Promise (12 page)

By Thanksgiving, we knew all of each other's
favorite everything…colors, bands, authors, actors and actresses,
food, ice cream flavors, books…. All the top-layer stuff that
really had little to do with who we were and why…the stuff that
made us real. Little hints and nuggets could be gleaned from these
surface subjects, but they didn't touch the deep, inner-workings of
our hearts or souls and definitely had nothing to do with the
secrets we kept and pain we hid. I knew, though, it was only a
matter of time before those things came out.

And when they did…well, it certainly didn't
happen the way I could have ever expected.

Chapter 8

"Owen and I could have done that," Tristan
said as Mom and I climbed step-ladders in the bookstore's expansive
front window, a string of Christmas lights stretched between
us.

It was the night before Thanksgiving and
Tristan and I had spent the day helping Mom and Owen prepare for
the holiday rush. Mom didn't believe in selling Christmas before
Halloween or even Thanksgiving, so here we were, nine o'clock at
night, still decorating. Nearly finished, Mom had just sent Owen
home. Not two minutes ago we had two perfectly able—and perfectly
tall—men to hang the lights. But this was Mom's way of making sure
everyone (well, Tristan specifically) knew we depended on no
one.

"Alexis and I are quite capable of doing
this," Mom replied. "In fact, you can go home, too, Tristan."

"Nah, I'll stay. Although, we could be done a
lot faster if you didn't do it the hard way," he said as he picked
up empty boxes that had held the decorations.

Mom mumbled something under her breath, but
all I caught was "normal" and "mainstream." Tristan chuckled as if
he heard her clearly, though he was at least twenty feet farther
away from her than I was.

I opened my mouth to ask what that was all
about when a pair of headlights racing down the street distracted
me. The shops on Fifth Street closed hours ago. I could see lights
of restaurants and bars down another block, but our block was
deserted, except for this one car. So I didn't understand when the
headlights suddenly swerved, arcing right into the store's window.
Then I realized the car barreled straight for us.

"
Mom!
" I shrieked without
thinking.

The car continued racing right at us, way too
fast to stop in time.

"Alexis!
Jump!
" Mom yelled.

Before we even had a chance to jump, though,
we both flew off the ladders and into Tristan's arms. I stared
wide-eyed like a deer caught in headlights—literally—my mind
somehow registering several things at once. When the car was about
twenty yards away, still going way too fast, a light flashed on
something directly to the right of it. It was the driver's door,
swinging open. Then Owen, who had just left through the back door,
stood in the street, but out of the car's path. He thrust his hands
out toward the car as if willing it to stop. The driver must have
finally slammed on the brakes—the tires squealed as it nearly
stopped just before crashing into the store.

And then it hit. Sliding into the window.
Glass imploding.

Mom and I tucked our faces into Tristan's
shoulders. He bent over to shield us. Glass chinked and shattered
as it rained to the floor around us.

When it was finally quiet, I lifted my face
and immediately smelled the night air, mixed with lingering exhaust
fumes. The orange car sat quietly only a couple of feet inside the
shop—right where Mom and I had been only seconds earlier. The
ladders lay on their sides, part of one under the car, as well as
the Christmas tree and fake presents we'd just set up.

"That was intense," Tristan muttered as he
straightened up. "You two okay?"

Mom shook her head, not to answer but to
shake her hair out. A couple of small pieces of glass hit the
floor. "I'm fine."

She twisted in Tristan's arm and he let her
go. I noticed pink lines on her arms—minor scratches already
healed. She healed much faster than I did. I hoped Tristan didn't
catch that.

"Uh, yeah, I think I am," I breathed. "Are
you?"

I started to look up at him, to make sure he
wasn't cut anywhere, when Mom sucked her breath, distracting
me.

"Alexis, honey, don't move," she instructed,
her words slow and deliberate, as she moved to my right between me
and the car. Tristan cupped his hand against the side of my face
and tilted it up toward his before I could see what had her
enraptured. He pulled me tighter into him.

"Just look at me," he said quietly.

"What's going on?" I whispered, afraid to
know. Tristan held my eyes with his and I could tell by his
expression it wasn't good.

I immediately thought of the driver and the
car door swinging open just before impact.
Did he fly out of the
car? Is he
under
the car?
My stomach lurched at the
thought.

"It's all right. It's not in an artery or
anything," Mom said and then a sharp pain tore through my
thigh.

"Ouch! Son of a
witch
!" I screamed,
trying to twist myself free, but not able to in Tristan's tight
clutch.

I looked over my shoulder and Mom held a
shard of glass at least five inches long and two inches wide, half
of it covered in blood. My blood.

In a strange, delayed reaction, the pain
suddenly screamed up and down my leg. Then more stabs and throbs in
my arms and one on my head. A tickling sensation ran down the back
of my head and I lifted my hand to it. When I pulled it away, blood
coated the tips of my fingers. I glanced up at Tristan while
balling my hand into a fist to hide the blood. I could tell he'd
already seen it, though.
This is so not good
.

"Police," he said.

"Huh?"

"
Police
, Alexis, you need to get out
of here," Mom said.

It finally registered when I heard the sirens
a few seconds later, still several blocks away.
Oh, crap!
Witnesses!
I felt the cuts on my arms already starting to
heal.

"Everyone okay?" Owen called from outside.
Not Owen, too!

"We're fine, Owen. Check on the driver and
anyone else in the car," Mom called back. She lowered her voice.
"Tristan, can you take care of Alexis?"

"Yes, I'll take her home."

"
Sophia
…!"

She ignored me. "Are you sure, Tristan?
There's a lot of blood…."

"I'm fine, Sophia. I love her. She'll be fine
with me."

I heard the confidence in his voice, but
hardly paid attention to the meaning of the words. Except for that
one phrase.
He
loves
me?!
He'd never said that
before. While I rolled that over in my mind, wondering why he felt
the need to say it
now
, they stared at each other for what
seemed like several minutes, but it had to have been only a second
or two. Then Mom nodded.

"Get her home, then," she said. I
panicked.

"Sophia, please,
no
!" I begged her as
Tristan bent down to gently lift me in a cradled position.

What the heck is she thinking? How could
she let me go with him?
She knew this was my biggest issue.

"Honey, I have to stay here and take care of
this mess. Tristan will take care of you. Don't worry. He'll be
fine with it all."

I didn't have a chance to argue. She already
hopped onto the car's hood to get through the window and help Owen
with the driver, and Tristan already walked swiftly toward the back
of the store, easily carrying me like I was nothing but a sack of
feathers. There was no real argument, anyway. Mom obviously had to
stay and I couldn't exactly walk home. Not yet, anyway, and there
was no time to wait—the sirens wailed just a block or two away
now.

My head and leg throbbed with each step
Tristan took. I bit my lip, fighting the tears and trying to keep a
straight face as we exited through the back door. I knew from
previous experience to pretend like nothing was as bad as it
looked, so it wouldn't seem quite so bizarre when it healed
freakishly fast.

Tristan set me down on my feet at the bike
and I realized quickly I couldn't put any weight on my right leg.
He pulled off his t-shirt and tore a sleeve off, bunching it up and
giving it to me. "For your head."

I held the wadded cloth against the cut on my
head while he carefully tied the rest of the shirt around my lower
thigh, padding as much as he could against the cut, about two
inches above my knee, on the outside of my thigh. I couldn't help
the winces of pain.

"Are you okay to ride?"

"Yeah," I mumbled, "it's not far."

I couldn't even enjoy the fact that I leaned
against his bare back, my arms around his bare waist, as panic and
pain fought with each other on the short ride home. The smaller
cuts on my arms were already closing. The bigger gash in my thigh
hurt like hell, so I knew it would take longer—I could feel the
shard had cut through deep, probably severing tendons or muscles. I
squeezed my eyes shut to keep the tears at bay and tried to focus
on a plan. The four-block ride wasn't long enough, though. Too
soon, Tristan lifted me off the bike and carried me inside.

"Um…" My voice came out in a rough whisper.
"Bathroom."

He carefully set me down on the tub's edge
and I rearranged his sleeve to find a clean section and pressed it
against my head. He opened the cabinet under the sink and while his
back was to me, I pulled the sleeve off my head again and quickly
glanced at it. It came away clean. I sighed.
Why do I have to be
such a freak?

"Should we use these towels?" he asked,
holding up Mom's pretty guest towels. Why we had them, I didn't
know—we never had guests. But I saw the opportunity and seized
it.

"Get the old ones in the kitchen, in the
broom closet. Sophia'd kill me if I ruined her good ones."

As soon as he was in the hallway, I lunged
forward to shut the bathroom door, quickly locking it before he
realized what I'd done. I grabbed a towel—an everyday one, just in
case Mom really would mind—and crawled to the bathtub. Tristan
pounded on the door.

"Alexis! What are you doing?"

"Um…going to the bathroom?" I hated that it
sounded like a question.

He didn't respond at first. I turned the tub
faucet on just enough to dampen the towel and started cleaning my
arms to see the damage. Almost all the cuts were completely gone,
no evidence at all they ever existed. A few that must have been
deeper were just red jags. They'd disappear, too, within ten
minutes or so.

"Can I come in now?" Tristan called through
the door.

"You know what…I'm fine," I said, trying hard
to make my voice sound right. "You can go now. I can take care of
this. It's really not that bad."

Guilt stabbed at me. I hated lying to him. I
didn't want to hide things anymore, even this. I had the urge to
just let him watch…see the healing process with his own eyes. He
must have heard the lie in my voice.

"You are not fine. Let me in!" He pounded on
the door again.

Damn it!
I was precisely at the moment
I'd been dreading and desiring at the same time. I wanted Tristan
to know everything about me, but I was actually
scared
of
his reaction—more scared than anything that already happened
tonight.
Will he call me a freak, too? Will he
leave
me?
The tears finally welled in my eyes, not just from the
physical pain, but also from knowing the emotional pain that would
cut even deeper.

Ignoring his pleas, I took the wrap off my
thigh, needing to see how bad it was before I decided what to do.
The pain screamed as I twisted my body and bent my leg at an odd
angle to see.
Ugh
. A wave of nausea rolled over me.

The shard must have gone in at an angle,
because the gash was at least three inches long and jagged. I
dabbed it with Tristan's shirt and saw dark red meat. I was afraid
if I looked too closely, I might see the bone, but blood flooded
back to the surface, hiding the worst of it.

"Alexis, I'll break this door down if you
don't let me in
now
!"

I sighed. No question he could do it, surely
on his first try, even. I couldn't fight the tears any longer and
they fell down my cheek, one by one. I crawled over to the door,
holding his blood-soaked shirt back against my thigh.

"Tristan?" I said through the door, just loud
enough to be heard without straining. I heard him slide down the
door to my level.

"What, Alexis? Are you okay?"

"Um…no…I don't…think so," I admitted,
breathing through the pain.

"
Please
let me in." Desperate concern
filled his voice and another pang of guilt stabbed at me. But I
couldn't let him. Yet.

"I will, but I need to know something
first."

"Anything. I'll tell you anything. Just let
me help you."

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"Do you really love me?" I finally asked.

"What?"

I pressed my cheek against the door. It felt
comfortingly cool against my warm skin.

"You told Sophia you love me. Were you
serious?" It came out so quietly, I was surprised he even heard
me.

"Yes, Alexis, I really, truly love you with
all my heart," he said almost as quietly, and I could hear in his
voice he really meant it.

I didn't understand how either of us could
feel it. It seemed too soon. But I knew it was true, at least for
me. Until now, I'd only known love between a mother and a daughter.
When I was little, there was a boyfriend of Mom's who I loved and I
thought he loved me, but I was painfully mistaken. I hoped I wasn't
about to make the same mistake again.

I gathered everything I had and pushed back
the thought that I may regret what I was about to do. If he reacted
like everyone else, it would be the worst pain ever. But I had to
say it, knowing it may be my one and only chance.