Escape In You (12 page)

“We’re just having fun, man,” I say. “No big deal.”

He grins again. “You hit that?”

I make a noise in the back of my throat and turn my back on him, done with the conversation.

He only laughs. “When did you turn into such a gentleman?”

“Whatever, man.”

Much to my relief, he drops it after that. Fred switches to water, leaving the bottle to Preston, and we play a few more games of pool, Preston easier to beat the more tequila he drinks. Eventually one of the girls from earlier comes over under the guise of wanting to watch him play. She giggles at everything he says, and it really gets on my nerves.

“I’m out, man,” I finally say. “Last game for me.”

“What about you?” Preston says to the girl, wiggling his eyebrows at her in a way she apparently finds charming. “You play pool?”

“I don’t know how,” she says, twirling her hair around her finger.

I resist the urge to gag.

“I’ll teach you,” Preston says.

“See you around.” Fred and I both wave and walk away. “You wanna get out of here?” I ask him.

“Hell yeah,” he says. “These parties have really lost their appeal.”

“Yeah,” I say, thinking about the last few times we’d hung out with Zoe and her friends. We’d spent a few hours in Everett’s living room the previous Thursday, playing poker and drinking beer. It had been a fun, chill night, even though Ellie had beaten us all handily.

It’s only eleven when we make our way outside, but Fred tells me he’s calling it a night. “I have to work tomorrow. I went in hungover Friday. It’d be nice to go to bed sober tonight.”

“You don’t want to get some food or something?” As much as I’m ready to leave the party, I don’t relish the idea of going back home. My mom will surely still be awake, and she’ll be pissed if I don’t stop in to say goodnight. Of course, she’ll be pissed if I do stop in to say goodnight. I’m not sure if I can handle seeing her tonight.

“I guess we could hit up the Burrito Barn,” he says, a hopeful note in his voice, and I wonder if he thinks he might catch Ellie there. Before I can agree, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Zoe and her face scowls up at me—she’d refused to smile when I demanded she let me take her picture for the contact.

Hey, you still out? Wanna meet up?

“Or we could call it a night,” I tell Fred, looking at him hopefully.

He laughs. “Tell Zoe I say ‘hi.’”

I grin and return to my phone.
I’m heading home. I can come pick you up
.

We’re practically at my house by the time she replies.
I’m already on my way. See you in a few.

I frown, not liking the idea of her walking in the dark. It’s a good twenty minutes on foot. Fred pulls up in front of my house. “Later, man.”

I get out and go straight to my car, hoping my mom won’t be looking out the window. I find Zoe a few blocks away, her head down, her hands stuffed into her pockets. I slow beside her, and she looks up at me.

It’s clear that she’s been crying. I have the strongest urge to hug her and hit someone all at the same time. Whoever made her cry deserves a punch in the face. Without being aware of deciding to do so, I jump out of the car and pull her into my arms. “What happened?” I demand. “Are you okay?”

She’s shaking slightly, but I feel her nod against my chest. “I’m fine.” Her voice is muffled. I lean back to look down at her and gasp—her face is red and swollen along her cheek bone. Like someone hit her.

“Who did that?” I ask, my voice low. My hands are shaking, and I swear I actually see red. I haven’t been this angry in a long time, and I don’t care. I just want to know whose ass I’ll be kicking.

“It’s fine,” she says, looking down as she pulls away. “Can we just go?”

“Zoe—”

She wiggles out of my arms and walks around the car to the passenger door. I curse loudly and follow her, jumping into my seat so I can look at her full in the face. “Zoe, who did that?”

“It doesn't matter.” She stares straight out the window.

“Your mom?”

She shakes her head slightly and my stomach clenches. “Your step-dad?”

She doesn’t respond, and I feel the air leave my lungs. “I’m going to kill him.”

“No,” she says, her voice suddenly strong. “You’re not going to do that because that would mean we’d have to go back there. And I don’t want to go back there tonight.” She finally turns to face me, and I’m surprised to see fire in her eyes. She no longer looks scared or embarrassed—she looks fierce.

“I called you because tonight really, really sucked. And all I could think about was getting out of there. And when I thought about where I should go, where I would go if I could go anywhere, I thought of you. Please, Taylor.”

Well, what the hell can I say to that? I nod once, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths through my nose. My hands are still shaking, my vision still clouded. I’m used to feeling like this. Ever since Jim I’ve had what my probation officer calls “anger issues.” It’s landed me in a lot of trouble, including a short stint in jail two years ago.

It takes me a minute to realize Zoe is rubbing the backs of my hands, her fingers light and soothing. I let out a shaky laugh. “
You
shouldn't be comforting
me
.”

“You’re upset,” she says simply.

I turn to face her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nods. “Can we please just go to your place?”

I need another minute before I’m ready to drive. I’m relieved we’re only a few blocks away. I just want to put my arms around her.

The lights are all off now in the main house, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I pull up to the curb. I jump out of the car and run around the front so I can get her door. When I take her arm to help her out of the car, she makes a scathing noise in the back of her throat.

“I’m perfectly capable of walking,” she tells me.

I shove my hands into my pockets, a little surprised by the visceral reaction I’m experiencing. If it were up to me I’d pick her up and carry her up the stairs to my place. I hate the idea of someone hurting her, of someone stronger than her putting his hands on her. I want to protect her with everything in me.

I don’t tell her any of this. She’d probably just call me a loser.

When we’re upstairs, I finally pull her close. I sink into the couch, setting her in my lap and wrapping my arms around her. “Please tell me what happened.”

She sighs. “It’s not as bad as it seems. It was just a shitty night.”

I swallow. “Does he do this often?”

She shakes her head firmly. “No. I swear, Taylor. It’s not like that.”

“What’s it like then?”

She’s quiet for a moment before she continues. “My mother has…episodes. And when she does, he drinks a lot. Tonight was one of those nights.”

I have to take my hands off her. My anger is so strong I’m afraid I might hurt her. “So it’s okay he hit you because he was drunk?”

“Of course not.” She sighs again, obviously not eager to talk about this. “I had just gotten my mom to eat something, she was doing a little better. And then he came home, totally wasted, and started yelling about the mess in the house. Then he got…he got
nasty
with her. About her…condition. Then she—there was a lot of yelling.”

I close my eyes. I had no idea things were so bad at her house.

“Anyway, I eventually got her settled down, and the next thing I know he goes barging down the hall to their room. Said his buddy was coming to get him to go to the bar, and he wanted to change. But I’d just gotten her to sleep, and I didn't want him making a scene and upsetting her. So I grabbed his arm to stop him. I just didn't want him to wake her…”

She trails off, and I tense. “So he hit you?”

“He pushed me off. I don’t think he knew how close I was standing. He got me with the back of his hand.”

“Zoe, that is not okay—”

“I know it’s not okay, Taylor.” She sounds pissed suddenly, her voice tight. “It’s awful. Everything about that house is awful, okay? But it usually doesn’t go that far, and there’s not a lot I can do about it. So what’s the point of going over and over it? I want to forget it.”

“You shouldn’t be there. You should be in a place of your own.”

“Not an option,” she says flatly. “Drop it.”

“Zoe—”

“I swear to God, Taylor, if you don’t drop it I’m out of here.” I can hear in her voice how serious she is. “I came over here because I had a shitty night and I thought you might make me feel better. Is that something you’re interested in, or do you want to lecture me some more?”

“I’m not lecturing you.” She just looks at me, clearly unconvinced. “Fine. Dropping it. Are you hungry?”

“Food would be great.”

We slide off the couch and head to the kitchenette. Since Zoe has been hanging out here so much I’ve been stocking more food in my own fridge. I still shop for the main house, but I’m determined that Zoe will never set foot in there again.

I open the fridge. “What do you feel like?”

“Do we still have that Chinese from the other night?” I don’t tell her how much I like hearing her say “we,” as if the contents of my fridge are equally hers, as if she feels at home here. Instead I get out the cartons of food while she rummages through a drawer for the chopsticks. “You want beer?” she asks, and grabs us each a can from the fridge before I can respond.

We curl up on the couch with our food, and she asks me about my night. I tell her about the party, and she frowns. “I don't get why you hang out with that guy,” she says, meaning Preston. “You don't seem to like him too much.”

“I don't hang out with him that much. He’s just an old friend.”

She doesn't seem convinced. “He stuck around after Jim. He wasn't as supportive as Fred, but he was still there. So when he comes home in the summer we hang out sometimes.”

She’s quiet next to me, and I wonder what she’s thinking. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” she finally asks. “How everything feels different when they come home from school.”

“When who comes home?”

She shrugs a little. “Everyone. Just, like, all the kids we grew up with who went away. They come home with all their new stories and friends and experiences and…I don't know. It just feels weird to me.”

I remember the first night we met, our discussion in Preston’s basement. She had told me that she hated the summer. I hadn't thought of it much—I’d been too distracted by my own negative feelings about the season, but now I wonder why.

“Did you want to go away to school?”

She doesn't respond for so long that I think she’ll ignore the question. But then she breathes out, so softly that I can barely hear it, and says, “I was supposed to go to U of M with my best friend, Grace.”

I’d never heard her mention a Grace before, and I’m about to ask why when she continues. “We’d been planning it for years. Since, like, junior high. We’d both get scholarships and share a dorm and go to all the football games and pretty much have the best time ever.” She laughs softly. “We even did a summer program there before junior year. We got to live in the dorms for two whole weeks and take special classes.” She looks up at me, laughter in her eyes. “That probably sounds totally lame to you, but I loved it. I felt so grown up and cool, and I loved the professors and everything.”

“Why didn't you go?”

I regret the question immediately. Her face closes up, the brightness and laughter slipping from her eyes. “Things changed at home. It wasn’t an option anymore.”

That gives me pause. She had told me before that she started hanging out with Ellie her junior year. Ellie doesn't seem like the kind of girl who’d get excited about a summer academic program. I wonder if the change at home was what led her to seek out new friends. Could it have been when her mom got married? Or when she had started having her episodes, whatever that meant? I wonder what happened to Grace. But Zoe remains silent on the couch next to me.

“You know you can trust me, right, Zoe?”

When she looks over at me, she seems surprised. “Sure.”

I look into her eyes, wanting to ask her all of my questions, wanting to understand her. But I have a feeling prying will just push her away. Maybe she needs to take it slow, letting me in an inch at a time. I figure the best thing I can do is be patient.

“What about you?” she asks. “Did you ever want to go to school?”

I think about my plans with Jim. A year older, he was going to head off to school first. I planned to follow wherever he went, but he insisted I wait to find out what schools might be interested in my playing ball for them. I close my eyes, knowing I would have made my choice based on baseball in the end. Just another example of how I put my own desires over my brother.

“Taylor?” she asks softly.

I open my eyes and smile at her. “Yeah, I wanted to go to school. But things changed at home, and it wasn’t an option anymore.”

She smiles sadly. But, unlike me, she doesn't quite drop it. “So, if school’s not an option anymore, what do you want to do? Are you happy working on cars?”

“Happy enough, I guess. I like to use my hands. I like to fix things.”

“What about your art, though? Is that something you’d like to do professionally?”

“It’s a hard business to break into,” I say, feeling tense suddenly. “Without a degree I’d never be able to work for any kind of graphic design company. And—”

“That’s not what I asked,” she says. “If all of that stuff wasn't a factor, would you want to be a professional artist? What would your dream job be?”

I smile, not quite believing I’m about to admit this. “If I could do anything, I would draw comics.”

Her face lights up. “Yeah? I didn't know you were into comics.”

I laugh. “Yeah, well, it makes me sound like a kid. Not exactly the impression I want to give out when I’m trying to get into a girl’s pants.”

She laughs, and lets her head fall back on the cushions. “Do you want to get into my pants, Taylor?”

“You have no idea.”

She stops laughing suddenly, her face serious as she looks at me. “Right back at you.”

I groan softly, and set the cartons of Chinese food onto the coffee table. She slides up onto my lap, looping her arms around my neck. She feels soft against my chest, and I catch a whiff of her shampoo, the scent soft and feminine.