In Place of Never (14 page)

Emotions vied for position in my heart and head. A bolt of electricity shot through me at the sight of Cross outside my room. The thrill collided with a freight train of fear and anticipation. What if we were caught? If we weren’t caught, what might the night hold? “Hey.”

I shoved the window higher and swung my legs over the frame. Thanks to the cotton shorts I’d slid into for pajamas, my creepy pale skin glowed in the moonlight. Cross held the window until I was free. I eased the book back into place. “Come on.” I inched across the roof and settled on warm shingles over the back porch. “Pru and Dad are at the church.”

Cross rocked back on his heels, folding into position beside me. “I saw them.”

“Yeah?” I locked my fingers around my knees and tugged my freakish white legs against my chest. “How was your day?”

He watched me with too-observant eyes. “We went over to Marietta for a show. We worked around the loss of equipment. I don’t think anyone noticed. Did you like the pictures?”

I smiled. Between Cross and Pru, I hadn’t felt alone. My phone had buzzed all day with new information and sneak snapshots, or goofy videos. “Yeah.”

“What’re you doing tomorrow?”

As I sat beside him in the dark, my heart swelled. What if I’d chosen to cross the street when I first saw Cross and Anton outside Red’s that morning? Where would I be right now if I’d made a different decision? I inched closer to him, borrowing his heat and hating the answers to both questions. “Church. You?”

“Practice. Can I meet you somewhere afterward? Maybe you’ll let me buy you lunch or at least a drink with a flag on it?”

I laughed. “Oh, absolutely. Can I get an obnoxious striped straw?”

He managed to look offended. “You think I wouldn’t spring for the big straw?”

Wind blew hair into my face. I rubbed sweat-slicked palms over my thighs and down to my ankles. “Are you practicing your songs or your act with the Lovells?”

“Both.”

I was alone at night on the roof with a gorgeous, forbidden guy. My heart beat loud in my chest. Blood thrummed between my ears making me light-headed and half mental. If I rolled off the roof, I’d probably die happy. I forced my attention straight ahead so as not to test my theory. “I liked your song.”

His boots scraped over gritty shingles. “Thanks. I’m in for next week.”

I twisted to look into his eyes. “Really? That’s amazing.”

He smiled. “I don’t know how I feel about it yet. Every week will get harder. Next week I’ll need a song good enough to beat all this week’s winners.” He groaned. “There were some great lyrics. I can’t believe they picked mine.”

I could. “Your song was really good. For a guy who claims he’s not great with words, you certainly can put them to music.”

His cheeks darkened. A blush? Was Cross capable of blushing? My cheeks warmed in response.

He ducked his head. “Thanks.”

I looked away, gathering my calm. “So, what happens if you go all the way with this? What about the Lovells?”

“I don’t know. They’re my family, but I’m not a traveler. I want to write songs and work in the music industry. I’d like to have roots one day. This could be my best opportunity to do that.”

I crossed my arms over my knees, pulling them tighter against me. I spread my fingers over my biceps, wishing my shirt covered more skin. “I’m going to Tennessee next month. If you make it through all three rounds, maybe I’ll see you there.”

His narrow eyes widened. “You’re leaving home?”

“College.” I didn’t want to go, but Dad insisted I get an education and a fresh start. He’d forced the applications on me months ago and secured the necessary recommendation letters for his alma mater. “Tennessee Temple.”

Cross’s lips parted. A smile split his face and his secret dimple caved in. His tongue poked the tiny silver ring at the corner of his mouth. “Really?”

“Yeah. Is that far from Memphis?”

His usual controlled expression returned. “Far is a matter of perception. Tennessee Temple is on the other side of the state. Maybe a five-hour drive. That’s nothing to me. Why?”

I shook my head too quickly and averted my gaze. It was silly to hope we could stay in touch when summer ended, but what if we did? What if I could keep him in my life, however superficially? “Curiosity.” I needed a subject change. Not a problem since I had at least a hundred more questions. “You never told me what you do for the Lovells. Do you sing?”

“Nah. I do a little of everything. I help the crew. I spot the acrobats during practice. I put up flyers. Whatever they need.”

I chewed my lip. “But do you have an act? I saw you on the banner outside Red’s, and you had a guitar. The crew wasn’t on the sign. Only the performers.”

Cross sighed. “I read people.”

Not what I’d expected. “Like a fortune teller?”

He smiled quickly before stuffing the look away. “No. Not like that. I tell them things they already know. I watch and I listen. I tell them who they are, what they do for a living, things like that. Blows everyone’s mind. For a long time, vigilance was self-preservation. Too many years in the system taught me to pay attention.”

I remembered his scarred chest and ached to hug him. “The system. It was pretty bad, huh?”

Cross looked to the sky. “I spent sixteen years in foster care.” He looked my way and I nodded in encouragement. The line of his jaw tightened. “My mom was a drunk. She wanted me but wouldn’t stay clean, so I wasn’t available for adoption by some rich family. Instead, I was forced from one suck-ass foster home to the next. I changed schools more times than I could count. I was ignored, starved, beaten up by older kids, abused by foster parents, and left for dead once. I had a…hard time dealing with that life.”

“I’m sorry.” The words weren’t enough, but they were all I had. Memories of all the people who’d told me the same thing after we lost Faith and Mom ran through my mind. I’d hated them for such a stupid sentiment. I rubbed grit from the shingles with my palm.

“The system’s full of bad situations. Maybe there’s good in there too, but I never saw it. When I was six, I was starved and locked in a room by a couple who used the foster-kid money to buy drugs and throw parties. I spent the whole damn summer up there, and it was hot. I got out after the police busted up one of the get-togethers and found four emaciated kids in the attic. In junior high, I played the role of punching bag for my foster mom’s boyfriend. In high school, I made it out of the system by way of juvenile correction when I beat my foster dad unconscious.”

My stomach rolled against my spine. The look on Cross’s face dared me to ask. “Why?”

“I came home late one night and caught him standing over a girl’s bed in the next room. His pants were undone and she was twelve.”

Bile burned my throat.

“He told me to keep moving. Said it was none of my business, and part of me wished I could walk away. That house was the best one. We were always fed. Our clothes were clean. Hell, I was passing all my classes.” His eyes slid shut for a long beat. “I couldn’t walk away from that girl. I was sure it wasn’t the first time he’d visited her at night and it wouldn’t be the last, so I made a decision. I defended the defenseless. I didn’t even know I could hurt a grown man before that night. It was like all those years of bad caught up with me, and I got carried away.”

“What stopped you?”

Cross turned sad eyes on me. “She did. The little girl clawed at my arms, crying and begging me to stop hurting her daddy.” His Adam’s apple bobbed long and slow. “He was her dad.”

The words stole my breath. My dad would never hurt us, not intentionally. Avoiding us was unkind, but hadn’t I done the same thing for years? Withdrawing was easy. Seeing your loved ones hurting was hard.

“I can go if you want.” Cross’s voice was rough and gravelly.

“No. Stay.” I pressed my palm over his, the same gesture of comfort he’d shown me at the campfire. “Tell me more about your act with the Lovells.” I’d process the awful things he’d told me later. For now, he needed to know I didn’t blame him. “When you perform, do you get to wear a shiny robe or a turban?”

He shook his head. “It’s okay to want me to leave.”

“No.”

“I just told you I’m dangerous. I hurt someone.”

The pain in his eyes said he hurt far more than the monster he’d attacked. “No turban? How about a crystal ball?”

He exhaled. “Mercy.”

“You protected someone.”

He looked into the night. “My act isn’t much, but it impresses people. They think I’m a mind reader or something mystical. The costume helps, but I don’t do anything amazing. The truth is no one pays attention anymore. It’s a lost art.”

“You do.”

His fingers touched my forearm and I forced myself still. “I do. Like this. Your arm’s really red.” He pierced me with a curious gaze, not the accusation I expected. “Pru said you spend most of your time in your room, but you snuck out, went to a bar, and crashed a crime scene. You learned some tough stuff about Faith. It’s been a big week for you. You doing okay?”

I rubbed my arm. He’d called Faith by her name. He hadn’t called her “your sister.” Faith was real to him. Not a memory or a sad story. I warmed to him for acknowledging that.

“Hey.” He curved his hand around my arm, covering welts I’d scratched over my scars. His cool, steady fingers soothed. “We’ll figure out what happened to Faith and get you some closure. Next month, you’ll start a new life in a new place and it will be whatever you want it to be. That’s the beauty of traveling.”

I sniffed. “What if I’m like them: Mom and maybe Faith? What if I try and fail? What if it turns out I’m a helpless, depressed, cutting waste and I finally give up too? What if it’s in my genetic makeup and there’s nothing I can do because I’m doomed?”

Cross released my arm and dragged me against his side, draping his arm over my shoulders. He dipped his head close to mine. “You’re none of those things. First, you aren’t convinced Faith went willingly into the river. She was upset with Anton and her ex, but that’s not proof of suicide. People don’t make choices that big on a whim. Second, you aren’t like your mom. She gave up. You haven’t. You’re still here because you want to survive. For what it’s worth, your mom’s choice isn’t a reflection on you either.” His voice quieted on the last word.

Oppressing silence flattened my lungs. I pulled back an inch to read his expression. The wind stilled. My heart thunked weakly.

He squeezed my shoulder before letting his hand fall away. “I told you my mom was a drunk. She wouldn’t give up custody of me because she loved me. She wanted me, but it was selfish because she couldn’t take care of herself, so I went to foster care when I was little. I was young enough to get adopted then, but Mom held on to me. She kept drinking. She was too selfish and sick to do anything else. The bottle will kill her eventually, if it hasn’t already. People don’t think of mental illness or alcoholism as diseases, but they are.” He blinked glassy eyes. “Our moms loved us, but they weren’t strong enough or healthy enough to do anything other than what they did. It doesn’t mean they didn’t love us. It means they weren’t well.”

I leaned forward and buried my face into my hands. Soft gasps bloomed into the crescendo of an ugly cry. He didn’t need to see this. No one had ever told me it wasn’t my fault. No one had ever said Mom loved me but was weak. No one had ever said she was sick. I was Faith’s sister and she’d left me. I’d catered to Mom for months while she was sad and she’d left too. What was the common denominator there? Me. Always me. I’d closed myself in the attic to protect everyone else. I couldn’t know who would stay and who would leave, so I’d shut them all out.

What if none of it was about me?

The ache in my chest was raw. It had to be about me. Didn’t it?

His fingers stretched across my back, spanning the width of me. “Shh.” He stroked my hair and curled his body around mine, pulling me against his chest. “You needed time to process, Mercy. No one can blame you for that. Grief is personal. You get through it, not over it. You want to know another reason I know you aren’t suffering from an inevitable suicide?” He touched my scars. “Stopping this isn’t easy. You did something almost impossible. That takes serious conviction. If you can overcome cutting, you can do anything.”

I wiped my eyes and settled my breathing. “I’ll always have scars.” They’d haunt me forever. Come with me to college and into the workforce. My personal badges of weakness.

He ran the pad of one thumb under my eyes. “We all have scars. They aren’t always visible, but they’re there. Life’s hard on everyone, no matter what people show the world. Don’t be ashamed of these. Scars are proof of healing. Scars say you survived.” His fingers drifted over the white lines on my arm. “If you hate them, I know a good ink guy. Get a couple tats to cover them.”

A surprise laugh popped out. “Oh, yeah, right. My dad would kill me if I got some pretty tat sleeves to cover the scars. He’d die. Another failure on his parenting achievement list. My body’s my temple, you know.”

Cross’s gaze slid appreciatively over me. “I can see that.”

My muscles tensed. I plucked hair away from my face, and the wind carried it into Cross’s eyes.

I laughed. “Sorry.”

He bunched my hair into a ponytail with one hand. “You know, once you’re eighteen and living on campus, you can make new rules. If you decided on a few tattoos, what would you get to cover these?”

“A cross.”

“I’m honored.”

I scooted back an inch and my skin chilled in the absence of his touch. “No, really. I think a cross would say everything about me. I’d choose that.”

His tongue pushed the little lip ring again.

I lifted a finger. “Did that hurt?”

“Yeah.”

The intensity of his stare pierced me. Every fiber of my body burned. “Can I touch it?”

Cross leaned in, slow and easy, giving the damaged girl plenty of time to run. He stopped near enough for his breath to fall on my cheek. “Yeah.”

I tipped my chin, swallowing memories of the one and only kiss I’d ever attempted. No matter how awful this kiss went, Cross wouldn’t fault me. I was almost positive he’d protect my feelings if I failed. Maybe he’d teach me so I wouldn’t fail in the future. Heat rose up my spine.