Sing Me to Sleep (23 page)

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Authors: Angela Morrison

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Dating & Sex

BOOK: Sing Me to Sleep

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Scott’s not. “Bye, Beth. See you tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry about that. What did he want?”

“He told me if anything happens to you, he’d kill me.”

“Scott couldn’t kill anything.”

“Just me. He doesn’t like my bike. Called it a death trap. If he only knew—”

I glance down, examine his bike. It bristles with chrome and a major engine. “If anything happens to
you
on this thing, I’ll beat Scott to it. Where did this come from?”

“I needed a way to get over here—often.”

“I have a car.” I point out Jeannette, glistening in the rain at the back of the parking lot.

He pulls a face. “You don’t expect me to ride around in that? Come on—hop on.” He hands me a helmet. “I’ll take you home.”

“It’s raining.”

“We’re already wet.”

“What about my car?”

“It’ll still be here tomorrow when I drop you off.”

“You’re staying”—I swallow hard—“the night?”

“If your mum will let me sleep on the sofa.”

I punch his shoulder. “Don’t do that to me. Feel my heart.” I put his hand on my sternum, so he can feel how he makes it race.

He slides his hand up my neck, caresses my cheek with his thumb. “Don’t do that to me.”

I unzip his jacket and press my ear to his chest. His heart matches mine—beat for beat.

He takes the helmet from me, slides it slowly onto my head, does up the chinstrap, kisses my nose, then kicks his bike to life.

I climb on the back, slide close so my legs are hugging him, wrap my arms tight around his waist, bury my face in the wet sweatshirt hood sticking out the top of his jacket. “So far, so good,” I holler over the engine.

He laughs. “Hang on.”

We tear out of the parking lot.

“Slow down. There’s kids.”

He obeys—senses something by the way my voice catches, even manages to touch my hand without losing control of the bike.

I lay my cheek against his shoulder blade and think about him and me and kids all the way home. “Left here. Now right. Okay. You can let it out. This is an open stretch.”

He gives it gas, and we’re flying. I see the appeal. Huge rush. Loads of adrenaline. He thinks he’s going to ride this thing all winter? Maybe I need to get a better car. Poor Jeanette. I wonder what I can trade her for.

When we get to my house, I don’t want to get off the bike, can’t let him go. He twists around and kisses me—our helmets clashing together.

He is real. I didn’t make him up. No ghost. No phantom. Just this endangered boy I’m learning to love. He unlatches my helmet’s strap, slowly pulls it off my head. Dumps his, too. Puts the kickstand down on the bike—I think. I don’t know. I’m too lost in his hands smoothing back my wet hair, his breath on my temple. His mouth closing in on mine again.

I pull away for a second. “I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything if you’ll kiss me again.”

“You aren’t riding this in the snow.”

His grin says everything. “Shoot, Beth. That’s what makes it fun.”

chapter 20

MY GUY

We make out on the back of Derek’s bike in the pouring rain until my mom pulls up in the driveway.

Derek is so cute with her. “Hi, Mrs. Evans, I’m Derek.” He shakes her hand and unloads all the groceries out of the trunk, helps her put them away while I change and dry my hair. I throw down an old pair of Levi’s and a dry hoodie for Derek.

“Beth, honey,” Mom calls up to me. “Bring that pillow from your closet and some sheets and a blanket when you come down. I’ll make up the pullout in the den for Derek. I don’t want him riding all that way tonight in this weather.”

I am so tempted to call down and tell her not to bother, that he’s going to sleep in
my
room, but she knows me. Knows my room is trashed—knows how squeaky that old den sofa bed is. Gosh, do I know her? How did she get so devious?

If Derek wasn’t determined to keep me a nice girl, I’d rise to her sneaky challenge. Maybe even clean up my room. Next time he comes over, I will. Just to flip her out. Just in—I don’t know. Better not go there. I’m still at—
Your lips on mine promise what I don’t dare
.

He
cooks
dinner with Mom while I do my homework.

I
can never get her to cook.

Mom’s got work to do. She leaves Derek and me alone in the kitchen with the dirty dishes. I clear the table while he loads the dishwasher.

“You made a good impression.” I put our three dirty plates on the counter so he can scrape them down the disposal. I turn to slide a platter of oven-roasted potato wedges into a Ziploc.

Derek moves up behind me. His arms go around my waist. “I always do.”

I drop the bag of potatoes on the counter and twist to face him. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

I close my eyes—can’t breathe. He kisses my eyelids. Each one, lightly. I will my lips to be patient. His mouth moves to my left temple, my cheek, now it’s on my neck. I bruise easy. I should warn him, but I want to wake up in the morning to find his lip prints on me. I wrap my arms around his head, don’t let him off my neck. He sucks harder and harder, moves his mouth, and does it again.

Then I can’t stand it. I bend my knees and get his lips. I’m so hungry. Starving. No matter how much I ply his mouth with mine, I want more and more. I get my mouth on his neck like in Lausanne. “You been working out?” He looks leaner than he did in Switzerland. “You taste sweaty.” I find a fresh place on his neck to chew.

“Do you like the way I taste?” There’s a deadly serious note in his voice that wasn’t there before.

I stop biting him, caress the spot on his neck that’s already turning pink. “Yeah.”

“My sweat’s kind of salty.”

“What causes that?”

He pulls me close. “Don’t stop, Beth. I didn’t want you to stop.”

I hold his eyes for a moment. We’re both trembling by the time I slowly bend my head and place my lips lightly on his neck. I run my tongue along his skin. I love the way he tastes. Salty-sweet mystery boy. I lick his jaw, suck on his chin, chew on his ear.

I want to be the first to say it face-to-face. “I love you.”

He picks me up and sets me on the counter. I wrap my legs around his waist.

“You’re crazy, Beth. You shouldn’t love me.”

“That’s not what I expected to hear.”

“I love you. A thousand times I love you, but you shouldn’t love me. Love Scott.”

I feel like he slapped me. I let go of him, slide off the counter, turn around, and hide behind my hair. “Is that what you came to tell me?” My eyes are burning. “That you want to call it quits? You’re dumping me?”

“No—don’t be dense—no. I want you to dump me. You could be happy with him. I’m—”

“Who I want. You did this to me. Made me feel this. You’re stuck with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I thought you had a plan. I was hoping for something more substantial than a motorcycle.”

“How about we run away together on the back of it.”

“That’s your plan?”

“Plan A.”

“Okay. Let’s go. As soon as my mom hits the hay. I’ve got about $5K saved for college. How far will that get us?”

“We could go to Nova Scotia and learn to fish. Have a bunch of kids and raise them up to the trade.”

I crumble inside when he says that about the kids, hunch over with my hands pressing hard against my gut.

“Oh, Beth. I’m sorry. I forgot. I didn’t mean it.”

“I’m such a beast.”

He guides me to the table and into a chair. I lay my face on the table. He squats down and strokes my head. “No you’re not. I’m the beast. I really do have a plan. I’m working out the details. It’s coming together. I should know by Friday.”

“Maybe we should discuss it. How come you’re doing all the planning?”

“We’ll talk about it when I come back on Friday. You’re going to love it.”

I sit up. He takes a cup out of the cupboard and nukes me up some chamomile tea. I watch him clean up the rest of the kitchen, polish the sink and counters, sweep the floor. He hands me the tea. I take a sip and add more honey. “I have a plan.”

He dumps the dustpan in the garbage and turns around.

“Why don’t you move into the den, permanently? You can visit your parents on holidays and every other weekend.”

He sits across from me and weaves his fingers through mine to stop how I’m drumming the table. He gives me a cautious grin. “You wouldn’t stay a nice girl very long if I did that.”

I snort. “Oh, I’m prepared now. I had to go to the doctor because of that test. They wanted to laser me, but I settled for a box of condoms.”

“Beth, don’t—”

“I need to talk to somebody. Please. I’m going to go nuts. I can’t talk to Mom. It reminds her of my father—and that’s so painful. She feels guilty, like she should have known better. Chosen a guy with better genes for my sake.”

He strokes my cheek with his free hand. “Then you wouldn’t be you.”

“I’ve never thought of it that way.” I look up at him. “I’m supposed to see a counselor in a couple weeks. It’ll take me months to get over that doctor’s appointment.”

He frowns and stares down at the table. “Doctors can be idiots. They aren’t all like that. It sounds like you need a new one. Find someone you’re comfortable with.” He looks back up at me. “Someone you trust. You don’t want a lot of bull and false hopes, but you don’t need a bully, either.”

“You’re right.” I nod my head. “I’m never going near that man again.”

“But find a counselor.” He squeezes my hand. “A good one.”

“How do you know so much?” I sip my tea.

“I’ve been around doctors a lot, used to want to be one until—”

“You started to compose.”

He stares past me at the two of us mirrored in the dark kitchen window. “I’d really love to be a researcher. The guy who finds cures.”

“Do it, Derek. Cure me.”

His eyes return to mine. “Don’t give up, Beth. They are working on unbelievable stuff. Especially with genetics. You’ll have as many babies as you want.”

His voice sweeps hope all through me. Then I remember that doctor. “He told me I have to disclose my condition to any—what did he call them? Oh, yeah,
potential partners
.”

Derek plays with my hand, lets me rant.

“And they should
all
be screened. Like I’m shacking up with half the football team. Good thing this isn’t about sex. If you ever decide to stop respecting me, you’ll need to get your cheek swabbed first.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry. I’m grossing you out now.”

He stands up, comes around to my chair, and pulls me to my feet. He holds me like I’m going to break. “When it’s right, Beth.” His voice is husky. “You and me. I’m your guy. I don’t care what that idiot doctor says.”

“You love me that much?” I press my face against his cheek.

“Of course. Any decent guy would.” He pauses. “Scott does, too.”

“Why do you keep bringing him up?”

“If you and I don’t make it,” he strokes my hair, “I like knowing there’s a good guy there who knows the real Beth—the Beth I love—who will love you better than I can.”

“How can we not make it?”

“I hope we can, but—”

“Whatever it is, Derek. You can beat it. I know you can. For me. I love you. Do it for me.”

His hand drops away from my hair. He lets go of me.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and press my face against his neck. “Tell me, Derek. I need to know. Where were you this summer?”

“I was at the cottage.”

“No, you weren’t. I’m not stupid.”

He kisses my hair. “I was at the cottage.”

“Please, Derek. Let me help.”

“You want to help?”

I nod.

“Then don’t ask me any more questions. And kiss me again.”