Breaking Out (27 page)

Her mind played over everything he'd just said, his words about poor little Scout trying to make sense of the unfair world, how majestic and wise Atticus was. She thought back to an argument she and Lucian had not too long ago. Her eyes narrowed. “Why don't we read
The Great Gatsby
?”

She wasn't sure why she was suddenly in such a prickly mood. Perhaps she was just
poor
Scout trying to make sense of it all.

His brow lifted. “We've read that before and you didn't like it.”

“I know, but like boats and all . . .” she loosely quoted.

“Are you making fun of me, Scout?” His expression was playful, but she saw a flash of insecurity in his eyes.

“Were you making fun of me when you said that?”

“When I quoted Fitzgerald?”

“Yes. ‘
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.'”

He frowned. “No, I was merely pointing out that we all are meant to be a certain way.”

Lucian's words fell from her lips. “Maybe we're all meant
to choose who we are, but we have to break out of the mold we were born into to get there.”

“I think life's easier if we just accept who we are.”

“And who am I, Parker? Do you see me as some naïve little girl who stupidly throws herself against the currents of this fucked-up world only to get trampled in the end?”

He stiffened and sat up. “God, no, Scout. Why would you even say that?”

She threw up her hands. “How should I know what you think?” There was no need to snap, but it felt good. “You go around spouting all sorts of literature instead of speaking clearly. You compare me to the children in the grown-up stories you read. Do I really come off so hopeless and naïve?”

His head shook. “Why are you suddenly angry?”

She didn't know. All she knew was that she wanted to scream because maybe he was right. Maybe she was just a dumb kid, too innocent to play in the real world. She blinked and, to her mortification, a blurry line of tears clouded her vision. She didn't want to be the kid. She wanted to be the recluse, if she had a choice at all.

“Scout, I adore you. You're not a kid to me. You're my friend. When I quoted
Gatsby
, I was trying to be an asshole to Patras. He had you convinced he was this nice guy, and it was killing me to see you falling for his bullshit act—”

“Don't criticize him when he isn't here to defend himself. You don't know him.”

He looked as though she'd slapped him. “Are you serious? Scout, he isn't here because
he left you.
How can you defend him? Whatever, we don't need to talk about him. I don't care about him. I care about you. Please, don't think that I would ever make fun of you. You're my friend and I . . .” Whatever he had been about to say faded away. “Just . . . don't. Okay?”

She sniffled and they sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Parker looked as though he wanted to hug her, but seemed unsure. Finally, she admitted, “I hate that he can make me cry like this. I'm not used to being this emotional.”

“I know you're sad,” he whispered.

The heel of her palm rubbed at her eye. “He isn't coming back for me. I don't know why I defend him when he clearly doesn't give a shit about me. I just want to forget I ever knew him. I want to start over and get away from everything that reminds me of him, but my life is so empty without him. It'll take years to rewrite those memories with new ones. He's everywhere I look.”

Parker gazed around the apartment, his eyes cataloguing all the things that weren't really hers. “I told you. You could live with me.”

“I don't want that either. I want to be my own person.”

“Well, you can be. Get rid of all this stuff that reminds you of him and get new stuff.”

“I don't have any money,” she said as though she were talking to a two-year-old.

“Well, you now have a job. You'll get money. Things take time. It took me months to save up for my own place, but I did it. I don't have much furniture, but it's a home and it's mine so long as I continue to pay the rent.”

He pressed his lips tight and drew in a breath. “Scout, if you lived with me, you could pay half the rent, and then the place would be half yours, as much as it is mine. You don't need any of this shit he left you.”

“Parker . . .” She shook her head, but wasn't really sure why she was so against the idea. She was miserable there, because she knew the place was really Lucian's. What would he do if he came back from his little honeymoon in Paris and she wasn't there? Would he know if she left? How long would it take for him to find out she was gone?

What if he never came back and she withered away there, waiting for him?

She glanced up at Parker, who was anxiously awaiting her reply. “Is there enough room for both of us—”

“Yes.”

He seemed to really think it was best she leave her place. He was probably right. She'd been there for almost two weeks, and the place never stopped being oppressive. Every corner revealed a hidden memory of Lucian, the door a looping nightmare of the moment Dugan deposited her there like a broken dove.

Anger and shame suddenly burned through her. She gritted her teeth with a renewed sense of pride. She would
not
be one of Lucian Patras's thrown-away, soiled and broken doves.

Yes, she loved him, but he left her. She gave him all that she could give of herself, and it wasn't enough for him. Yet, she never looked for more than what he could emotionally offer her.

She needed to get back to being strong. She needed to forget about this little detour into the lap of luxury and get back on track, back to reality, get back to being Scout.

She leveled her gaze on Parker, full of fresh resolve. “Okay. I'll move in with you, but I'm going to pull my weight. I have an account with two hundred thousand dollars in it. It's not mine, but I can—”

His eyes momentarily bulged then he shook his head. “Scout, I know what it would take for you to touch that money. Leave it. We'll keep track, and once you start getting checks from Clemons we'll square up. I've saved a ton of money since I started working. You can pay me back.”

She smiled. Parker understood her pride wouldn't allow her to take, even from him. She was glad he didn't fight with her about such things.

Energy suddenly coursed through her limbs. “Should we pack?”

He looked surprised. “You want to leave tonight?”

She met his gaze, knowing her smile was full of sadness, and admitted, “I hate it here. Everything reminds me of him. I want to forget him, Parker. You're helping.”

His expression was gentle, but unreadable. Slowly, his fingers coasted over her cheek. “Okay, Scout.”

Chapter 24

“With him, life was routine; without him, life was unbearable.”

~Harper Lee

To Kill a Mockingbird

Packing was an anticlimactic affair. Parker followed Scout around the apartment for the more pathetic part of an hour as she shifted through belongings like a thief and took what she felt was either earned or necessary. Unfortunately, it was only by mentally classifying herself as a whore that she could justify her right to take certain things she couldn't leave behind. In the end it was a trade, one mental insult as her penance in exchange for whatever item she wanted in her bag.

Certain things were expressly given as gifts, for Christmas or her birthday. Those items were not as difficult to take, but were, for the most part, cumbersome and useless and therefore left behind.

She filled a small duffel with sensible clothes. It was getting warmer, so she was able to pack more, bringing only a few sweaters. Her toiletries were thinned down to the basics, shampoo, deodorant, a razor—she would never be able to go back to not shaving—and some very basic cosmetics.

Parker had filled four paper sacks with food. “Don't you have food?”

His shoulder lifted and fell. “Sure, but this stuff will just go bad. Why waste it?”

He had a point. She grabbed another sack and began to fill it.

“How far is your place from here?” She probably should have asked that before.

“We'll have to get a cab. It's not far. You'll still be able to walk to work, but it's late and we won't be able to lug all this crap.”

***

By the time they arrived at Parker's apartment, it was almost eleven. Scout's adrenaline had not stopped pumping since she made up her mind about moving, but she knew a crash was coming. When Parker left with most of the bags to hail a cab, she quietly shut out the lights and locked up the apartment, locking away that part of her life once and for all. She left the key inside, not wanting the temptation of returning hanging over her head.

As she waited for the elevator, a sense of dread filled her as though she were consciously drowning herself. It took every shred of false dignity she could muster to get on that elevator and walk away. As the doors to the elevator shut and her body descended to the first floor, she felt as though a part of her life had been ripped away and entombed forever.

Gone. Lucian and everything connected to him was no longer a part of her life.

It was possibly one of the most painful moments of her life, and she would have buckled, rushed back up to her apartment, had Parker not been there to tug her along.

He loaded her things in the back of a yellow cab and she silently sat, allowing him to direct the driver. So long as she kept moving she wouldn't be carried away with the tide.

They pulled up beside a nondescript brick high-rise. Parker handed a few dollars to the driver and unloaded the bags. She filled her arms and followed him through the glass double doors.

The halls smelled like a mixture of ethnic cooking and paint. Gray carpeting stifled the sound of their footfalls as they made their way to the elevators. The place definitely wasn't a dump, but it was nothing like Patras or even her vintage-inspired severance apartment. Parker's place was . . . functional.

He seemed nervous as they took the elevator up. “How long have you lived here?” she asked.

“A couple months. It's not fully decorated. I was more concerned with getting off the streets. I've saved a lot, not really sure what the point of decorating would be.”

The doors opened and they stepped onto the landing. Parker shifted the bags in his arms and dug out a metal key. He unlocked a deadbolt then the knob and toed the door open. “After you.”

Scout slowly stepped over the threshold and waited for him to turn on the light. There was some mail on the floor, which he immediately scooped up. The lights switched on, and she turned.

The space was small, but open, with very little clutter. Two tall windows dominated the main area, and Parker had stuck a table for two in the space between. A radiator hummed from beneath one curtain. A wall of appliances with only a small gap of counter space made the kitchen. A plain couch sat along the other wall. There was a simple wooden table with a lamp and books stacked around the floor. No television.

“This is the living room slash kitchen,” he said, stowing the sacks of food on the kitchen table.

It was nothing special, but it was nice. She was slightly envious of what he'd achieved on his own. She could see Parker being completely content there. She dropped her bags on the table as well.

He led her down a short hall. On the opposite side of the wall that held the couch sat a bed. This was his room. It was a good size, about the size of the main room, which was really two rooms, the living room and kitchen. Next to the bedroom was the bathroom. It was white, simple, and to the point.

Parker dropped her duffel bag on the bed. “That's it.”

She looked at him. “That's . . . that's it? Parker, this is a one-bedroom.”

“I know.”

She suddenly wanted to cry. “You said it was big enough for both of us.”

His chin lifted defensively. “Well, it's not a luxury hotel, but it's certainly big enough for two people. We used to share one room with two hundred homeless people, Scout. I'm sorry if this isn't good enough—”

“No, that's not what I meant!” She ran a hand through her hair and breathed.
Enough with the tears!
“I just thought when you said it was big enough that you meant we'd each have our own room.”

“You can have this room. I'll take the couch.”

“No,” she said adamantly. “This is your place and—”

“This is
our
place and I don't care.”

“Well, I do. I'm not putting you on the couch.”

There was a long, stubborn silence.

“We can share the bed,” he suggested, looking at his shoes.

“Or we could take turns, follow a sleeping schedule.”

He looked ready to argue, but didn't. “Fine. You take the bed tonight. I'll take it tomorrow night.”

“Deal.”

They stood facing each other, neither looking the other in the eye. Was this a mistake? She supposed she could go back to her apartment, but the thought of facing all those memories again was repugnant. Besides, she'd fully cut the ties, gave herself no recourse by leaving the key behind.
Shit.

Parker moved to the dresser against the wall. The apartment was small, but underfurnished. Only the most functional items filled the space. He opened a drawer and removed a pair of sweats.

“I'm gonna shower.”

He left her there, and soon the squeal of water rushing through the pipes filled the walls. Scout quietly explored, first putting away the food in the kitchen, then peeking in the coat closet. There wasn't much.

She smiled at the various piles of books here and there. When she found a closet full of freshly pressed suits in the bedroom, she was caught off guard. First, the suits reminded her of Lucian. His clothes often returned to the suite in clear plastic similar to ones hanging in Parker's closet. Secondly, she didn't understand why Parker had a closet full of suits.

The water shut off and steam billowed out of the bathroom into the hall. She turned and faced another unexpected sight.

Parker stood, chest wet and hair damp, in a pair of low-slung sweats. She'd never seen him unclothed before. Although she had no point of reference, she knew he had put on weight. He was lean, but not rail thin like she'd assumed in the past. His body was cut and smooth.

His arms were muscular in a very natural way. His shoulders were broader than what they appeared under his clothing. She swallowed and quickly looked away, her skin feeling abnormally warm.

“I, uh, have some extra blankets in the closet there,” he said as he slid the suits across the rung. His voice sounded hoarse.

When he turned, his arms were filled with blankets and an extra pillow. She was very disoriented.

“Why do you have suits, Parker?”

He frowned. “For work.”

She felt incredibly selfish and stupid for not knowing what he did. “Where do you work?”

“In an office downtown.” He shook off the statement. “It's a job. I make good money and I've done really well for myself after only being there a short time.”

“What do you do in this office downtown?”

“I watch the market and handle hedge funds.”

Her brow lifted. “You know how to do that?”

“Yeah. I used to watch my dad follow the market when I was younger. He taught me when I was a boy.”

Parker had a
real
job. She was so impressed and speechless, she hugged him.

His shoulders tensed, then relaxed. His arms slowly wrapped around her. His skin smelled of clean soap. “Hey, what's this for?”

“You. I'm so proud of you.”

He laughed uncomfortably. “Thanks. I'm proud of you too.”

He seemed reluctant to talk about his job. She stepped back and shoved him. “Don't act like it's nothing. You have a
real
job. I bet you even have benefits and a retirement plan working in a fancy office like that.” When he blushed she smacked his shoulder again. “I knew it! Parker, that's incredible. You must be making a ton of money.”

His expression grew hard. “I make enough to survive. It isn't about the money, Scout. It's a means to an end. That's it.”

She shook her head. This was the same argument they always had when it came to money. “Call it what you will, you have it, and because you have it, you have security.”

He stared at her, unblinking, an odd expression on his face. Self-consciously she touched her hair and looked away.

“I have security,” he agreed. “I could afford to take care of you.”

She frowned. Where had that come from? For the first time ever, she wondered if Lucian's theory about Parker was true. She suddenly felt like she might have made a huge mistake.
He's just your friend and he knows that.
“Park, I . . .”

“I know. You can take care of yourself. I've never doubted it, Scout.” That wasn't what she was going to say, but before she could correct him, he surprised her by adding, “I just want you to know that you don't have to worry about me being another bum. I'm not. I know you hated being homeless. I should've gotten us off the streets a long time ago. I could have. I just didn't see the point. I hate the business world, but I'd do it for you.”

She frowned. “You mean for you.”

“Right.” He lifted his armful of blankets. “I'm exhausted. I stupidly allowed myself to get manipulated into sleeping outside last night. I'm gonna hit the hay.”

She smiled and let him pass. As he made up the couch, she quietly watched him. When he stood, makeshift bed in place, she said, “Parker?”

He turned and she could tell he hadn't realized she was watching. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

He matched her smile and nodded. “Anytime, Scout. Anything you need.”