5
Terror streaked through me, and I screamed as the bike leaped forward. My hold on him seemed desperately inadequate as the street sped by. Fear took my breath, and I couldn’t scream anymore, could only pray for this to be over.
It went on forever. The longest ride of my life, and that was counting when my brother had tricked me into getting on the Mummy ride at Universal Studios theme park. I tried to recite the periodic table in my head so I wouldn’t think about it . . . but it was impossible not to think about it. The wind pulled at my clothes, and I could hear other cars as we passed them.
I focused on Clark instead. He was warm and solid and didn’t move, unlike everything else around me. His jacket was soft and I could just smell a bit of his aftershave mixed with the leather scent of his coat. It was a comforting smell. One I associated with him.
I breathed deeply and calmed somewhat. At least I didn’t feel as though my heart was about to leap from my chest and run off screaming in the opposite direction. Anatomically impossible, I knew, but the image struck me as appropriate to my previous level of panic.
We were slowing, but I didn’t dare look up from where my head was buried against Clark’s back. I was holding him so tightly, my fingers were beginning to cramp, but I didn’t care. I wanted solid ground underneath my feet more than I wanted my next breath.
Finally, we stopped. Clark turned off the engine, and the sudden quiet left my ears ringing. Much as he had done earlier, he had to pry my fingers one by one from the death grip I had on his jacket, then he lifted me from the back of the bike and set me on my unsteady feet. I glanced around, vaguely recognizing the surroundings. My neighborhood. My house. My driveway.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
The question hit me like a slap, and the wave of rage that washed over me had me actually seeing red for the first time in my life. I’d thought that was just an idiom, too, but apparently it was based on a real anatomical reaction to overwhelming fury.
“How could you do that?” I yelled at him. My vision was blurry and it wasn’t just because I didn’t have on my glasses. “How could you do that to me? I told you I didn’t want to ride that thing and you . . . you . . . forced me to!”
“China—”
“Without even a helmet!” I kept going. “I was terrified! And I could have fallen off and been . . . been torn apart on the asphalt!”
He stepped closer to me and grasped my arm. “China—”
“Don’t touch me!” I jerked my arm out of his grip. “Just-just . . . get away from me.” I shoved him and he stumbled back a half step. “Go on, go!” I shoved again, harder. “You could’ve killed—”
Clark suddenly grabbed me by both arms and hauled me into him. Then he was kissing me, cutting me off midtirade. He wrapped both arms around me, and I couldn’t move a muscle. His mouth pressed hard against mine, almost bruising.
It shocked me, blanking every thought from my mind except that . . . Clark was back, when I thought he’d be gone forever, and he was kissing me.
So I kissed him back.
It wasn’t an elegant kiss, or sweet, but messy and wet and bumping noses and nothing like the movies. But it didn’t change how I felt. How it felt for him to kiss me the way he was . . . as though we could be standing in the middle of a freeway and neither of us would notice the cars careening around our locked bodies.
He tasted just like I remembered, dark and forbidden. Harlequin would have a field day describing how Clark tasted. My feet weren’t even on the ground anymore. He’d lifted me up, loosened his grip enough so I could wiggle my arms free and wrap them around his neck.
We’d learned each other by now, and the kiss turned from frantic and fumbling to deep and intense. Time passed, and for once I had not even a remote idea of how long it had been. I memorized each second, each touch. The feel, taste, and smell of him.
He ended the kiss sweetly, with long, lingering kisses on my lips that moved to my cheeks. He rubbed his nose alongside mine, and I heard him inhale deeply, squeezing me tighter in what was now closer to a hug than a restraining hold. Finally, he pulled back enough that I could see his eyes.
I didn’t have the faintest clue as to what to say, and even as the seconds ticked by, reality was crashing in around me. I’d just kissed another man. Perhaps the kiss months ago I could ignore because I’d been so taken aback and Clark had left right afterward . . . I’d never thought to see him again, so I’d convinced myself it didn’t matter.
This. Mattered.
I’d just cheated on . . . my . . . my fiancé. On Jackson. The man I loved. I could feel myself get light-headed as the blood drained from my face. I was a liar and a cheat—
“Jesus, China,” Clark said, his lips twisting. “I just wanted to shut you up for a second.”
I gasped in dismay, the meaning of his words sinking in like knives. Pain lanced my chest, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe. I found myself back on my feet, Clark studying me. His lips were still in that infuriating smirk, but his eyes . . . I couldn’t read what was in his eyes. But the smirk was enough.
I hadn’t even realized I’d slapped him until I felt the nasty sting on my palm. The crack of the strike echoed, but I’d achieved my aim. When he looked back around at me, the smirk was gone.
“I don’t ever,” I said, my voice trembling, “ever want to speak of this again. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.”
His mumbled reply sent my fury spiking again. “I said, do you underst—”
“I got it,” he bit out, cutting me off. This time I could definitely read the look in his eyes, and under any other circumstances, I’d take a step back. But I was too angry to care.
I headed for the front door. When I got there, I realized that he hadn’t followed me. I turned in irritation. “Are you coming, or what?”
Without a word, he followed me inside.
Mia was sprawled on the couch, watching TV. She looked at me when I walked in, then did a double take.
“Oh my God, what happened to you?”
I stopped, confused. Could she tell I’d just kissed Clark? She bounced off the sofa and hurried to me. “You have blood all over your cheek.”
Lifting my hand, I touched my face, then looked at my fingers. They were stained red. I glanced at Clark, confused.
“Someone shot at us,” he said. “I’d just stepped back or it would’ve hit me. Instead, it hit the wall. Bits of brick flew and cut you.”
Oh. That was why he’d grabbed me and put me on the Machine of Death. He’d been running. And he’d tried to tell me, but I’d been so angry, I’d just yelled and yelled at him . . .
“I—”
“Get the first-aid kit, Mia,” Clark interrupted. “Your aunt needs tending.”
Mia jerked a quick nod and ran off. I was left staring at Clark. Neither of us spoke. His eyes were blue, so very blue. And gave away nothing. Not for the first time did I curse my lack of insight into human interactions.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
“I know.”
Mia was back, fumbling with the first-aid kit, and began dabbing alcohol on my face. It stung and I winced.
“Come sit down,” she said, pulling me toward the couch.
I saw Clark head upstairs out of the side of my eye but didn’t question it. I was just glad that he was out of the room for the moment.
Mia tended me in silence. After she’d cleaned the scrapes and applied ointment and tiny bandages, she spoke.
“I saw you, you know. Kissing Clark.”
I sucked in my breath, her face inches from mine as she placed the bandages. She carefully avoided my gaze.
“I didn’t mean to,” she said. “I just heard the motorcycle outside and went to the window . . .”
I didn’t know what to say. I was . . . embarrassed . . . I realized.
“It . . . I didn’t mean . . .” I stammered.
“You don’t need to explain,” Mia said. Finally, she looked at me. “I just think that . . . if you can kiss a man like that . . . then maybe you’re not as in love as you think you are.” She shrugged. “I’m not judging, Aunt Chi. I just want you to be happy. With . . . whoever can make you happiest.”
I gave a short nod, looking away from her gaze that was too penetrating.
“I love you,” she said, giving me a quick hug. “No matter what you decide.”
Decide? There was nothing to decide. Clark had offered me nothing but shame and regret. His words still echoed inside my head. “I just wanted to shut you up.”
Mia didn’t give me a chance to reply. She rose and put the first-aid kit away, then headed up to her room.
I got unsteadily to my feet and walked to the powder room. Flicking on the light switch, I examined my reflection. I had been cut. More than I’d thought. Mia had done a nice job patching me up, but I looked as ragged on the outside as I felt on the inside. I tugged out my ponytail and ran my fingers through my hair with a sigh. Clark still had my glasses.
The house was quiet and still. I turned off the lights downstairs and ascended to the second floor. The ring was burning a hole in my jeans pocket. I reached in and retrieved it, sliding it back onto my finger. The diamond glittered, even in the semidarkness.
A glance in my office showed that Clark had made up the futon, but wasn’t in there. The light around the closed bathroom door gave away his location. I passed by and went into my bedroom, changing into my pajamas. After a brief hesitation, I left the ring on my finger. It was a good reminder. I loved Jackson, and Clark was my friend, not the other way around.
I really wanted my glasses, but my reluctance to see Clark again was greater. So, I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up just so. The clock said bedtime was still seven minutes away, but I didn’t mind going to bed early.
My phone buzzed. Jackson. With a start, I realized I’d completely forgotten to text him.
“Hey,” I answered. “I’m so sorry I didn’t text.”
“I was just about to come over there,” he said, irritation edging his tone. “I was worried about you. I just got home from work myself.”
“Wow. Long day.”
“Yes, and I want to revisit what we discussed this morning. I’d like to meet your family. Your father and brothers.”
“Why?” A valid question. Jackson was my first boyfriend. I’d told no one but my grandma in Florida about him. My father and older brothers didn’t think I even had a social life, much less a boyfriend.
“China, we’ve been dating for months. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re engaged. It’s time.”
Ouch. There it was. The engagement that I hadn’t actually agreed to. The huge elephant in the room. “You really want to go to Omaha?” I asked, avoiding the elephant. I’d grown up on a farm north of the city and close to the river. Not exactly a Happening Place.
Jackson sighed. “We’re not going for a vacation. I want to meet your family, and I’m sure they’ll want to meet me.”
My silence must’ve clued him in, because he said, “China . . . they do know about me, right?”
“I’m sure Granny told them,” I hedged. “Or Mia.” Mia was sixteen. Gossip was as second nature to her as putting on makeup and curling her long, blond hair into perfectly tubed ringlets.
“When was the last time you even spoke to your dad?”
“I don’t know. A few weeks ago.” I shrugged. “We talk every now and then.” Which was true. Maybe three or four times a year. Enough to keep in touch. Not enough to be close. “He talks to my brothers more often.”
“Oslo and . . . ?”
“Bill. Named after Billings, Montana. Oslo is the oldest, Mia’s dad,” I explained. “Bill is the middle, and he’s eight years older than me.”
“That’s a big age difference.”
“Yeah. Mom and Dad thought they couldn’t have any more kids, even though Mom really wanted a girl.” My family made me anxious. I’d gotten used to not having to work so hard to find something to talk about with people. The only thing I had in common with my older brothers was blood.
“China.” Jackson’s tone had me holding my breath. “I can’t help but feel that you’re acting as though you really don’t want me to meet your family.”
The hurt in his voice was painful to hear. It made my heart ache. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Jackson. I needed him, something I couldn’t have foreseen six months ago. I loved him. But I didn’t know if I was ready to spend my life with him. How did you know when it was The One? How did Jackson know I was his The One? Trying to put those feelings and doubts into words was the hard part. And the kiss with Clark tonight only made things more confusing.
“I do want you to meet my family,” I said. “It’s just that . . . things with my dad and me have always been a little strained. Ever since my mom died.”
“How did your mom die?” he asked. “You’ve never said.”
I cleared my throat before I spoke. “Um, well, that’s because when she died . . . it was partly my fault.”
“What are you talking about? You were eight years old. How could it have possibly been your fault?”
“I was with her, in the car,” I explained. “It was snowing out and the roads were bad. She’d picked me up from a weekend camp at the University of Nebraska. They sometimes had stuff for brainy kids, and I’d insisted on going to this one.
“Anyway, she’d picked me up and we were driving home Sunday night. A tractor trailer slid on the ice, and we slid into it. There was a huge pileup, and our car was smashed. People started helping each other, and I was little enough for them to get me through a window.” I paused. The memory of that day and those moments was something that I’d never forgotten. “But Mom . . . she was wedged too tightly. There was a fire and . . .” I stopped, unable to go on.
“I’m so sorry,” Jackson murmured, his voice low and soothing in my ear. “I had no idea.”
“It is what it is, and it’s certainly in the past,” I replied. “There was nothing the rescuers could do when they got there except put out the flames. Dad has never said anything about it being my fault, but it’s always been there between us. A giant chasm. And he’s right. If we hadn’t been on the road that night, Mom might still be alive.”
“You can’t know that,” he argued. “And it wasn’t your fault. You were a child. Your mother was the adult. And accidents happen. It’s no one’s fault.”
“Logically, I know that’s all true,” I said. “But emotions aren’t logical.” A huge understatement. Guilt gnawed at me, and part of me wanted to confess what had happened between Clark and me, but the other part didn’t. I didn’t want to hurt Jackson, or for him to know how awful a person it appeared I was at heart. He’d never understand.
“Why don’t I come over?” Jackson said. “I miss you, and last night ended so terribly.”
I was on the verge of agreeing—it would be so comforting for him to hold me at the moment—when I remembered. Clark was here.
“No,” I blurted, then realized how that sounded. “I mean, I’m really tired and I’m already in bed. I’ll come over there tomorrow. How does that sound?”
“Are you sure? It’s really no bother. I can just crawl in beside you and go to sleep with you.”
That sounded really, really good, but I knew it was a Bad Idea. “No, it’s fine. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Okay, then,” he said. “Sleep well, pretty girl. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Good night.”
“’Night.”
I ended the call and set the phone back on my nightstand. As I set it down, I noticed my glasses were on the table, too. At some point while I’d been talking to Jackson, Clark had come in and left them for me. I wondered how much, if any, of my conversation he’d overheard.
Morning came too bright and too early. I debated what to wear, finally settling on my I Survived Helm’s Deep T-shirt with my usual uniform of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt over it. I’d switched to cozy flannels for the winter months and was just brewing my coffee when my cell rang.
“Morning, Granny,” I answered. My grandma and I always spoke on Saturdays, when I got to hear all about her latest misadventures in the retirement community in Florida where she lived.
“Good morning, China-girl,” she said, her perky voice and southern lilt making me smile. Suddenly I felt a thousand times better. This was normal, this was routine, this was my Granny. “You’ll never guess what happened to me last night.”
I hesitated. It could be anything from being arrested for operating an underground poker game to TPing her neighbor Helen’s condo (Granny viewed Helen as a stick-in-the-mud fuddy-duddy ever since it had come out that she’d been the one to report Granny’s poker game to the cops).
“Probably not,” I answered. “What happened?”
“Well, Harvey had come round to take me to dinner—that man is such a romantic, I have to say—and he’d somehow found an old Ford Model T! He thought it was somethin’ else, but I have to tell you, they didn’t make them with air-conditioning, and I wasn’t about to sweat my way through this Florida heat. I’d put on my fake lashes and pantyhose! And honey, you know what wearing pantyhose in the heat will do to you.”
I didn’t, since I’d never worn any kind of nylons before, but I made agreeing noises as though I knew exactly what she was talking about.
“Well, anyway, we took my car to dinner instead, and can you believe it? He proposed!” She laughed in delight. “Gracious, I didn’t think I’d ever get one of those again.”
I’d stopped pouring my coffee. “Wow, Granny! That-that’s wonderful. Congratulations.”
“Oh, China-girl, I didn’t say yes,” she chortled. “Heavens to Betsy, I’ve had enough of marriage since your grandpa passed. I’m not about to give up my freedom to be someone’s maid and cook again, no sirree.”
“So you told him no?” I couldn’t fathom how it could be socially acceptable for someone to say no to a marriage proposal. “How?”
“Why, I simply told him how flattered I was, and how special he was to me, but that marriage wasn’t something I wanted. I must say, he took it well. He was a bit crestfallen, but then we danced for a while and he perked right up. Of course, it also helped that I still let him come inside for a nightcap afterward.”
“That’s great,” I interrupted before she could go further into explaining what she meant by “nightcap.” I got the gist.
“What’s going on with you?” she asked. “How’s my boy Jackson doing?”
Now was the time, if I was going to start telling my family. “Um, well, it sounds like we had very similar experiences.” I took a deep breath. “Jackson proposed on Valentine’s Day.”
I yanked my earbuds out and winced at the shriek that followed.
“That’s fantastic! I knew he was special. Have you set a date?”
I got the last part of that when I tentatively put my earbuds back in. “Um, well, actually . . . I’m not sure I want to get married.”
Granny was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was serious. “Talk to me,” she said. “Do you not want to get married? Or do you not want to marry Jackson?”
“It’s just that . . . how do you know?” I asked. “How can either of us be sure that we’re . . .” I searched for the right term. “. . . marriage material? What if he just really wants to get married, and any compatible woman will do? How do I know that he loves me more than he’ll ever love anyone else? How do I know the same about him?”
“Well, honey, those are all really good questions, and I don’t think any bride-to-be hasn’t asked herself the same thing.”
“You knew you didn’t want to get married again,” I said. “I should know with as much certainty if I do want to get married, right?”
“China-girl, nothing in life is a hundred percent certain, not when it comes to love. That’s the point. Some things have to be taken on faith and trust and hope. You trust that Jackson loves you and have faith that you’re both making the right decision. Then you hope that the future is kind.”
The idea of trusting the rest of my life and happiness on ephemeral things such as faith, hope, and love made me sit in the nearest chair and put my head between my knees.
“You all right?” Granny asked when I didn’t reply.
“Yeah,” I said, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. “Just practicing my coping techniques.”
She chuckled.
“But it’s not just that,” I said, lowering my voice. I glanced toward the stairs, but it was still all quiet upstairs. Mia was getting her Saturday-morning beauty rest, and I hadn’t heard a peep from Clark. “There’s . . . there might be . . . another man.” I flinched even as I said the words.
“Oh my! Hold on, honey, I need to put some whiskey in my coffee for this.” I waited for a few moments, then she returned. “Okay, go on ahead. Spill it.”
I told her, as succinctly as I could, about Clark and how he’d kissed me a few months ago when he’d gone away, but how he was back now and then he’d kissed me again last night and said other things before that . . . suggestive things that even I had picked up on as sexual innuendoes.
“And now I’ve cheated on Jackson, and I don’t know how to tell him,” I said. “He’s going to hate me.”
“First of all,” Granny said, “he’s not going to hate you. Don’t be silly. Second, there’s no need to tell him a thing. If there’s one thing I know about men, it’s that what they don’t know, won’t hurt ’em. Unless you’re plannin’ on dumping Jackson and taking up with this Clark. Are you?”
“No, of course not. It was just a weird one-time . . . two-time . . . thing.”
“Then I wouldn’t worry about it,” she said. “It sounds like this Clark fella has a thing for you, but he’s never made a move before now, and now . . . you’re taken. Some men find that easier. Takes them off the hook, so to speak. They don’t have to pony up and commit to a woman, which is what Jackson’s doing. I think you should decide what you want with Jackson, without letting the idea of Clark influence you.”
That was really good advice. And so much easier said than done, I found once I’d hung up. I’d never been so confused before. It felt strange, not to know my way forward. I’d always had my future mapped out and made decisions logically and quickly. But logic wasn’t playing much of a part here, because as much as I should logically want to marry Jackson—and I did—I still couldn’t stop thinking about Clark and that kiss last night.