1986: Why Can't This Be Love (Love in the 80s #7) (6 page)

The door closed behind her, leaving me closeted in a room full of stacked cassettes, bangles hanging out of a jewelry box, pictures of me with friends I didn’t see much of anymore, and posters tacked to the walls.

I
didn’t get
out of bed until after lunch, and even then I only did it because there was a knock at the door.

“It’s for you, Tori!” Mom called.

Since I was grounded and had been threatened by Dad from the hallway the night before with everything under the sun not to see Dylan, I knew it wasn’t him.

Lisa tore into my bedroom, her gaze falling on my disheveled state, her gaze widening. In disgust or pity, I wasn’t sure.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I warned.

She didn’t listen. “You were supposed to hook up with Corey Sanders, not some random thug from Cleveland.”

The judgment in her voice was too much. It was too damn much!

Fuming, I stood. “Would everyone quit calling him that! He isn’t a thug! He’s a genuinely nice guy. A true Clydesdale! As for you,” I advanced on her, finger pointed, “you left me! And don’t give me some bullshit excuse about how you thought maybe I left with Corey because you know me better than that. Or you did once. What did you tell my parents, huh?”

I was poking her in the chest, and I didn’t care. I just didn’t flipping care.

Lisa grimaced, staggering backward. “I told them you came home with me, and that you must have snuck out when I fell asleep watching MTV.”

I threw my hands up. “You lied. Worse yet, you lied knowing I could have been in real trouble. You left me! And that guy, that
thug
, helped me where you didn’t! Did you know that Corey Sanders tried to force himself on me?”

Her eyes widened.

I kept going. “He scared me, Lisa, and that
thug
stood up for me.

“Tori—” Lisa began.

“Out!” I yelled. “Get out!”

Lisa didn’t move. “I’m sorry. I was scared, okay? I got caught up in stuff with Johnny, and when you went missing, I got scared.”

“How hard did you try to look for me, Lisa?”

She didn’t answer.

“Out!” I repeated.

“Your dad went to the bowling alley this morning,” she revealed suddenly.

The words slammed into me, and I froze. “What?”

Peeking out the door, she lowered her voice. “Apparently, he told the owner he needed to do something about his nephew, and that if he didn’t send him home, your dad would pull the loan on the bowling alley.”

Disbelief and horror were monsters eating me whole. “He can’t do that!”

Lisa shrugged, her eyes sad. “Apparently he can when the owner is already months behind on payment.”

One night, and it wasn’t Dylan who was ruining my reputation and my life, it was
me
ruining his life.

“I’ve got to fix this,” I said, frantic.

“Tori, your dad promised to let it go if the nephew went home—”

“Dylan. His name is Dylan.”

“Whatever. As long as he goes home, everything will be fine.”

No, it wouldn’t be fine. Dylan was here to pay off the car he’d destroyed. If he left now, he’d end up in trouble.

“Get out!” I told her. “Now!”

“Tori—”

“You don't know!” I cried. “You just don’t get it. These are people’s lives you all are playing with.”

“All you had to do was come home last night,” Lisa said haughtily.

I stared, fury building. “Everyone lied, Lisa! All of us, and I regret it. I do! That’s the problem with lies. They build up until everyone is hurt, until the only way to fix them is with the truth. The problem here isn’t the lies, it’s the vengeance you all feel entitled to because of it. Now leave!”

People come and go in life. Some of them surprising us, either by being exactly who we thought they’d be or being the opposite of who we thought we knew.

Lisa left, and I rushed to the bathroom, stripping before climbing into the shower, washing and dressing faster than I ever had in my life.

Jerking on a pair of acid washed jeans, I tugged on a floral top and a black vest, running my fingers through my hair to lift the curls. No hairspray. No teasing.

Mom caught me on the stairs.

“What are you doing?” she asked, taking me by the arm.

“Did you know about Dad and the loan with the bowling alley?”

Mom’s gaze fell away from mine, and I yanked my arm free, my feet carrying me the rest of the way down the stairs.

Grabbing the keys to Mom’s Toyota, I sped out the door, climbed into her car, and sped away.

“You’re not being reasonable!” Mom shouted out the door.

Sticking my head out the rolled down car window, I yelled, “I’m starting to think no one is!”

I
didn’t walk
into the bank, I tore into it, anger a living, breathing thing inside of me.

Saturday or no, I knew Dad would be in his office, catching up on work he never seemed to get caught up on.

The alarm, set to go off if anyone entered, started wailing.

I ignored it.

Dad shot to his feet, rushing to turn it off. “What the hell, Tori?”

“Damn you, Dad!” I screamed. “Are you that concerned about me? Are you so concerned that a guy from Cleveland will impregnate me that you had to go and threaten his uncle?” I slammed my fist against the counter, ignoring the stares coming from Dad’s co-workers, the ones that frequented the office on the weekends.

“This is for your own good,” Dad told me, face twisted. I’d caught him, and he knew it.

“My good?” I asked, poking myself in the chest. “
My
good? I only met the guy last night. Are you going to chase off every random boy who spends a little time with me, or just the ones you immediately disapprove of?”

The security guard, Alfred Morrison, who was eighty years old and really had no business protecting a bank, strolled through the room, concern etched into his wrinkled face. “Everything okay in here?”

“It’s fine, Alfred,” my dad assured him.

Maybe it was the rebellious, completely crazy punk scene I’d taken an interest in recently, the political stuff I’d started reading up on, or the anger I felt over this entire situation, but I had a meltdown. Right there in the bank. A complete and utter, seventeen-year-old, kiss my ass meltdown.

“Alfred, can I speak to you for a minute?” I asked calmly. Too calmly. Patting him on the shoulder, I reached out, snagged the handcuffs and key he kept attached to his uniform, and backed away, clenching them to me.

“Hey!” Alfred cried.

“What are you doing, Tori?” Dad asked, rushing me.

I sped to the door, threw the key into the drain in the street, and then handcuffed myself to a parking meter outside.

All in all, despite the horrified stares and niggling doubt in my gut, I was pretty proud of myself. I was making my first political statement. Well, not political, but after hearing all of the protest stories Mom was always telling me about the late sixties and early seventies, I figured I needed to earn a few stripes of my own. I could almost feel my feet growing, stretching to fit her giant footprint, the legacy my mom had left behind.

“Are you crazy?” Dad yelled.

“Apparently it runs in the family,” I replied, sitting on the ground, legs crossed. “If Mom asks, tell her I get it from her.”

“Damn it!” Dad fumed.

“Teens,” one of his co-workers
tsked
, coming up behind him. “I blame it on MTV. Have you seen some of those videos?”

Dad swore.

“I’ll call the police,” Alfred offered.

“No,” Dad cried, stopping him. “Let me try and figure this out first.”

“Better now than later,” another co-worker pointed out. “Someone on this street is going to end up calling.”

“Goddamn it!” Dad yelled. “Why?” he asked me, his eyes on my face.

I glanced at him. “I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I didn’t listen, but I don’t regret it, and I don’t want someone else hurt because of a decision I made. So, until you’re willing to listen to me, I’m not moving.”

“This is stupid, Tori,” Dad wailed. “All you’re doing is making a fool out of yourself and me. We’ll have you out of those handcuffs before you have a chance to make any kind of statement.”

Again, we were drawing a crowd, first in our front yard, now in front of the bank. They surrounded us, blocking traffic.

“You know someone with bolt cutters?” a guy on the street asked.

The crowd made me nervous, and my lips thinned, my anger melting away, leaving me uncertain, confused, and crazy scared. Dad was right. What good was I doing handcuffing myself to a parking meter?

Leaning my head against the pole, I listened to the crowd call out suggestions to Dad, arguments rising among the men. Women I knew, and still others I didn’t, clucked their tongues; all of them glad their daughters hadn’t gone off the deep end. Over a boy nonetheless.

The life soundtrack in my head was all angry music.

Dad gripped the parking meter, his fist turning white. “Alright, you’ve got my attention, Tori. Talk.”

Pushing myself to my knees, I tugged on his pants. Handcuffing myself to a parking meter had been a bad idea. I felt like I was begging. “I lied. I know that, and I’m sorry, but this guy … he’s a good one. I know it, Dad.”

“Do you know why he’s here?” Dad asked. “Because from what his uncle told me this morning—”

“He told me,” I inserted. “He busted up a car, but do you know why?” I didn’t give him a chance to ask. “Because the guy was mistreating his mom. Come on, Dad. Give me a little credit. Please.”

Dad raked his hands over his face. “I’m going to get these handcuffs off of you, and then we’ll finish this.”

Cars drove past, honking their horns at me.

“You don’t do anything halfway, do you?” a familiar voice asked.

My head shot up.

Dylan Black stood over me, an amused expression on his face, and damn it, if he didn’t look just as good in the light of day as he did at night.

The AC/DC shirt was gone, replaced by a black T-shirt, a clean pair of jeans, and the bomber jacket.

My dad was gone, having vanished into the bank trying to figure out a way to get me free.

“This is embarrassing,” I muttered, dropping my head to hide my face.

Dylan crouched, lifting my chin with his finger. “Actually, I think it’s the bomb, on a whole new level of cool. I gotta say, sweets, I’ve never had a girl handcuff herself to something for me.”

Oh, God! I was going to die.

“How do you know it was for you?” I asked.

He grinned. “You should see the bowling alley right now. Everybody and their mother is running in there with news about the handcuffed girl in town.”

I scoffed. “I’ve been handcuffed for like … what? Ten minutes?”

He grew serious. “Thank you,” he whispered, sitting, his hand touching the arm handcuffed to the pole. “I mean it. No one has ever stood up for me before.”

I shrugged. “My dad shouldn’t have done what he did. If I’d known going out with you would hurt you or your family—”

“Shh,” he soothed, winking. “For the record, I think the handcuff thing won my uncle over. I told him you weren’t like the others, but I don’t think he quite believed me until …” he nodded at my arm.

“I didn’t really think this through,” I admitted.

He laughed, and I laughed with him.

His fingers circled my arm, running gently up to my wrist. “The handcuffs seem a little tight.”

“I’m okay,” I reassured him. Sirens sounded in the distance. “You should leave.”

He snorted. “Not a chance.” Glancing around, he added, “You know anyone else around here with handcuffs? I’ll join you. I mean, you could have told me you were into kinky.”

Laughing, I pushed at him with my free hand. Sobering, he caught it, twining his fingers with my fingers. It felt good. Really good.

“Hey, you! Get out of here.” My dad stormed out of the bank, his face red.

“I’m not breaking the law,” Dylan called out, not moving, his gaze locked with mine.

A police cruiser pulled up to the curb, followed by a sweaty, wheezing, red-faced, Henry Graves, a writer for the local newspaper.

Dad threw his hands up. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” He pointed at the gray-haired reporter in tweed bell bottom pants and pearl button top. Henry had loved the seventies a little too much. “Henry, I swear, if you print this!”

“You’ll what?” Henry asked, lips twitching. “You’ll threaten my loan? Good luck with that. The newspaper is all paid up, James. As a matter of fact, I expect the bowling alley will be, too, after this story prints.” He ran his hand across the sky. “I can see it now. Local girl handcuffs herself to a parking meter after her dad threatens date.”

Dad’s shoulders slumped, his gaze finding mine before sliding to Dylan, to the way he held my free hand and supported the handcuffed one.

With a long-suffering sigh, Dad sat next to me on the curb, his head falling to his hands. “I don’t know whether to yell at you or to handcuff myself next to you,” he mumbled.

“We can make that happen,” the officer, the same one who’d been on duty earlier that morning, offered. Collectively, the crowd looked at the policeman, and he shrugged. “Hey, just trying to help out. It’s been a long day on call.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, nudging Dad with my knee. “For the handcuffs.”

“But not for the rest?”

“Just the lying part.”

He grunted, shoving his glasses up to pinch his nose. “I guess we’re really into overreacting in this family, huh?”

Henry Graves scribbled furiously on a legal pad. “Can I quote that? Are you saying you see the error of your ways, Mr. Allen?” he asked.

“How do they find out this stuff?” Dad asked.

“He came to see my uncle first,” Dylan answered sheepishly.

I stilled, expecting Dad to brush Dylan off, but he didn’t. Glancing at the guy next to me, he nodded once, quick, like he was making a decision he’d decided not to share just yet.

“I was talking about the handcuffs, Henry,” Dad called out, “but, yes, I’ll also admit to seeing the error of my ways. Whatever looks good in print. You’ll distort it anyway.” Brows arched, he added, “That still doesn’t get my daughter off the hook for lying.”

I groaned. “How long am I grounded?” I asked.

“We’ll discuss that later.” He threw a look at the police officer. “Can you get these handcuffs off of her now?”

“Wait!” Henry cried. “I haven’t gotten a picture yet.”

“Now!” Dad repeated.

The officer rushed forward, moving the crowd back to get close to my wrist. Pulling something out of his belt, he fiddled with the cuffs, and they popped open, Henry Graves snapping pictures in the background.

“Just so you know, I talked to your mom on the phone before I came out here,” Dad revealed, his gaze dropping to my wrist. “She said a few things I probably should have listened to last night.” His head shook, his gaze filling with affection. “You’re a lot like your mom, you know that? Stephanie has my temperament, but you … your mom always wanted to change the world, and she made a lot of noise trying. Even about the smallest things.”

Exhaling, Dad slid his gaze to Dylan. “I’m sorry, son, I made assumptions I shouldn’t have made, and I know you helped my daughter out of a bad situation last night, but a little word to the wise. The best way to a dad’s heart isn’t keeping his daughter out late doing God knows what.”

Dylan cleared his throat, avoiding Dad’s gaze. “Yes, sir.”

“And next time you handcuff yourself to something,” Dad told me, “can you make it about something a little more sensible than boys?”

“What about that concert I’ve been really wanting to go to—” I began.

“That’s not funny,” Dad inserted.

“It is,” I protested, holding up two fingers, pinching them close together. “Just a scoshe.”

Dad started to shake his head, but then stopped, his gaze finding mine. All serious again. “I hope you know that I wouldn’t have done all of this,” he waved at the dispersing crowd, “if I didn’t care. With everything with Stephanie, I know it probably seems like we’ve forgotten you. Like we pushed all of these rules on you, stuck you in a corner, and then got busy with other stuff. I need to work harder at being more sociable.”

My throat tightened because that’s exactly what it felt like. “I know you care,” I replied after a moment, smiling to lighten his mood.

Dad’s answering grin was tight, his gaze passing from Dylan to me to Dylan. “No funny business, hear? You stay out here if you two want to talk. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait.” He glanced at me. “You need to get your mom’s car back, Tori.”

I saluted him, winking.

Dad threw his eyes skyward, leaving to return to his office, which, wouldn’t you know it, had a perfect view of the street.

My gaze found Dylan’s, and then shied away, the adrenaline high I’d been on gone, leaving me nervous and vulnerable.

“Want to sit with me?” Dylan asked.

He sat on the curb, patting the spot next to him. I joined him, my arms wrapping around my knees.

“Your dad isn’t so bad,” Dylan muttered.

My gaze shot to his face, startled. “Not that I don’t love my dad, but he threatened your uncle.”

“Because he loves you,” Dylan replied. “I was in the bowling alley when he came in. His voice shook the entire time he talked to my uncle. It was a weak threat. Uncle Philip is three payments behind, but he’s catching up. Part of that is my fault, too.”

“You blame yourself a lot,” I noted.

He smiled softly. “Yeah, I know. Years of my mom’s boyfriends telling me I’m no good, I guess.”

Silence.

“Why is your uncle your fault?” I asked, breaking the quiet moment.