Love's Learning Curve (19 page)

“Want to?” she asks, giggling when the ship loops again, and the screams replay again.

I look up at the ship again before answering, completely resolved and secure in making the right decision for her.  Looking back at her, I shake my head. “Charlie… hell to the fuck—no.  You could slip right out of those shoulder harnesses,” I tell her with no regrets.  That ride doesn’t look safe enough for her.  No chance.  If I were with the guys, I wouldn’t think twice about going on it, but I also don’t feel the same responsibility to keep them safe like I do with Charlie.  I can’t protect her if something went wrong and I’m strapped into that shoulder harness.

I attempt to pull her away from the ride of death, but she plants her feet and tugs me back.  “Are you scared, Mr. Hotshot baseball boy?” she teases. 

She’s lost her damn mind.  I’m starting to think that maybe her parents had good reason to shelter her and keep her locked away.  She’s a danger to herself.   “Buttercup, I’m not scared of anything except your tiny shoulders sliding out of that harness and you falling to your death while I watch helplessly.”

She pulls away, and the feisty Charlie that I’d almost convinced myself I imagined comes out again for the first time since the little running stunt.  I’m still not sure she realizes I was on the bike that day.  I’m okay with not confirming that right now since, for now, she seems to like me, and I don’t want to screw that up.

Trying to be tough, she glares while pointing at the sign showing the minimum height restrictions.  The funny thing is she’s not mad right now, at least not like before.  It’s blatantly obvious to me that she’s seconds from laughing her ass off and just trying to play it off.  “Listen here, tough guy.  I might be smaller than you are, but I do meet the size requirements according to that chart.” Then tossing her head in the direction of the ride where the passengers are coming off the ramp.  “AND … if you take a look over there, you’ll see kids much smaller than I am who just got off that ride, and THEY SURVIVED!”

She has a point, but it’s still a lost cause.  I’d love to show her exactly how much of a tough guy I really am, but the humor of the situation is getting the better of me and I can’t keep the grin off my face long enough to play it off.  I pull her back to my arms feeling relieved to have the connection to her restored and lean down so that my lips are physically touching her ear as I respond.  “Listen, buttercup, this feisty act is doing nothing to help the massive hard-on I’ve been dealing with all day just from being in the presence of your cuteness.  But here’s how the rest of the night will play out.  One, we’re going to continue on our path to the Sweet’s Shack for the apple I promised you for later.  When you eat that apple tomorrow, you’ll be thinking about me while you do it, and that makes me very happy.  Two, I’m going to hold you as close to me as possible all night, stealing every single kiss I can get until I deliver you safely home.  Three, if you’re not interested in the above two plans, I’ll gladly show you exactly how tough I really am and toss you over my shoulder and carry you away from that death trap.”

When I finish, she looks up, and when her eyes meet mine, I almost tell her to forget all the plans and drag her back to the Ferris wheel.  Her cheeks are flush and instead of looking angry or scared, she looks hot, bothered, and very much ready for plan c. 

“Okay, hotshot. We’ll stick to your agenda for tonight, but it’ll cost you a kiss before we put the plan in action.”  I’ve never been so happy to negotiate in my life.  So I gladly pay my dues and then move away from the temptations of the death trap.

My phone vibrates in my wristlet again, which is a little weird.  Selfishly, with the night coming to an end, I didn’t want to sacrifice any time with Ty to take calls.  The last hour has progressed exactly as he said it would.   And I must admit I’ve never been happier to be in the presence of a thief.   I hope he steals more kisses before this night is over.

I’m blissfully high on happiness.  I can’t believe how perfect this night has been.  Everything happens for a reason, so maybe being held captive in my family’s tower of publicity stunts was really for the best.  Waiting this long for a real first date seemed borderline torture all these years, and I’ve resented my mother for it on countless occasions, but now, I feel like I should thank her.

After Ty closes my door and walks around to the driver’s side, I take a brief second to glance at my phone.  I pull out my phone knowing it’s probably Morgan freaking out that I’m not home yet since it’s well after midnight.  I unlock the screen using my thumbprint and my heart sinks to my feet when the notification pops up for preview.  The high that moments ago would have taken a natural disaster to sweep away is now only a memory.

Mother: Prancing around at some cheap carnival like a trashy little tramp, after everything else you’ve done in the last 24 hours is just perfect, Charlotte Maryland Baker. I can’t believe you’d stoop this low.  You were raised with class and wealth, yet you’d prefer to live like low-class scum.  Do you have any idea how many girls would kill to be in your shoes, you little bitch?  You’re incredibly unappreciative of all the luxuries you’ve been handed.  What are you trying to prove?  You’ll soon learn the hard lessons of poverty when you become the trash you are working hard to achieve if you don’t get your act together.  Just you wait until I have a word with your father.  This will break his heart.  The event announcing your father’s candidacy is a week from Wednesday.  I shouldn’t have to ask you to choose knowing your antics will destroy everything.  I expect you to make the right decision.

I barely even hear the sound of the driver’s side door opening and closing, but I know he’s now beside me, and I can’t look at him now.  I’ll never be able to explain or justify the drastic change in my mood.  But more importantly, I’ll never be able to explain why I can’t see him again.  She’ll never allow me to be happy.  She’ll never accept my need to live my own life because, after all, I was born to serve a purpose and it wasn’t to find my own life’s purpose.

I feel his gentle touch as he places his hand on my leg to attempt to comfort me, and I don’t acknowledge it or even look in his direction.  I can’t.  I’m doing everything I can to hold it together right now.  It’s hard enough to restrain the tears threatening to fall without having to see his reaction when I tell him what needs to be said.  My whole life I’ve been trained to bury my feelings and I’ve excelled at the task.  This is different.  Tonight, I experienced living in a way I’ve only dreamed about.  The small taste of freedom will never be enough.  The memories alone of it won’t be enough to carry me.  The persona of the daughter of the future presidential hopeful will never be enough for the real me.  The real me hates the acting.  The real me hates the lies.  The real me hates the daughter of the future presidential hopeful and everything she represents.

Every extra second feeling the undeserved gentleness of his touch on my leg makes it all the more painful.  The burns of unshed tears build rapidly moving them closer to the surface as I attempt to swallow the lump permanently attached to my throat and preventing me from speaking—from pleading with him to remove his hand.  The Charlie he knows doesn’t deserve his kindness because she’s a coward.

“Charlie.  Buttercup?  What’s wrong?”  His voice, edged with panic, fills the closed space around us.  I feel like it may suffocate me, but I can’t move.  I won’t take my eyes off the screen.  I need the strength from my mother’s hateful words to force me to do what needs to be done.

I can’t put my phone away, and I can’t hold on to the emotions anymore.  I finally have something to lose, and I’m only seconds from losing it.  The memories of tonight will forever be tainted, and the resentment I feel will grow.  I’m angry and hurt, but it has nothing to do with her words—it’s what she’s taking from me. 

Digging deep, I pull strength from my mother’s hatred and finally drop the phone into my lap as if it were on fire.  I sink further into the seat turning my head toward the window just as a lone tear escapes.  I don’t have the strength to try to disguise it.  I hate myself a little more for not being able to hold it in until I am away from the eyes of others.  I work hard not to show this weakness.  I don’t want to cry. I don’t want him to see this side of me.

“Please … just take me home,” I plead.

Moving quickly, he snatches the phone from my lap before I can stop him.  I watch in horror knowing he sees my biggest flaws in that message.  He looks from me to my phone, then back and forth numerous times.  The worry that he showed moments ago is now long gone.  There’s no mistaking the anger radiating through every part of him.

The phone flies to the floorboard at my feet.  Like a Tasmanian devil, my seat belt is yanked off, and I’m pulled across the bench seat and hoisted into his lap to straddle him.  He presses my face into his chest roughly, but the softness of his whispers breaks me.  I’m done.  The lone tear has found friends, and together, they trail from eyes. 

“I’m so sorry.  I’m so, so sorry,” I cry into his chest as my body shudders in his arms.

“Shhh … it’ll be okay.  Please, calm down.  I’ll make this better, babe,” he tells me softly into my hair-covered ear. 

“I’m so sorry, Charlie.  It’s killing me.  Tell me what’s happened so I can help fix this.  Why would your mother send that ...” He pauses, and I feel his body tense up as he pushes me off his chest so that he can look at me before finishing.  “... that fucking garbage to her kid?”

It takes several minutes before I’m able to gain some control over myself, but through it all, he never stops comforting me by pulling me to his chest, rubbing my back, and trying to look in my eyes.  He cares more than he should, and I don’t understand that.  My heart is shattering, and I ache to go back to before this.  I want to rewind and experience it all again so I can be the girl full of life for him and not the mess that I really am. 

I can’t even locate the part of my heart that was earlier flooded with happiness.  The world that he opened for me is unforgettable, but it’s gone.

My mind flashes a memory of him looking at me with his trademark side-smile and wink leaving the recognizable feeling of emptiness and defeat.  She’s won.  She’ll always win, and I mentally slap myself for feeling as if I had the upper hand earlier.  I know better than to taunt her, and I did it anyway.  She’s more dangerous than the strongest storm when she’s angry, and she’ll have no regrets about the destruction she brings to get what she wants.

He’s been nothing short of exceptional to me, and I can’t pull him into her wrath.  Dreaming about a future with him was far-fetched and only wasted my energy.  I can see that now that I’ve been forced back to reality.  I should have been dreaming that my mother would release her claws long enough to allow space for me to live my own dreams, but what a joke that is.

I push myself off his body, and he loosens his tight grip on me as I lean back and try to wipe away the evidence of my breakdown.  His eyes show the battle he’s fighting with his own emotions between fury and concern.  He brings his hands up to my cheeks helping to wipe away the wetness.

He doesn’t need to plead for an explanation anymore.  I can easily see the lingering questions in his eyes and feel it in his touch.

I sigh, folding my cheek into his hand.  “I’m sorry,” I begin my confession.  “You already knew that my mother was upset about the party last night.  I told you that this morning.”  I pause as his arms relax and move from my cheeks to rest on my shoulders.  “She also knows about the motorcycle ride, and that didn’t go over well either.  I responded to her earlier messages being respectful but strong.  I tried forcing her hand at allowing my independence.  She hasn’t responded all day, until now.  Until she saw my posts on Instagram.”

I wait for it all to sink in.  I look for signs of him understanding what occurred to allow me to break the news that we’ll never work, and she’ll never allow this, but they never come.

His tone sends a quiver through me that’s chilling.  His anger hasn’t dissipated.  “I know what was said.  I read the texts, Charlotte.  My question still remains …”  He lingers a bit, and I see a glimpse of pity.  “Why?  Why would any mother speak such hatred to her daughter … a daughter like you, who’s fucking incredible?  Why would she threaten you?  Please explain this to me before I explode.”