Scared of Forever (Scared #2) (9 page)

I stand in the shower
alone, after Blake has left for work. It’s Saturday, but it’s not
unusual that he’s at work today. He often works the weekends. The
warm water falls against my skin. I am so tender from last night.
Every droplet that lands between my legs causes a sting. Last night
was, well, I can’t really put into words the way it felt. Blake was
wild, reckless. He’s normally so put together. Everything is
strategic. He never loses control like that. In a way, I’m glad I
saw a side of Blake that was emotional and real. Even if said real
side leaves me walking slightly askew for the next few days.

I stand in front of the
mirror. Said real side also left real marks. I rub the bruise on my
left arm with my other hand. Four perfect circles. And another three
smaller, less noticeable ones lay just above my jawline.

Still, the nagging
thoughts in my mind won’t remain silent. Blake was home early
yesterday. Maia’s right. I have no evidence to suggest that my
future husband is anything but loyal, besides the hearsay and
allegations from others. The sun has decided to make a random
appearance today, so I decide to take a book and walk over to Central
Park to read on one of the benches. Surrounded by grass and trees, I
feel grounded there. I usually find a spot where the huge ancient
trees completely obscure the views of the concrete jungle.

If I close my eyes, I
can almost imagine that I’m back home, staring out onto a huge
paddock, listening to the sounds of the nearby streams. Dogs barking,
children laughing. I read about three chapters of my book before
Mother Nature decides that the sun has overstayed its welcome. Grey
clouds move quickly overhead, and before I have a chance to slide in
my bookmark, the rain comes pelting down in huge, heavy drops. I sigh
and begin the walk back to the apartment.

Just as I’m about to
cross the street, I hear a familiar voice call my name. “Emily!”

Tyler jogs up to me, a
soggy paper held above his head his only protection from the rain.
“Is there a point?” I ask smiling and pointing up at the paper,
which now almost resembles papier-mâché.

“I guess not,” he
smiles, tossing the paper into the trashcan nearby. For a few
seconds, neither of us says anything. I wonder briefly why we are
standing silently in the rain like a couple of idiots.

“Why are we standing
in the rain?” Tyler asks, plucking the thought right from my head.

“No idea,” I say
before dashing towards the awning of a small bakery. “Why are you
walking around in the rain?”

“I was out for a
drive, and I got soaked. Then I was cold, and needed coffee,” he
explains.

“Don’t tell me
you’re one of those guys that drives a convertible with the top
down in the pouring rain, just for the sake of looking cool.”

Tyler laughs. “I
actually do
not
own a
BMW. I do have a convertible, but it’s a Jeep, an off-roader. And I
got wet because I was on my motorbike.”

“You just love
anything that’s synonymous with freedom, don’t you?” I observe.
I’ve gathered, in the few meetings that we’ve had, that Tyler
doesn’t like to be tied down.
He
needs to be free.

“I’ve never been on
a motorbike before,” I say.
God,
that makes me sound so naïve.

“I’d offer to take
you for a drive but…” he trails off, gesturing at the torrential
rain.

“No, I have to get
back. I have some stuff I need to do at the apartment,” I say
quickly. The thought of sitting on a motorbike with my arms wrapped
around the waist of a very soaking wet Tyler is almost too much for
my psyche to handle.

“Okay,” he says
before stepping aside to let me walk past. “Let’s have lunch
sometime. If you can, that is?”

Tyler turns away, and
just as he does, something in me doesn’t want him to leave. Aside
from Mac, Tyler is really the only person that I have the ability to
hang out with. “Wait,” I call after him.

He turns to face me,
eyebrows raised expectantly.

“We could do lunch
today. I’m free. Blake is probably going to be home tomorrow, so
today is really my only free day.” My stomach lurches with nervous
tension, both for the feeling of being deceitful to Blake and for the
excited anticipation of spending more time with Tyler.

“You wanna get out of
this city?” he asks.

“Please,” I say
with a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Nomadic wanderers
like myself have a nose for other nomadic wanderers. And I can tell
that you hate all the concrete. Plus, the other day when I walked you
to work, you scowled every time a taxi honked its horn,” Tyler
says, grinning.

I
do
do that. “I can’t believe you noticed,” I say in
true disbelief.

“I notice more than
you realize,” he says, staring intently at my concealer-covered
jaw.

We walk back to the
apartment together and part ways to change into drier, more
comfortable clothing. Tyler tells me to meet him in the garage under
the building. I’m ready in fifteen minutes, wait another five for
good measure, and then take the elevator down to the basement level.
Tyler is standing there already, leaning against a khaki colored
jeep, thick mud caking the wheels. The soft top is pulled closed. In
his hands, he holds a big brown bag.

“If that’s duct
tape and rope—” I begin jokingly, stopping dead in my tracks and
pointing sternly at the bag.

“Depends,” he
smiles. “Do you want it to be? Does duct tape and rope look like
freshly baked Italian herb loaf, Swiss cheese slices, and macaroons?
Oh, and I may or may not have stuffed the rope into this,” he
quips, holding up a thermos containing what I assume to be coffee.

“How did you change
and do all that in twenty minutes? And aren’t we going to lunch?”
I ask.

“We are going to
eat,” Tyler says, feigning seriousness.

“Just not at an
actual eating establishment, I’m guessing,” I say, somewhat
apprehensively.

“That’s so
ordinary. Relax, I don’t bite,” he says with a small laugh. “And
I know that’s the line most people in horror movies say right
before they drag their helpless victims into the woods to do away
with them. But I promise, my only intention is to give you a break
from the smog and bright lights.” Tyler offers me an absolutely
angelic and innocent smile.

His warm eyes silently
attest to the sincerity of his words as he eyes me expectantly. He
walks over to the passenger side of the Jeep and opens the door with
exaggerated grandeur, sweeping a hand across his midline elegantly.

“That’s a bit of a
lost art,” I say as I climb up the high step into the seat,
thankful that I’d opted for ballet flats and jeans.

“What is?” Tyler
asks as he hops into the driver’s seat.

“Gentlemanly
behavior. Chivalry. I don’t know when, if ever, anybody has opened
my door for me,” I say, slightly ashamed that as a woman, I hadn’t
demanded better treatment.

“Well, strap yourself
in, princess. Today is gonna be a day of amazing first times.”
Tyler shoots me a cheeky grin, before turning the key in the
ignition.

“Is it too late to
change my mind?” I laugh, playfully grabbing for the door handle.

“Yup. You’re now my
willing prisoner,” he says solemnly before taking off.

Tyler drives us
carefully out of the city. The rain clouds that had opened up above
the city seem to be moving in the opposite direction now. The further
away we drive, the clearer the sky becomes, the ratio of blue to grey
skewing more as the road widens from narrow city streets to open
country roads.

“Where are we going?”
I ask. The drive seems to be infinite.

“Do you trust me?”
Tyler asks.

“Should I? I barely
even know you.”

“Trusting the people
you know can sometimes be even worse than trusting the ones you
don’t,” Tyler says quietly.

“What does that
mean?” I ask nervously.
Does
he mean Blake? Eliza?

“Forget it,” Tyler
says. “I don’t particularly want to ruin the day by talking about
all that heavy shit. We’re nearly there.”

“Why are you being so
nice to someone you barely know?” I ask, looking towards Tyler, who
is focusing intently on the road ahead.

“Do I need a reason
to be a nice guy?” He shoots me with a charming smile. His brow
furrows as he averts his eyes back to the road. “You can tell me if
you’re uncomfortable with any of this. We can go straight back. I’d
understand, I mean, you haven’t known me all that long.”

“Not at all,” I say
sincerely. Fact is, I feel more comfortable and safer in Tyler’s
company than I did with Blake last night.

I roll the window down
and inhale the salty ocean air that wafts in. Leaning forward to look
past Tyler, I see, between the tall oak trees that flank the road,
the vast, sapphire blue sea. The sun has even decided to make an
appearance from beyond the grey, ominous clouds.

“Wow,” I breathe.

“Welcome to the
Hamptons,” Tyler says jovially.

“I thought you hated
all things high society, and you decide to bring me to the summer
playground of New York’s rich and famous?” I question, confused.

“We’re not going to
hang out with the rich and famous. Besides, it isn’t society
season. The only people here now are those who actually live here,”
he explains.

We continue to drive,
beyond the sprawling mansions with their impossibly green lawns,
perfectly manicured and lined with tall evergreen fir trees.

“That’s Eliza’s
summer house,” Tyler says, pointing to a majestic stone mansion
nestled between two long stretches of sand, and backing directly onto
the white sandy beach.

“Holy shit!” I
exclaim. “I think that place is bigger than my whole home town!”

Tyler just laughs. “I
take it you’ve never been inside it then. It’s full of space and
echoes.”

We drive right past it,
until the road becomes narrower and declines steeply, the Jeep’s
tires picking up the rocks and sand from the dirt track and flinging
them backwards relentlessly. Tyler handles the car amazingly well,
navigating and steering carefully over the now very thin road until
we arrive at a much smaller, yet still expansive, weatherboard
cottage. The white framed windows look positively striking against
the dark beige paint of the exterior. A picketed wraparound balcony
encases the obviously abandoned house.

“We’re here,”
Tyler says happily. He parks the car and hops quickly from his seat,
jogging around to open my door.

I take a step out and
stare in awe at the sight before me. The beach stretches out for
miles. Immediately ahead, a makeshift fence has been created between
the house and the sand from old pieces of hardwood, pickets and thin
wire. The sun casts a luminous sparkle against the rising tide.

Just as I’m turning
my attention to Tyler, my phone vibrates in my jeans.

I pull it from the tight pocket and
flick on the screen. It’s a message from Blake.

Hi baby, what are you doing?

I look up towards Tyler. The truth
would go something like,
I just
went on a two hour drive with your brother, who you hate, alone. And
now we’re standing, still alone, on a deserted beach in the
Hamptons
. Considering that this is completely innocent,
but will obviously not be perceived as such, I type back a lie. The
first one I have ever told Blake.

Just out shopping. What time will you be home?

The reply comes in seconds later.

Late today. There’s more than enough cash in your account. Have
fun. PS, I wish I was at home with you. Love you.

I sigh and dim the LED
screen on the phone. I don’t reply to the last message.

“Everything okay?”
Tyler asks, lugging a huge picnic blanket from the Jeep’s trunk.

“Fine,” I say with
a smile. “You do realize the sand is wet, right?”

“I know,” he says,
before walking over to the old house and climbing the rickety stairs
to the porch.

“Isn’t this
considered trespassing?” I ask suspiciously, grabbing the bag and
thermos and following behind him.

“Not at all. My
family owns this place, too, except that the only person who ever
comes here is me. It was my grandfather’s place. My mother’s
childhood home,” Tyler explains. “I used to sneak over here when
we came up for the summer as a kid. And eventually, every time I
needed to get away, it became my thing. My place.”

I thought Eliza Carson
grew up in a boarding school, owing to her severe an uncaring
demeanor. I never once imagined that her childhood home could have
been so idyllic.

Tyler flicks the
blanket onto the expansive deck and plops down unceremoniously on it.
For a minute, I think that the holey wood may disintegrate underneath
him, and he might be in danger of falling straight through.

“Careful,” I tease,
sitting cautiously beside him.

“Nah,” he says
dismissively. “Looks can be deceiving. This wood is stronger than
you think.” He gives the wood a solid knock with his fist and
shoots me a heart-melting smile.

“Why does everything
that leaves your mouth sound so metaphorical? You know, just coming
out and saying something usually works infinitely better than dancing
around a subject.”

“Maybe I’m just
poetic? Maybe my voice is lyrical. Maybe, I just have a way with
words?” Tyler replies, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Maybe you need to
quit flirting!” I scold. “I’m going to be your sister-in-law
soon. It’s a little—incestuous.”

Tyler grabs his phone
from his pocket and busily types something in. I don’t ask what
he’s doing.
It’s not my
business, anyway.