitchen light since it stood separate from the remainder of the studio.
“Where are we?” she asked. I looked down and realized her eyes were still closed but tightened in reaction to the brightness when I had flipped the light on.
“The pool house behind my parents’. They turned it into an apartment. You can sleep here tonight.” I left out the fact that it was my current living quarters, and that I too would be sleeping here tonight. I wasn’t sure how she would feel about it, but I figured she was too drunk to care right now anyway. I could sneak over to my parent’s house early in the morning before she woke up, so she would have privacy. There was no way I was leaving her alone in her current state, though. I laid her into the bed softly and took off her shoes before covering her with the blankets.
“You’re such a good person,” she whispered as she turned over the sheets. “Such a good person. Too good. Too good.” I tried not to smile at her, but then allowed it since she wasn’t looking at me anyway.
I shushed her and planted a quick kiss on her forehead before backing away from the bed. The motion took no thought at all, as if it was the most natural movement I’d ever made, but I instantly realized it may have been a bad idea when her eyes fluttered open.
“You know, nobody calls me Pep anymore,” she said, chasing down some random train of thought. I walked around the corner into the bathroom and make-shift closet.
“I’ll always call you Pep.”
“Even when I’m eighty?” she asked, calling out from the main room as I changed into a pair of sweatpants.
“Even when you’re eighty.” I grabbed a change of clothes out of my closet for her in case she found herself uncomfortable in the middle of the night, and in a state of mind that would allow her to change herself.
