Let Me Know (8 page)

I turn on the shower and step into the tub. Hot water washes away evidence of my equally hot lovemaking session with Marcus. I stay under the spray, reminiscing about the steamiest parts of last night. I’m not even sure why I’m worried what Mom will think. I mean, I am eighteen now. Why wouldn’t I be having sex with my boyfriend?

A voice in the back of my head whispers, “Good luck with that argument.”

After taking longer in the shower than I need, I get changed, dry my hair, and put on makeup. Knowing I can’t stall any longer, as I’ll eventually have to face Mom, I drag myself downstairs.

Mom and Marcus are sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, when I enter. “Morning,” I say in an overly bright voice.

Marcus unfolds from his chair and kisses my cheek. “Did you leave me any hot water?” His back faces Mom, so she can’t see the smirk on his face.

“Of course,” I singsong, then I feel like a bigger idiot for sounding so phony.

“Good, but I still won’t be long.” He turns to my mom. “Thanks, Sarah, for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome.”

Pretending not to watch his sexy butt as he leaves the room, I pour myself a mug, and add a healthy helping of skim milk and sugar. Once I’m finished stirring it, taking longer than necessary, I join Mom at the table.

“Sleep well?” Mom asks, giving me a pointed look.

I smile, even though inside I’m shrinking from embarrassment. “Yes. I didn’t have any nightmares.” I sip my coffee, anything to avoid eye contact.

“I can imagine you didn’t,” she says, adding to the already awkward moment. At least I don’t have to worry about
the
talk. She’s already had it with me. And so has Grandma. “I know you care about him—”

“I love him.”

“You loved Trent too.”

I frown. “And that’s a problem?” I hope she’s not about to lecture me on soul mates and how we only get one real love. I thought she was more practical than that.

“You’re young, Amber. You’ll fall in love a few times before finding the right guy.”

I put the mug down harder than planned. Hot liquid sloshes over the rim and burns my hand. I ignore the brief flash of pain. “What makes you so sure he’s not the right guy?”

She opens her mouth to say something, pauses, then says what’s really on her mind. “He’s got a criminal record.”

“No he doesn’t. His stepfather’s the one who shot him. Marcus was protecting someone.” Alejandro. I’ve explained this before, minus the details she doesn’t need to know.

“Amber, he’s spent time in juvenile detention.”

I stare at my coffee, unsure what I’m supposed to say. I had no idea. But the boy who spent time in juvie is not the man I’m in love with. That boy was abused and in pain. The man I’m in love with is smart and caring. He risked his life for Alejandro. He was willing to risk his life for me when I thought Paul was going to kill him for being my boyfriend.

“Whatever he did wrong in the past is no longer relevant,” I say. “Or at least it isn’t relevant to me.”

“Maybe it should be.”

Chapter Eight

Marcus

“Amber, he’s spent time in juvenile detention.”

My breath stalls in my chest, not daring to let them know I’m still here. I’d gone to my room to get a change of clothing and was walking past when I heard those dreaded words. I press back against the hallway wall, away from where they can see me.

At first neither of them says anything, then Amber speaks, her voice soft and trusting. “Whatever he did wrong in the past is no longer relevant. Or at least it isn’t relevant to me.”

“Maybe it should be,” her mom replies.

I’ve always thought Amber is too good for me, and deep down I know there’s a good chance what we have between us won’t last forever. When I mentioned this morning about having kids, I skipped the part about the only person I could see being the mother of my kids is Amber. There is no one else for me.

Never has been.

But as her mom pointed out, Amber has loved before. She’s able to connect with people in a way I’m not. I’m waiting for the moment when she wakes up and realizes she can do better without me. She doesn’t need me around to feel alive.

The thought of that feels like someone’s playing basketball with my heart and bouncing it against my ribs. Like the drills we used to do against the wall when practicing our passes.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.

Now that I know their opinions, I don’t bother sticking around. I go upstairs and have a shower, in a bathroom that feels vastly empty, yet full of things that remind me of Amber, most notably the strawberry scent of her hair.

Knowing that she’s waiting for me, knowing my past makes no difference to her, at least for now, and knowing that her mom doesn’t trust me, I hurry to get ready. Every second I’m away from Amber is two seconds too long.

When I rejoin them, Amber’s cooking what smells like eggs. I long to wrap my arms around her and press my body against her back, but considering her mother’s at the table, drinking coffee, and considering their earlier conversation, I stroll over to Amber and lean against the kitchen counter instead.

“Do you like omelets?” she asks, peering up through her long dark lashes.

I’ve never eaten them before. Mom isn’t one for cooking, and it’s not the kind of food Ryan and I would have ever made. “I love them.”

She smiles, making the lie worth it. I’d do anything to see that smile. With the fucked-up psychopath’s trial rapidly approaching, Amber is smiling less than before. Even with therapy, her nightmares are frequent. Her therapist told her it’s not unexpected. It’s going to take a while before things improve, especially given the stress of the trial.

I hope the therapist is right that it’s just a matter of time.

Amber turns off the burner, and with a spatula, slides the omelet out of the fry pan. It falls apart midair and lands in a pile on the plate.

She grins at me as though she’s made a prize-winning meal, looking neither surprised nor disappointed the omelet didn’t turn out perfect. A first for Amber. With everything she does, it’s like she wants to be the best.

“Here you go,” she says, handing me the plate.

“Thanks.” Perfect or not, I don’t care. I’m hungry either way.

We sit at the table, across from her mother. Even though it’s Christmas and everyone is trying to be cheerful, sadness sits in the air like a dense fog. For all of us.

Amber’s mom keeps shooting my chest sad glances, but her gaze never wanders to the empty chair next to her. Shit. Just my luck that I sat in Michael’s seat.

Breakfast falls into a stilted silence. None of us seems too sure what to say. The small talk we started fades, and we focus on our food instead. I can’t tell if the tension is because of Amber and her mother’s earlier discussion, or if it’s because Michael will never spend Christmas with them again.

Or both.

I’m relieved once we’re finished and Amber and I have cleared the table. Like a little girl who’s been waiting all night to open her presents, Amber grins and tugs me into the living room. The place is bigger than Chase’s and my apartment. But unlike our apartment, nothing is secondhand. Even the expensive mismatched furniture somehow matches, as if it were designed that way.

Originally the plan was to celebrate Christmas at Amber’s grandmother’s house. Somewhere between now and the last time we were here, her mom decorated a tree. It’s nothing like the scrawny trees Ryan and I used to get. Those resembled something Charlie Brown would have chopped down. This tree is straight from a Hallmark card, as are the decorations.

Amber slips her arms around my neck and kisses me. It’s neither a quick kiss nor one filled with hunger and want. This kiss is slow and pure, the touch of a million unspoken promises.

Craving her body pressed against mine, I pull her to me. It’s been a couple of hours since we last made love and I already miss every part of her, miss every erotic sound she makes.

A polite cough startles me from behind. Amber and I jerk apart. I don’t know about my expression, but if it’s anything like Amber’s, then guilt’s written all over it.

“Should we get started?” her mom asks, resigned, looking between us.

We both nod. I take hold of Amber’s hand, and she leads me to the black leather couch. I sit at one end and sink back against the under-stuffed cushion. Her mom drops onto the armchair across from me.

Amber searches under the tree for a second before handing me and her mom each a gift. Mine is the size of a shoe box, but it’s too light to be actual shoes. I point to the one I want her to open first. The one from me.

She joins me on the couch, close enough so our knees touch. That’s as close as I dare go with her mom in the room. “You open yours first,” I murmur in her ear. Her mom’s too busy with her own present to pay attention to us. I drape my arm across the back of the couch. It barely touches Amber’s shoulders. She snuggles closer. A sense of victory parades through me.

Her hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail, exposing the soft skin of her neck. The soft skin I love to nibble and tease. My dick twitches at the memory of doing exactly that a few hours ago.

I tear my gaze away from her neck and watch as Amber rips away the wrapping paper from her gift. She opens the box and a small gasp breaks free from between her pink-glossed lips.

“It’s beautiful.” She picks up the delicate silver bracelet with the two small charms: a lotus flower and a heart.

“I love how strong you are and how strong you make me,” I say, voice low. Until Amber, I always thought I was strong. Strong enough to survive the crap Frank had put me through. But my idea of strong was screwing girls and keeping my wall up. As long as no one touched my heart, I was good. Until I met Amber, I didn’t realize how wrong I was and what it really meant to be strong.

Amber holds out her right wrist. “Can you do it up for me?”

With slightly shaky fingers, I fasten it. The bracelet is an odd contrast to the thick scars from when the sick psychopath handcuffed her to the basement wall. That’s also why I bought it for her. Every time she wears it, I want her to think about me and not him. He’s her past.

I’m her future.

She leans in and kisses my cheek. “I love it. Thanks.” Her warm breath brushes my ear. “And I love you.” Before I can say anything, she nudges the gift on my lap. “Okay, your turn.” In a move I find adorable on her, she chews her lower lip.

I stare at my present for several long moments. It’s like I’ve forgotten what I’m supposed to do with it.

Amber laughs softly. Shit, I could get lost listening to the sound of her laughter. “Tradition dictates you open it,” she says. “The real gift is inside.”

I tear off the paper and open the box. Inside is a bottle of edible body lotion—a gift I assume she didn’t mean for her mom to see. I leave it in there. There’s also a framed close-up photo of the two of us, locked in a private moment, about to kiss. From what I can tell based on the blurred background, we were outside at the time.

“Where did you get this?” I ask.

“A girl in my dorm is a photographer. She asked me if I wanted a copy. I also have one in my dorm room.”

If Amber’s past hadn’t been filled with the horror of last spring, I would have made some wiseass comment about the girl stalking us. Instead, I say, “It’s perfect.” And it is. The picture shows the real us, with our walls down. The way we are when we’re together.

Amber removes the picture. Underneath is a smaller box, similar to the one her bracelet came in. I lift it out and open it. Inside is a silver dog tag hanging from a narrow chain, with the words
Forever Yours
etched on one side.

“Turn it over.” She chews on her lip again.

On the other side is a tribal design of an eagle, like the falcon tattoo on my bicep.

“The eagle is a symbol of inner strength and healing,” she explains.

“Healing?”

“You’ve been helping me heal, but I’m not the only one who has to. You do too.”

Somehow, I get the feeling she’s not referring to my shoulder. “Thank you. I love it.” And I do. Because she gets me. Other than Chase and Ryan, no one else has figured me out the way she has. While I once would have felt open and raw if someone else had made that observation, with Amber I feel safe. She’s my safe.

Amber helps me put it on. With it against my chest, next to where my heart beats, it’s as though part of her is now part of me. I kiss her temple. She smiles back, and once again I see the girl the psychopath almost destroyed. The girl Trent used to see all the time. The girl I hope to see more of once the trial is over, and she’s finally released from her nightmare.

Amber shows her mom what I gave her, and explains the meaning behind the lotus flower. How it symbolizes courage and awakening as the seed starts at the bottom of the murky pond and grows toward the light. By the time it hits the surface, it becomes the beautiful flower we see. Like the girl next to me—beautiful both inside and out.

Her mother smiles, and I can tell she sees her daughter the same way I do. After everything Amber went through with the psychopath, she was broken—and still is. But instead of sinking into the darkness like many people would, she held on to the light inside her. It’s that light about her that I love. The light that saved me like it saved her.

I kiss her temple again to tell her that. Without her inner light, I’d be lost. I’d still be heading down the same self-destructive path I’d been living for as long as I can remember.

We continue opening the presents. Amber’s mom gives me a blue dress shirt. I give her scented candles. Amber receives clothes and gift cards, none of which seem right for the girl I love, only her mom doesn’t realize it.

After we’re finished, Amber and I head to Emma’s house. It’s large like Amber’s home, but there’s an apartment above the garage, which is where we’re meeting up with Emma, so she left it unlocked for us. Inside, the place is tidy and is more a bachelor pad than an apartment. The twin bed is pushed against one wall and is covered with pillows, like a couch. There’s also a desk, TV, and posters of players from the Chicago Bulls. If the previous occupant hadn’t had a girlfriend, posters of cheerleaders and models would no doubt also be plastered on the walls.

Amber’s gaze wanders around the room. A mix of emotions twist on her face and her eyes gloss over. A jealousy I have no right feeling pinches inside me...I shove it aside.

She sniffs and walks to the desk. I remain by the door, unsure what I should do. Do I let her have a few moments alone, to once again grieve for her dead boyfriend? Or do I hold her, and let her cry on my shoulder?

The need to comfort her overrules all other thoughts. I gather her in my arms, her back pressed against my chest. She’s holding a picture of her, Emma and Trent, all smiling at the camera. It’s the same photo I saw in Emma’s dorm room last term, when I almost hooked up with her at a party. Back before I started to tutor Amber in math.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice filled with tears. “This is the first time I’ve been in his room since he died.”

“It’s okay. You loved him. His death won’t change that.”

“But it’s not fair to you.”

I hold her a little tighter. “It doesn’t matter. I know how you feel about me.” And hopefully one day my love for her will help heal the hole in her heart.

I can’t even be pissed at her boyfriend for hurting her, as much as I want to. It wasn’t his fault. And if he were alive, she’d be in his arms, and I would be the one never knowing what it felt like to be understood, to be loved.

She twists in my arms to face me and gives me a weak smile. “Thank you for being here for me.”

I run the pad of my thumb across her cheek, wiping away the tears. “Anytime.” I lean down to kiss the remaining damp streaks, but before my lips make contact, the apartment door clicks opens.

We turn around, Amber still in my arms. Releasing her, I step back, suddenly feeling awkward holding her while in her old boyfriend’s room, even though it shouldn’t bother me. I didn’t know him.

“Guess I should have knocked first,” Emma says, looking much smaller than normal, which is hard to believe given she’s just shy of six feet.

Amber hugs her best friend. Emma holds on to her tightly, as if that’s the only thing keeping her together.

They separate and Emma’s gaze roams the room. “My parents refuse to come in here.” She keeps looking around. “After he died, I used to curl up on his bed whenever I couldn’t sleep. My parents never knew. They still don’t.” She shrugs, looking back at us. “That sounds kinda crazy, huh?”

“No crazier than me sleeping with Michael and Trent’s old T-shirts,” Amber says. “Or wearing Trent’s hoodie all the time, because I couldn’t cope without a part of him always being with me.”

The last part is a kick in the stomach, until Amber reaches out and squeezes my hand. I remember that hoodie. She used to wear it pretty much all the time when we first started hanging out. Now she only occasionally wears it.

“I brought something with me.” Emma pulls out a bottle of rum and a two-liter bottle of Coke from her messenger bag. “I thought we could do a toast or something to our brothers.”