The Problem with Forever, Page 20

  Rider reached over and unhooked my seat belt. “You’ve never seen what everyone else sees when it comes to me,” he explained.

  Now I was just confused. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You think— I don’t know. That I’m something that I’m not.” Stretching behind him, he grabbed my bag off the backseat. “You see me as a white knight.”

  What in the hell?

  I watched him open the car door and climb out with my bag in hand. Frozen for a moment, I snatched my keys out of the ignition and hurried after him. “I don’t think you’re a white knight.”

  Rider cast me a long side look. “You’re pretty much the only person who thinks my name and college go together in the same sentence.”

  I had to pick up my pace to keep up with his long legs. “That’s stupid.”

  He eyed me warily as he opened the door. “It’s whatever.”

  “No, it’s not.” I stopped inside the set of doors and stared up at him. He was suspended in motion, reaching for the main entrance. “You could do college if that’s what you wanted. Your name and college...make total sense together.”

  His gaze lifted to the ceiling as his lips pressed together. What felt like an eternity passed before he said, “Huh.”

  That was it?

  Rider walked into the library, and after a moment I followed him. He went right up to the circulation desk and we lucked out since there was only one room available. As we walked through the tall, stocked stacks, I breathed in deeply, loving the scent of books. A memory wiggled loose.

  I curled onto my side, knees tucked to my chest. Tears had dried on my cheeks. Tonight had been bad. Mr. Henry’s friends were over and I knew they wouldn’t be leaving for a while. The room was cold and dark and the ratty blanket was so thin. I huddled down, shoving my hands between my legs to keep them warm.

  The door cracked open and a slight form slipped inside. I let out the breath I was holding. Rider crept toward the bed. I scooted over, against the wall. The mattress shook as he settled in beside me. A second later a soft yellow light flipped open. The small flashlight wouldn’t draw attention.

  Rider brought his knees up, pressing his against mine as he took a deep breath. “There was once a Velveteen Rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid.”

  Drawing in a sharp breath, I looked up at Rider and for a moment I saw him in the past. “Do you remember reading to me?”

  He nodded as his lips curled up. “Of course.”

  I didn’t say anything else as we walked into the room. It was cool inside, and at once, I was grateful for the long-sleeved shirt.

  Rider flipped on the light and then dropped my bag on the table. “So why did you change it to the library?” he asked before I could start harping on the college thing again.

  Ainsley’s question from last night resurfaced and I shoved it away. I could tell him it was because of Paige, but I figured he didn’t want to hear that right now. “I thought...it would be easier.”

  He nodded in response.

  I watched him for a moment and then walked over to my bag and unzipped it. The tinny sound echoed in the cool, white-walled room. There was nothing in here except a round table and four chairs. A lone black Sharpie rested in the center of the table.

  Rider sat and leaned back, tossing his arm along the back of the chair next to him. He looked over at me, a small grin teasing his lips. Our gazes collided and held. A flutter took flight deep in my chest. His grin spread and the flutter increased.

  “Why are you looking...at me like that?” The moment the question left my lips I sort of wanted to shove it back in. It was a stupid question.

  The dimple appeared. “I like staring at you.”

  My brows rose.

  He chuckled. “That kind of sounded creepy, didn’t it? What I meant is that... Well, yeah, I like staring at you. So it is as creepy as it sounds.”

  Smiling, I shook my head. “It’s not...creepy. I just...”

  “What?” he asked when I didn’t continue.

  What could I say to him? That I didn’t get why he would enjoy staring at me? That there were much better options out there for him? That would sound terrible. It wasn’t like I thought I was the ugliest person in the world. I was...I guess, passably pretty. But I was realistic about the way I looked, and I didn’t look like Paige or Keira or Ainsley.

  I shook my head, focusing on something else. “You want...to go first?” I offered, pulling out my notebook. I flipped it open, and pulled out the speech I had folded.

  “Would love to.” Rider leaned forward with a grin. “But I haven’t written mine yet.”

  My mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “I’ll get to it.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Go ahead.”

  “But you’ve seriously only been drawing in class? Not working—”

  “I’ll have it down, Mouse. Promise.” He lifted his hand, wiggling his pinky at me. “I’ll pinky promise.”

  I sighed. “I don’t...need a pinky promise.”

  Rider just grinned as he leaned back and crossed his arms. Taking a deep breath, I stared down at my speech. The words blurred a bit, as if there was something wrong with my vision. My heart rate kicked up. I drew in a deep breath that got caught.

  “You can do this,” he said quietly.

  I closed my eyes briefly. I could do this. “The United States of America...has th-three branches of the...”

  I did it.

  Well, I struggled through it, and I was pretty sure my first run did not come in under three minutes. More like ten as I got hung up on a word and then I started stuttering, because my eyes kept wanting to read ahead, so that didn’t help. At Rider’s suggestion, I tried it sitting down. Then standing again. I did it so many times there was a good chance I might be able to remember it by heart.

  Rider was patient through the whole thing, which pretty much raised him to saint status, because who seriously wanted to listen to me pause and stutter through an informative speech about a dozen times. Someone could record it and Satan could play it over and over, on an endless loop, to torture people in hell.

  “I...I hate that I have to think about every single word.” I sat down and dropped the paper on the table, my arms falling into my lap. “It’s embarrassing. People are going to make fun...of me.”

  “People are assholes, Mouse. You already know that.” He paused as he scooped some of my hair back, gently tossing the strands over my shoulder. “And there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  I glanced over at him. Everything about his steady gaze and the serious press of his lips screamed earnest. But he was wrong. “It is...embarrassing.”

  “Not if you don’t let it be.” His leg brushed mine as he turned in his seat, facing me. Our eyes met. “You have the power over that. People can say crap. They can think whatever they want, but you control how you feel about it.”

  Damn.

  That was deep and mature.

  “You sound like Dr. Taft,” I blurted out.

  His brows lifted. “Who’s that?”

  “He was...” Oh. Hold up. Rider didn’t know I’d been seeing a therapist.

  He tilted his head to the side and waited. “He was what?”

  Oh no. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Deep down, I knew that having received therapy wasn’t something to feel bad about. With my background—our background—it was, frankly, expected. But just like with not talking, there was an ugly and oftentimes brutal stigma attached to therapy.

  And Rider? He appeared to come out of our childhood relatively unscathed. Hadn’t he? He wasn’t seeing a therapist. He talked normally. Was he really unscathed, though? I thought about all the classes he skipped and how he said no one really cared. Rider believed that, so did he expect nothing for himself?

  “Mouse?” He tugged on a strand of my hair. “Who’s Dr. Taft?”

  I looked away, focusing on the printed speech. What did it matter anyway? I knew Rider wasn’t going to di
sown me as a friend. I drew in a shallow breath. “Dr. Taft was my...therapist. I saw him for about three years. I stopped a little bit ago, because I...I felt like I was ready.”

  “Oh. Cool.”

  Cool? Okay. How often did he hear seventeen-year-old chicks admit to seeing a therapist, that his only response was cool? I peeked at him, and he was just looking at me, expression open. “Really?”

  Rider raised a shoulder. “Makes sense. You saw some—yeah, some rough shit. Dealt with some crazy stuff. I’m actually kind of relieved you saw someone.”

  I studied him for a moment. “You...really believe that?”

  He nodded.

  “What about you?” I asked, and when he blinked, he looked confused. “You grew up...with me. You’ve seen some bad shit.”

  “I’m fine,” he replied, shifting his gaze to the books.

  I stared at his profile. “I was there, Rider. I remember some—”

  “And I’m fine,” he interrupted, lifting his gaze to mine. “I promise. I swear.”

  Pressing my lips together, I slowly shook my head. “You said you thought...about that night.”

  Rider stiffened and then exhaled slowly. “Sometimes,” he repeated quietly and then louder, “When I do, I’m thinking about what happened to you.”

  My stomach churned, and I was for once grateful that I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. “Rider—”

  “I should’ve been there,” he stated, his eyes darkening. “I should’ve found a way to get back into that house. I knew that son of a bitch would do something with that doll eventually.”

  I opened my mouth, but dammit, I had loved Velvet. Besides the fact that Rider had gotten her for me the day Miss Becky had taken him to the mall, she was the only thing for years that had been simply mine. The doll was not a hand-me-down. She belonged to no one before me and I hadn’t had to share her. The doll was all mine and she was beautiful.

  Had been.

  At twelve years old, I didn’t carry Velvet with me everywhere. I was too old for that, but Mr. Henry and Miss Becky knew how much I treasured that doll. Mr. Henry had gotten ahold of her and... Yeah, that hadn’t ended well.

  Rider thrust his hand through his hair, clasping the back of his neck. “If I hadn’t talked back to him that night, that wouldn’t have happened. You wouldn’t have been left alone in there. You wouldn’t have seen what you did.” Dropping his hand, he tipped his head back. “It’s one of the biggest things I regret.”

  “That?” I croaked. “It wasn’t...your fault.”

  What happened wasn’t Rider’s fault.

  “He threw the doll in the damn fireplace,” he said gruffly.

  And in an ultimate act of desperation and stupidity, I’d tried to save the doll. If I hadn’t already seen what I’d seen that night, I might not have done what I had. The act with Velvet broke me. I panicked as I saw the only thing I’d ever owned, a gift from Rider, on the brink of being destroyed. I rushed past Mr. Henry and reached into the fire. I vaguely remembered Mr. Henry laughing and then there was this horrific screaming and this terrible smell.

  The screams had been mine.

  Rider didn’t say anything as he reached between us and picked up my left arm. His fingers were cool against mine as he pushed the sleeve of my shirt up to my elbow. He turned my arm over, like he had done the first day, in the parking lot.

  “I still can’t believe there’s hardly any scar.” He smoothed his thumb just below my wrist, causing me to suck in a soft breath. The caress zinged all the way to my spine. “Just a little more pink than the rest of the arm. Amazing.”

  My mouth dried. His thumb kept moving, traveling over my skin, making its way to my elbow.

  “I wish this had never happened.” He swallowed. “I wouldn’t have lost...” Trailing off, he peered up through his lashes and grinned. “It worked out, though. Weird how something good can come out of such a big screw-up.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I insisted, meaning it. “You couldn’t watch over me twenty-four hours a day. I wasn’t your responsibility.”

  His gaze held mine and a moment passed where he seemed to be considering what he wanted to say. “Anyway,” he drew the word out. “None of that really matters, right? You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. The way you talk isn’t a big deal. And if people are asses, they’re not important. Only you can let yourself make them important.”

  “And what if none of that works?” I asked.

  Rider’s lips tipped up at one corner. “I’ll just start beating people up.”

  My brows flew up.

  “Seriously.”

  Tipping back my head, I laughed—laughed long and hard—and when I looked at him, he was staring at me in his intense way. “What?” I asked, my smile starting to fade slowly.

  He gave a little shake of his head. “Nothing.” He paused. “It’s just that I haven’t heard you laugh like that in...yeah, a long time. It’s nice.”

  I was smiling again.

  “Really nice,” he repeated, and our gazes locked again. He was still holding my arm and his thumb was still moving in slow, smooth circles. “I hope you do it more often.”

  Chapter 18

  I knew this wasn’t happening.

  In the furthest corners of my mind, I knew what I was seeing, what I was hearing, wasn’t occurring right now. I knew that, but I couldn’t pull myself out of it. Not when it started with the voices. Loud. Sharp. Explosive. Detonating a bomb loaded with terror.

  Clapping my hands over my ears, I inched backward, pressing against the wall. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. They felt like they were peeled wide open, held by tiny pins. The pain radiating from the center of my face was forgotten.

  Cheeks flushed a bright red and eyes bloodshot, Mr. Henry dragged Rider across the dirtied, ripped linoleum floor by the arm. Rider was almost as tall as Mr. Henry now, but the man had a good hundred pounds on Rider. He was yelling so loudly I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but Rider wasn’t struggling. He covered his nose with one hand. Blood ran between his fingers. My tummy twisted.

  Mr. Henry threw open the back door. Cold air rushed in as tiny snowflakes fell across the yellowish-white floor. The storm door, broken, swayed unsteadily in the wind. “I’m done with your shit, boy. You think you have it bad? Maybe you’ll realize just how lucky you have it after a couple of hours out there.”

  In a stuttered heartbeat, Mr. Henry shoved Rider outside, onto the snow-covered porch. I cried out, peeling myself off the wall. Rider couldn’t be outside. He was just in a shirt and jeans. It was too cold.

  The door slammed shut. It was too late.

  Mr. Henry whirled on me, and trepidation seized my heart.

  Fists pounded on the door, from the outside, and I started to back up. Nothing was between Mr. Henry’s unfocused gaze and me.

  “Get out of my face, girl,” he shouted, spraying spittle into the air. “Or you’re gonna regret it real quick!”

  Spinning around, I ran out of the kitchen and into the den. I pressed myself against the wall as I lifted my arm, dragging my fingers against my nose. Pain spiked, but there wasn’t a lot of blood on my hand when I lowered it.

  Please wake up. Please wake up. Please wake up.

  Heart pounding fast, I listened to Mr. Henry stomp into the living room. A second later, sound blared out of the TV. He was seriously going to leave Rider outside. Oh my God, he wouldn’t last out there in the cold and the snow. I had to do something.

  Waiting a few minutes, I turned and slipped around the wall. I crept up the stairs, careful to not be heard, and I walked down the hallway.

  Don’t go inside the room. Don’t go in that room.

  I pushed open the door. Soft yellow light flickered. Miss Becky was on the bed. Calling out her name, I walked up to the bed and I touched her. Her skin felt wrong, and I knew. I knew deep down, something was very wrong. A scream bubbled up in my throat.

  Don’t make a sound.

&n
bsp; Screams—there were screams, and I couldn’t keep quiet, because they were mine. I backed out of the room. Mr. Henry shouted from downstairs as I ran down the steps. I had to get to Rider and we had to get out of here. My heart was pumping so fast, and I knew what was coming, and I didn’t want to see it, but I’d already seen it.

  Please wake up. Please wake up. Please wake up.