Return of the Bad Boy (14 page)

That doesn’t do much to calm my mood. “But . . . why? I mean, we have so much going on right now. A party is just another thing to worry about. And you and I . . . ”

He runs a hand along my bare back, smoothing the tension there and sending fireworks exploding up and down my spine. “It’ll be good,” he assures me. “I’m gonna announce the new Harding Automotive Works in style. Figure if I do that, we can beg ‘em all for help when we need it. And we’re gonna need it.”

I nod slowly, imagining my parents at the Harding’s home. Talk about sore thumbs. “Oh, my god, Dax. Your family? And mine? Oh, my god. It’ll be a disaster.”

He nods, conceding. “It could be. But there’s a bright side. If it turns into World War Three we can always escape back here,” he says, reaching forward and grabbing me by the waist with his hot hands. I crawl forward, sitting in his lap, straddling him. He lays a kiss on my breast and drawls, “This ain’t so bad, is it?”

No. Hell no. If this is what I get to escape to, then I can’t complain at all.

B
y the weekend
, things have begun to take shape in the apartment. We’ve managed to clean the entire place and move in all the furniture from Dax’s bedroom at home, plus a bunch of yard sale finds.

The place almost looks like a home.

Saturday morning, I go shopping and show up at his family home with all the fixings for the barbeque. When I pull up into their gravel driveway, I’m surprised to a canopy set up on the side of the house with half a dozen folding tables spread out on the newly mown grass. It looks like someone has actually gone through the effort of weeding the overgrown flowerbeds outside. For a few seconds, I wonder if I’m in the right house.

Then I step outside and start lugging grocery bags out of my trunk. When I take a step toward the front door, Wobble steps out from nowhere, making me jump again. I swear, the kid is the black ghost of death. “Hey,” he says.

I wonder if he’s going to make a complaint about something I did wrong again, but he just reaches into the back of the VW, grabs a couple bags, and heads toward the front door. Then, he actually holds the screen door open for me.

I stare after him, as Dax comes down the stairs and plants a kiss on my forehead. He’s wearing another tight t-shirt and loose cargo shorts. “You look hot,” he says.

I stop gaping after Vincent and look down at my short, flowered sundress and flip flops. It’s pleasantly middle-ground between dressed-up and laid-back, since I figure that’s where I need to tread today.

“Thanks. Um. Did you talk to Vincent and tell him to play nice or something?” I ask him, twirling my hair up into a loose knot at the base of my neck.

He shrugs innocently. “Why, is he?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. In a beat, he’s out the door, grabbing the rest of the groceries.

I’m shocked that there really isn’t much to do. The inside of the house is relatively clean, and all the windows are open, letting a nice breeze blow through. There are coolers set out with enough Yuengling to drown a small elephant and even a Quoits pit set up. All I have to do is get the sides ready, and now that I’m slightly more familiar with the kitchen, it isn’t so hard. Even so, by the time people start to arrive, my stomach is tied up in knots.

Dax introduces me to a bunch of family members, and though I can’t remember all the names, they’re all friendly. Some of his formerly scary high school friends show up, too; Abel, a large, red-headed guy with a ridiculously loud laugh, and Win, a skinny guy with long dreadlocks.

I recognize them because though they’ve filled out, they still have the same tattoos and piercings and fuck-you look on their faces.

Their girlfriends are wearing too much makeup and too little clothing, and one of the girls has her purple hair up to bare a long tattoo of vines that starts at the back of her neck and snakes over her shoulder, down over to her bare midriff, all the way down her leg, stopping at her toe.

I approach them, swallowing, and they give me more than a once-over. They look me over three, four times, obviously wondering what the hell Dax sees in me. Finally, Abel extends his hand. “Hey,” he says gruffly. Then he punches Dax. “So this is your little lady, huh?”

I smile stiffly, wondering why that makes me feel like I’m a hundred years old.

“Where’d you find her?” Win asks, which is the million-dollar question.

Dax laughs and looks at me. “I won her in a lucky round of poker,” he deadpans, and then gives his friend a shove. “I told you. She went to high school with us, dumbass.”

They all regard me, eyes narrowed, as if I’m an alien from the planet Nerd. It’s obvious they never saw me
at Friesville High, especially since I was one to hang out in classrooms, instead of detention and behind the dumpsters.

Dax mimes smoking a joint and mumbles, “Don’t mind them. They were all kind of wasted those four years.”

“Hell yeah,” Abel says, laughing his big, belly-shaking laugh. Dax brings them beers and I sit down with them at a table. Abel leans over to me and says, “What the hell are you feeding that boy? I’ve never seen him so whipped.”

I grin. He’s actually nice. They both are, because I’m instantly at ease. I end up having a great conversation with this group of people that I once thought would tear my arms off if I so much as looked at them the wrong way.

Abel keeps making jokes about Dax and how he could probably fix a blown motor with a button and a little bit of dental floss. Win and his girlfriend, the one with the long tattoo, ping Doritos at unsuspecting people at other tables. They’re loud and raucous and irreverent and . . . I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in all my life.

And then my parents show up.

My mother always has this thing about being fashionably late, so I expected her to be forty-five minutes behind. But Dax’s family and friends don’t give a shit about social etiquette, so my parents end up being the last ones to arrive. When the Jeep pulls up, the party is in full swing. People are starting to do shots and there’s the definite scent of weed wafting from Vincent’s bedroom window. I see my father and mother approaching up the driveway, my mom wearing pearls and clutching her Tupperware dish of potato salad, my dad in his loafers, both of them looking like they’d rather be anywhere else, and I have the urge to slink away.

I can’t do this.

I jump from the table I’m sitting at with Dax’s friends and as I pass the bar where his uncle Ryan is doling out shots, grab a plastic cup of Fireball and down it. It burns my throat as I hurry to the edge of his property, taking deep breaths to calm myself.

I feel a presence behind me, and don’t have to look. I know it’s Dax before he even puts his warm hand on my bare shoulder. “Is this a good time to escape?” I ask him, managing a strangled laugh from deep within my throat.

“Katydid,” he says, his low drawl soothing me. “If your mom is willing to be here with him, you can do it, too.”

I know he’s right. But that doesn’t keep my feet from feeling like they’re encased in cinderblocks. I manage to turn around and see my parents sliding onto a bench at a picnic table, across from Mr. Harding, who has promised his son twice that he’d go easy on the sauce today. Even so, he has two empty beer bottles in front of him. I swallow.

Talk about people who are total one-eighties from each other.

This is never going to work.

Dax takes my hand and guides me back toward the crowd. As I approach, I hear my father laughing at something Mr. Harding said. And not just polite laughter, a real, big, loud, belly laugh. His body is still shaking as I approach. It’s then I remember that my dad and Dax’s dad went to high school together. I’d assumed from what Mr. Harding said that they were on opposite sides of the social circle, like Dax and me, so foreign to each other that they’d barely recognize each other. But then my father exclaims, “I miss those days. That was a good time.”

Wait. My father and Dax’s father actually had good times together?

My father suddenly looks up at me, and his laughter dies in his throat. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says, and I can almost taste the remorse hanging in the air between us.

“Hi.” I look at my mom and say, woodenly, “I’m glad you guys could come.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” my mother says, making room for me on the bench next to her. “We couldn’t miss this.”

I manage a smile, though I’m not sure what she means. Like they really care about Dax’s announcement that he’s opening a new business. Maybe they are finally accepting it; that Dax and I are together and anything he chooses to do will impact their daughter. Dax shakes hands with my father and it’s all very cordial and friendly, even if it is still so surreal.

For the next few hours, Dax grills burgers and dogs. My father downs a few beers with Mr. Harding, talking about the old times. Turns out, they were friends in high school, and hung out in the same group. From what I piece together, they even dated a few of the same girls.

My mother and I talk about how Aunt Ellie’s house down in Florida and how it has a swimming pool right on the ocean, plus another guest room, if I ever want to stay with them. I keep sneaking looks at Dax, who looks utterly edible, manning the grill, making the most delicious burgers I’ve ever tasted. Vincent and I team up against Tom and Eric for a game of quoits and beat them handily. A lot of trash talk ensues.

Nothing explodes. The world doesn’t end. The biggest scene gets caused when a few people get a little shitfaced. My parents included. I get a little shitfaced, too. It doesn’t really matter, though, because everyone is having fun.

And perhaps most surprising of all—even
I’m
having fun.

The sun begins to set. More drinks flow. The music gets louder. Dax had strung up strands of tiny white lights on the porch, and they sparkle overhead like stars. Soon people are dancing on the lawn.

Dax lifts me to my feet and then I’m swaying against his body, his strong arms around me, warding off the late August chill. The only way this could be more perfect would be if we were alone, making love . . .

I feel a pang of longing deep within my abdomen as he suddenly whispers, “Katie” into my ear.

“Mmm?” I close my eyes and press my cheek against his broad chest, content.

“I need to tell you something.”

“I’m listening,” I murmur, even though what I’m really listening to—what’s my world right now—is the beat of his heart. So steady, so strong, so fierce, so like Dax.

“I lied to you.”

I break out of whatever trance I was in and look up, searching out his eyes in the bare light. Always calm, always in control Dax is gone, and now, he looks a little worried. More than a little, actually. He’s fidgeting. Since when did Dax ever fidget? “What? About what?”

He kisses me absently on the side of the head, then sits me down in a lawn chair. Kneeling in front of me, he says, “We can talk about this later. I have to make the announcement.”

I stare at him, feeling every hair on my body pricking up. That content feeling of two seconds ago has been completely eaten away by unease. “No. Wait. Don’t leave me hanging like this. What do you mean, you lied to me?”

He puts a finger to his lips, signaling me to be quiet, then starts to shout, “Everyone, I have an announcement!” Meanwhile, all I can think of is the thousands of lies that he could possibly have told me. Maybe he lied when he told me he loved being with me. Maybe he lied when he came inside me and told me that was his favorite place on earth. Every lie I can think of only means the end of the world for me. Looking over at my father, whose lie is still sending shockwaves through my system, I’m not sure if I can handle another one.

I start to squirm in my seat, ready to take flight as the people around me start to quiet down. For the second time today, I feel the flight response.
Escape.

I’m about to run when Dax sees me. He sets his arm on either side of me, caging me in, and his green eyes bore into mine. “Calm down. It’s okay, Katydid,” he says, his voice low and soothing.

If only. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, thrumming a maddening march. My face is so hot. Is this what a panic attack feels like?

The crowd is now silent, staring at us, waiting for his big announcement.

He digs his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts. “Hey, all,” he says, all trace of nerves gone. Another way we’re so different: He’s born to lead, born to be in front of an audience, and I’m just not. I find my face heating up to the point I start to fan myself as he continues. “Thank you for coming out today. Everyone having a good time?”

The crowd roars. It’s a unanimous yes, all except for me, having my minor heart attack. Nothing to see here.

“You all know how I bought the old Miller property, and how we’ll be opening it up in the Fall as the new Harding Automotive Works,” he says, pacing in front of the group, his hands laced in front of his chest. “Let me make it clear; the way we do business ain’t changing. While we’re open to servicing high-end automobiles, we ain’t gonna go all fancy on you. What we do hope to do is have a little better facility and more room so that we can help out more people and cut your wait time down. So while I know it ain’t over yet and there’s still a lot of work to do, I want to thank each and every one of you for the support you’ve given us so far.”

Everyone starts to applaud. I try to bring my hands together, but I feel weak. Dizzy. The twinkling lights above us blur and separate, and the alcohol tastes bitter on my tongue.

“But as you all know, that’s not the reason I brought you here today,” he says, turning to look at me. His eyes are full of intense meaning, of something I can’t quite place.

I jolt upright. Wait, what? What did I miss?

I look around at the eyes in the crowd. His brothers. His friends. Mr. Harding. My mother and father.

They’re all staring at me. Some of them are smiling at me as if I’m about to be handed my ass, and they can’t wait to see it happen.

What the hell is going on?

Dax continues, “I know that when you’re about to take a big step in life, it’s not good to start on a lie. But I hope that she’ll forgive me because I wanted it to be a surprise.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something that glimmers in the twinkling lights. Before he can kneel down in front of me, past, present, future—everything collides in this one moment, leaving me gasping with realization. Tears sting my eyes. I watch the whole scene play out, thinking it must be a joke. When I walked into that cafeteria that first day and saw that dangerous boy carving up the table with a switchblade, I was intrigued for sure. But never in my wildest dreams did I imagine he’d be here before me, now, asking me this.

Asking me for forever.

He holds the diamond solitaire out to me, magnetic green eyes sincere. “Katydid,” he says. “Marry me.”

It’s not a slow drizzle of emotion; it overtakes me at once like a hurricane. Suddenly I’m sobbing. I can’t see the ring straight but I can tell that it’s an antique. It’s his mother’s. It has to be, knowing the way he used to talk about her like she was the brightest thing in his sky. He loved her. Like he loves me.