Chasing Wishes (28 page)

"Good—you can throw yourself off when you get up here," I fire back at him, scrambling further up the roof away from him. Pure bitterness is all that's keeping me going right now, and even though he can’t possibly hurt me anymore than he already has, I still don't want to talk to him.

The rusty fire escape whines and squeals beneath Isaac's weight as his blond haystack appears over the edge of the rain gutter, followed by his piercing eyes and then the rest of his trim, muscular form. I look away and pretend I can't see him.

Go away go away go away go away,
I scream over and over in my mind like a twisted mantra, as if I could wish him away if only I say the words enough times. I curl up against the roof and wrap my arms around myself as the wind suddenly blows cold against my skin. I don't know if I'm trying to stay warm or to hold in what little's left of my self-esteem. Maybe both.

Isaac is scrambling up the roof on his hands and knees when I glance back over my shoulder, but he stops and sits down a full arm's length away. Good—I might have shoved him off the roof if he came any closer.

"Talk to me, Nina," he whispers, his voice sounding almost as upset as I feel, and suddenly all the retorts I'd planned are gone. All the hateful, cruel words I wanted to say to him vanish as my fire goes out, and a bitter cold slowly seeps into its place.

Talk to me.
I hadn't expected that. I don't know why, but somehow it wasn't what I thought he'd say. I was ready for a flurry of excuses, stories to convince me that he wasn't a fucking asshole like all the rest of them, but instead...
talk to me
.

As I turn to face him, I can feel tears working their way up beneath my eyelids. They're hot with shame and anger, and I start to shake as fury suddenly builds up inside me again. Emotional defenses are illusory at best and mine are particularly weak. I want to slap him as hard as I can, to claw at his face and scream at him, but instead all I can do is stare into his gentle, caring eyes and feel the sobs start to build up inside me.

I hate him. No, I don't... I hate something, but whatever it is, it isn't Isaac.

"I don’t even know where to start." I nearly choke on the words as I try not to start crying again.

"I'll wait," he whispers, sitting patiently while I try to pull together what little fury I can muster.

"How could you do this to me?" I finally ask, and as the words leave my lips, more questions queue up to take their shot at him. "How could you hurt me like that, lie to me for so long and then set me up like that?"

I start to rock back and forth, trembling as tears stream down my face, but Isaac remains silent.

"Say something," I whisper, but he still doesn't say anything. The fire bursts to life inside me again and I lash out, leaning out and slapping Isaac hard across the face.

"Answer me!" I half-screech and half-blubber. "How could you do this to me?"

He sighs, climbs higher up the roof and then sits down beside medow"Answer .

"My father's name is Gregory," he whispers after what feels like an eternity of silence. "You didn't see him at the party, did you?"

I shake my head, and Isaac takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

"He and my mother separated four years ago," he says, lowering his voice as if ashamed to tell me. "She caught him having an affair with one of our maids."

"So what?" I fire back bitterly. This isn't about his mother's affair—it's about him humiliating me and using her to hurt me.

"Her name was Maritza," he answers. "I don't remember her last name, but she was eighteen and lived with us on a work visa from Panama."

Gregory put you up to this, didn't he?
Isaac's mother howls at me inside my head.
He just can't let go, can he?

"It's because I'm Hispanic, isn't it?" I ask bitterly. "She hates me because I remind her of Maritza."

Isaac shakes his head. "I think it's just an excuse for her now."

"She treated Maritza like trash," he explains. "Nothing Maritza ever did was good enough for my mother and she worked that poor woman day and night. I didn't know it, didn't even understand it at the time, but my father was just as bad."

He stops and swallows hard, clearing his throat before continuing.

"Maritza didn't have any say in sleeping with my father," he finally whispers. "If she ever resisted, he threatened to have her deported. Even though she knows that, my mother still blames Maritza. She blames Maritza so she doesn't have to admit that her marriage fell apart because she and my father are the shittiest people you're ever going to meet."

Isaac hangs his head as I stare at him in stunned silence.

"I... I don't know what to say," I finally stammer, and Isaac lets out a soft, mirthless laugh.

"What, you think rich people don't have skeletons in their closets too?" he scoffs.

My mind fills with the unwanted image of Mom passed out on the couch, an elastic band and needle lying on the coffee table beside her, and I quell the urge to make a petty retort. Instead, I look silently down at my hands, suddenly unsure of what to do with them or where they belong.

"My mother thought that my father sent you to the party, Nina," says Isaac. "She threw you out because you reminded her that no matter how much money she inherited, no matter how much Dad made at his job, her life fell apart and there was nothing she could do to stop it."

The setting sun hides behind the neighbor's roof and the throbbing headache behind my eyes grows stronger, matching my pulse as it pounds in my head. Isaac inches closer to me, his shoulder brushing against mine now, and I feel myself relax at his touch.

"I'm sorry," I finally whisper.

"Nina, you don't have to be sorry for—"

My mother's high-pitched laughter interrupts Isaac, and he glances down at her as she stumbles out of the house arm in arm with her latest "boyfriend." I guess it really was an out-call after all; he just got a two-for-one deal today. She's wearing heels far too tall and a skirt far too short, and my face flushes as Isaac gets a great view of my mom's thong while she gets into the passenger seat of a rusty white Caprice parked out front.

"Who was that>"Wgreat?" Isaac finally asks after the clunker disappears down the street.

A knot of fear and shame forms in my gut and threatens to choke me as it rises into my throat. I never wanted him to know, but there's no avoiding the truth now. I never wanted to see Isaac again just an hour ago, but now I'm suddenly scared that he'll hate me. I'm scared that he'll be disgusted at my family secret.

"That was my mother," I answer, my voice little more than a squeak.

Isaac’s smile slackens as he notes my hesitation and a look of understanding washes over his face.

"And the guy?"

"He's one of the many reasons I didn't want to you to come in when you drove me home," I whisper. "There are a lot like him, and... and they're all paying her. She uses them for drug money, and they use her for..."

I can't say it. I can't just come out and say what I'm thinking: that my mother's a whore, a heroin addict, and someone I'm stuck with forever.

I bury my face in my hands and wait for the ridicule to start, but instead I feel Isaac's strong arms around me, enveloping me as he holds me close. I want to lash out at him and melt into
him at the same time, and I can't figure out which one I want to do more. My body answers the question for me by holding him close, and I press my face into his chest as I start sobbing.

"Welcome to the fucked-up family club," Isaac says, squeezing me so tightly that it somehow forces a sarcastic laugh out of me. Suddenly I'm laughing uncontrollably. I'm so miserable that I can't stop, and my stomach clenches so tightly that I can barely breathe. Soon Isaac starts to laugh too, and now there's no stopping either of us.

"Do you want to be president or treasurer?" I whimper in between fits of laughter, and he completely loses it and doubles over in hysterics, still holding me close.

"God, I hate my mother," he finally wheezes in between fits of laughter, and I refrain from agreeing. Right now, everything sucks. All of it.

Except this... except us.

As long as I have Isaac, I'm going to be okay.

"T
he time is: seven... thirty... AM."

"The time is: seven... thirty... AM."

My eyes snap open to the robotic voice of the alarm clock. It announces the time once more in its badly digitized female voice before I reluctantly shimmy away from Terrence’s warmth and smack the snooze button. That’s the one nice thing about his god-awful alarm clock—it’s meant for a blind person, so the snooze button is easy to find. You could hunt for the button on my alarm clock all morning and not find it.

The sun shines brightly in the window and the gorgeous autumn leaves rustle gently against the glass panes. I smile sleepily at the fiery reds and oranges, and then I duck back beneath the warm blankets and snuggle up beside Terrence once more. I don’t know which I like better: the way he smells—a soft, almost tantalizing scent that invades my brain and makes me think delightfully dirty things I probably shouldn’t be thinking about so early in the morning—or the way his smooth back feels pressed against my skin. It’s almost hypnotic running my fingers down his back and feeling his muscles beneath them.

"The time is: seven>"Wgred ... thirty-five... AM."

Goddamn it.

I smack the alarm clock once more and then sigh in contentment at the feeling of the silky, downright luxurious sheets against my legs as I roll back to Terrence’s side once again. He mumbles something in his sleep and then rolls over, wrapping his strong arms around me and holding me close to him.

God, I could just curl up like this all day—maybe even stay here, frozen in this moment for eternity. If this is what heaven’s like, there’ll certainly be no complaints from me. I haven’t felt this at ease since...

I put my arms around him and kiss him back, snuggling up beside him against the warmth of the chimney. God, this is wonderful. I’ve never felt like this before.

...since I last saw Isaac.

A pang of guilt stings me and drives away the beautiful feeling of contentment I’d been savoring. Why do I do this to myself? Why can’t I just admit that he’s gone? I loved him—I really, truly did—but I’m never going to see him again. I need to move on.

"The time is: seven... forty... AM."

"Sheesh... will you
shut up already?
" I grumble, reaching out and slapping the clock once more, this time extra hard.

I want to shut the damned thing off entirely and go back to bed, maybe sleep through the whole day with Terrence, but I know I can’t do that. It’s Monday and Terrence needs to be down in the lab. He needs to get to work for the day, and since I’m his assistant, it’s my job to get him there.

Assistant? Lover? Which is it?

I shove the uncomfortable worry out of my mind. I don’t know and I’m not going to think about it right now. Not until I’ve had a chance to find some coffee and piece myself together for the day, at least. After last night, I'm not even certain I care. I don't know what I think anymore.

I wriggle out of Terrence’s embrace, and when I roll over, his handsome, sleeping face instantly entrances me. His strong, well-defined jaw and high cheekbones are just so drop-dead gorgeous that I can’t help myself, and before I realize what I’m doing, I lean in and kiss him softly on the cheek. One by one, I leave a line of kisses down his jaw line, putting a little more force behind each one, and he groans in his sleep but still doesn’t wake up.

I hold back a quiet giggle at the adorable look on his face, and then I plant one final, long, deep kiss on his lips. This final kiss does the trick just like in Sleeping Beauty, but as he awakens into it, he pulls me in close to him and presses his lips to mine with a passion that makes me wish I could melt into him.

"You have to get ready for work." I whisper, forcing myself to break away from the kiss. I hate it, but I have to do my job... whatever that is. I’m still not sure what happens next, now that we’ve made love to each other. I... I can’t just go back to being his assistant now, and I’m scared that he’s going to expect me to.

"Trying to get rid of me already? It was that bad, huh?" he teases, and then he groans and stretches as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. It takes me a long time to answer him—I’m too distracted by the way his broad, powerful shoulders look in the morning light.

"It was amazing," I whisper, kissing him on the cheek again, "but amagaicted byzing or not, it’s Monday morning and I’m supposed to get you to the lab. Don’t shoot the messenger."

This isn’t a relationship. It can’t be... not while I still work for Terrence. It was a one-night stand—one weekend at best—and nothing more. Now I just have to figure out how to make myself believe that load of crap.