Rebelonging (Unbelonging, Book 2) (23 page)

With raised eyebrows, the man glanced down at
my front pocket. "You really planning to walk around with that?" he
said. "Seems to me, you'd want to put it inside. Someplace safe and
all."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. I pointed
toward the street. "See that guy out there?"

The man looked and then gave a short nod.

"That's my bodyguard." I patted my pocket. "I
think I'll be fine."

"Yeah. But who's gonna guard you from
him?"

"Well, there is the dog," I said.

In unison, we turned to look. Chucky was
flopped over Lawton's shoes, staring up at the clouds.

"Um, yeah. Good luck with that," the man
said, turning to walk back to his car. A moment later, he got
inside and drove off.

I shoved the cash deeper into my pocket and
jogged back to where Lawton waited, his posture stiff and his
expression stony.

"Sorry about that," I said.

Lawton didn't respond. He was still looking
toward the house. His gaze narrowed.

"Ready to finish our walk?" I said.

"First," he said, turning to face me. "Tell
me something. What's the money for?"

I looked up at him, taking in his tight jaw
and hard eyes. I looked down at Chucky. He was still flopped on
Lawton's feet like all that spazzing had worn him completely
out.

Perfect. Just when I could use a good
distraction, Chucky decides to roll over. Didn't he have a squirrel
to chase or something?

Then again, I shouldn't
need
a
distraction. It's not like I'd done a damn thing wrong.

The mental whiplash was making me crazy.
First, I was mad at the Parkers and happy to see Lawton. Now, I was
fine with the Parkers, and unhappy with whatever Lawton's problem
was.

Did I ask
him
about his financial
arrangements? No. Not even once. Even though his stuff had to be a
whole lot more interesting than mine.

I lifted my chin. "I don't really like the
tone of your question," I said.

"Alright," he said. "Then how about this one?
Who do you live with?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question, Chloe."

"I already told you, I don't live with
anyone."

He pointed toward the Parkers'. "So that's
your
house."

"No," I said in a tone far more patient than
I felt. "And I've already told you that."

"Uh-huh." He moved his hand in a forward
motion. "Go on."

"With what?" I said.

"Your explanation."

"What's gotten into you?" I said. "It's a
job. That's what the money's for. There. You happy?"

His expression didn't change. I looked to the
sidewalk. Chucky looked up at me as if he was also were waiting for
some sort of explanation. Or maybe he just wanted a treat. That
made two of us.

I threw up my hands. "What do you want me to
say? That this house is beyond my price range?" I felt my face grow
warm. "Well, obviously it is. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Erika's words echoed in my brain. Was she
right? Was I ashamed of being a paid interloper?

Growing up, I'd been a poor kid in a rich
district. But it had never held me back. I still had friends. I got
good grades. It was totally fine.

So what if I never hosted sleep-overs or went
on field trips? And so what if my clothes were shabby and I had to
cut my own hair? I didn't care, and neither should Lawton. It's not
like he'd been born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

"All I want to hear," he said, "is the
truth."

I reached up to rub the back of my neck.
Everything was getting all jumbled. If this conversation kept
going, we'd both end up saying something we'd regret. I didn't want
that to happen. And if it did end up happening, I sure as hell
didn't want that happening on the sidewalk in front of the
house.

"Can we talk about this somewhere else?" I
said.

"If that's what you want," he said, turning
away from me. As if sensing the movement, Chucky jumped up and
bounded forward, ready to torment the next squirrel or mail truck
or whatever.

Lawton started walking, and so did I. We
walked in silence, step after step, passing house after house. Of
course, calling them houses was a vast understatement. They were
houses in the same way that Erika's first Porsche had been just a
car.

Silently, I sorted through my thoughts,
trying to decide who I hated more, Lawton or myself – him for the
unexpected attitude or me for not understanding why he was so
mad.

Up ahead, I spotted his estate. It was our
starting point and our final destination. I gave Lawton a sideways
glance. His jaw was tight and his gaze remained straight ahead. The
hand that held Chucky's leash was fisted so tight, it was
practically a death grip.

Too soon, we were at his front door. He
opened it up, but made no move to go inside. Supposedly, we were
spending the day together. But somehow, I didn't see that
happening.

He turned toward me and held out the leash.
Silently, I took it. Our gazes met. What he saw in mine, I had no
idea, but his own eyes were so cold that I stifled a shiver.

Apparently, the script called for me to slink
away, dismissed like some gardener who had accidentally uprooted
the begonias.

Screw that.

I put my hands on my hips. "Lawton," I said,
"what the hell is your problem?"

"
My
problem?"

Suddenly, I felt a tug on my hand. A split
second later, Chucky bolted past Lawton and into the house. I
spotted the tail end of the leash, dragging along the tile floor as
Chucky disappeared from sight.

"Chucky!" I yelled. "Damn it."

In front of me, Lawton didn't budge, and he
didn't turn around. He was focused on me.

"Wanna know what my problem is?" he said.
"Alright, here it is. When I think of someone else holding you,
touching you –" his voice caught. "– being with you in the ways I'm
with you, it makes me want to tear their fuckin' throat out."

I stared up at him. "What someone? Who the
hell are you talking about?"

"You tell me."

"I can't," I said. "Because he doesn't
exist."

"Alright. Then who was that guy?"

"Which one?"

He shrugged.

I stared at him in disbelief. "You mean the
guy on the porch?"

"That'd be a good start," he said.

"You've
got
to be kidding me. That
guy? You seriously think he's my boyfriend or something?"

He shook his head. "That's not what I
said."

"Then what
are
you saying?"

"I'm saying that I don't get it."

"Get what?"

"Alright," he said. "I'll spell it out. I
don't
get
why some guy in a fancy car would be showing up on
your doorstep and handing you a pile of cash. I don't
get
who you live with, or why you've never asked me inside."

His voice rose. "I don't
get
why
you're getting 'business' calls at midnight on a Sunday night or
why I'd happen to drive by early this morning and see some guy in a
sports car leaving your house."

I wanted to shrink back, surprised by the
simmering rage brought to the surface. Instead, I took a step
forward and glared up at him. "You're twisting everything around,
making it sound worse than it is."

"Is that so?" He crossed his arms and waited.
"Then go ahead. Tell me how
you'd
say it."

"I already told you." I gestured vaguely
toward the Parkers' house. "I get paid to stay there. What don't
you get?"

I threw up my hands. "Yeah. I do it for
money. Big fucking deal. And the reason I didn't tell you right
from the start is because that's part of the deal. I'm supposed to
look like I actually belong here."

In front of me, Lawton was a mass of coiled
muscles and stony features. He said nothing, and I kept on
going.

"Yeah." I made a scoffing sound. "I've got
the dog, I've got the plants. Hell, I've even got some stupid lawn
guy coming once a week to trim shit that doesn't need trimming." My
voice cracked. "But it's all about the money, because I don't have
any of my own."

I looked down at my pocket, bulging with cash
mostly already spent. Here, I'd been so happy to get it, and for
what? For a new car battery and a whole lot of grief from someone
richer than God?

I swallowed a sob. "I'm broke. There, you
happy?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"Yeah. You want the whole story? Well, here
it is. I've got a Grandma who gets all her rent money from this
fake job I had to make up. I've got a kid brother who thinks our
mom gives some sort of a crap, even though she doesn't. I've got
student loans from a degree that as far as I can tell, probably
cost me a lot more than the damn thing's worth."

My voice rose. "And now, I've got you ragging
on me like I’m some kind of horrible person."

His eyes softened. "Chloe—"

"Don't 'Chloe' me," I said. "What the hell?
Have you been rich so long that you've forgotten what it's like to
live in the real world?"

He took as step toward me. "Chloe, you need
money? I mean, shit, why didn't you say something?"

He reached a hand toward his back pocket. An
image flashed in my brain, the memory of Brittney plucking cash
from his outstretched hand.

I wasn't a Brittney. I lifted my chin. "I
don't want your charity. As you so aptly observed, I just got paid.
So I'm practically rich, right?"

"But you just said—"

"I
know
what I said. Quit rubbing my
nose in it, alright?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "But what about your
waitressing job?"

"What about it?"

"So you do
that
for the money too,
not–?"

"For the ego trip?" I gave a bark of
laughter. "You ever work as a waitress? It's fucking hard work. I
take shit all night long from people who act like they're better
than me just because they're sitting down, and I'm standing up. I
dress like some bimbo and act like I'm stupid, for God's sake."

I tugged at a strand of my hair. "You know
how many times I've got to wash this to get the hairspray out? You
think I'm doing this for some sort of ego trip." I made a sound of
disgust. "That's rich."

I glanced around the neighborhood. "At least
with this job, I get to dress how I want. And I get to live in a
nice place where people treat me half-way decent."

His voice was very quiet. "And that's good
enough for you?"

"It's gotta be. I've just got to keep doing
what I'm doing, that's all."

"But Chloe," he said, "you don't need to. Not
anymore."

"Oh yeah? Why not?"

"You just don’t."

The way he was looking at me, I'd seen it
before. Too many times, in fact. I'd seen it on the faces of the
rich girls in my class who went to Disney every winter. I'd seen it
on the faces of my friends' parents when they offered me rides to
places I couldn't afford.

It was that awful combination of surprise and
pity. And I knew exactly what came next.

Lawton pushed a hand through his hair. "So,
you want a loan or something? I mean, if you won't take money –" He
blew out a breath. "All I'm saying is, you don't have to do this.
Don't go back there, alright?"

I thought of my other options. My mom's
shitty apartment? Yeah, because I just loved to listen to her and
some random loser screw like monkeys in the apartment's only
bedroom while I covered my head with a couch pillow.

Or how about my Dad's house? The place had
four bedrooms, but none I was welcome in. Loretta had hated me from
day one. She still hated me. And my Dad was a giant, pussy-whipped
bastard who'd rather see his daughter sleep in the basement than
make a ripple with his psycho second wife.

Or what about my own place? Oh, that's right.
I couldn’t afford one.

I felt something warm encircle my body.
Lawton's arms. He was holding me tight against his chest. "Baby,
don't cry," he said. "I'm sorry. We'll work it out. You can move in
with me, alright?"

I heard a sob. Oh, God, it was coming from
me. I was crying. I almost never cried, and now, it seemed like I
was crying all the time.

And I couldn’t help it. I leaned into him,
soaking up his strength and the soothing sounds he made in my
ear.

We stood like that for what seemed like a
long time until my tears were spent and his shirt was soggy. And
yet, I couldn't seem to make myself move.

Even through the soft cotton fabric, his
chest was rock-hard against my cheek. I felt the muscles in his
arms and the tightness of his stomach. It felt like a slice of
heaven wrapped up in a perfect package, delivered just to make my
life complete.

Erika was right. I should've been honest with
him all along. Well maybe not all along, but certainly after we'd
become intimate. I vowed that as soon as I got the chance, I'd call
her and tell her how right she was.

"I've been such an idiot," I said. "I
should've told you sooner." I gave a little laugh. "Like it's such
a big deal, right?"

His body stiffened, as if the memory of our
argument – correction, multiple arguments – were something he'd
rather forget. And then, he clutched me tighter.

"Baby, I don't want you to do this with
anyone else. Not ever."

I smiled through the tears. "Yeah?"

I felt him nod. "I mean it. Move in with me.
Right now, today. This'll be our home. Together, alright?"

I clung to him, soaking up his strength and
the unexpected offer. A real home. I couldn't even imagine. Then
again, I guess I could. When I was with Lawton, I didn't feel like
some sort of interloper. I felt like I belonged.

It had nothing to do with the size of his
house or the opulence surrounding us. It had to do with him. Just
him. We clicked in ways that had nothing to do with fame, fortune,
or heart-stopping good looks.