Show Me How (It's Kind Of Personal Book 2) (7 page)

The next brings a tear to my eye. One of those old keychains that have a tiny picture in the end, made larger when you squint and hold it up to light. I got it at the amusement park when we were sixteen. The first time his parents let us go by ourselves. I press it to my eye and aim it at the light. Brandon is standing with his arm wrapped around my shoulder, and my hand is resting on his stomach. It reminds me how everything between us was always so easy. For a brief moment, I wonder if what I did was a mistake, if leaving him wasn’t the best choice.

I pull out an old photo of us and laugh, remembering how scared I was. It was Halloween and we had bundled up in sweatshirts and hats. October in Chicago is usually pretty cold so when he said he wanted to go to a haunted house, I made sure to dress appropriately. They had taken the picture before we went in, and I was huddled to his side, waiting for something to jump out at me. His arms were wrapped firmly around me and he was whispering in my ear to stop being a baby because nobody could touch me. It was supposed to be fun. Scary. But fun. What happened that night was one of the worst experiences of my life.

I will never forget the fear I felt. Being ripped from his arms and thrust into a dark, cold hallway. It was worse than all the nights when grown men had tried to sneak in my bedroom. The real reason I would leave my bed for Brandon’s—the reason he didn’t know about.

After a dozen or so times of me sleeping in his bed, his persistence paid off and I finally told him something. The lie slipped so easily from my lips. “It just gets loud, Brandon. My parents are always having people over and I can’t sleep.”

My own father didn’t even get upset that one of his ‘friends’ was in his daughter’s room after I screamed the first time it happened. I pushed my dresser against the door after they left my room and sat up all night, staring at my door with scissors in my hand.

The next time, I didn’t even scream when someone began to pry my door open. The music was blaring from downstairs, and I knew nobody would be able to hear me. The dresser scooted inch by inch, and when I saw long, fat fingers gripping the doorframe, I ran to my window and climbed down the tree. It was either stay outside until morning or go to Brandon’s house.

So, wearing nothing but pajamas, I ran. When I reached his house, I had a choice. Wake up his family or try to get into his room. I found a few small rocks and threw them at his window. My arm got sore and I was afraid he’d never hear me. Alone and cold in the dark. Scared of every shadow. There was no way I was going to ring his doorbell. Finally, he peeked at me out of his window, and with a worried expression, flung the curtain closed. I met him at the front door, and though we were just thirteen then, a kind of security warmed my bones just because he was standing in front of me. He only walked to me, grabbed my hand, and led me to his bedroom. I slept in his bed that night while he slept on the floor.

Safe. That’s what he did to me. He still does, if I’m being honest. And that’s what scares the shit out of me. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since I saw him again, and already, I feel safer than I have in over a decade.

A knock on the door startles me, and I quickly shove everything back in the box. Betty said she was coming later to get the books I had picked up for her. A quick look out of the peephole makes me take a step back.

Brandon

“I don’t know why you’re pretending you’re not in there. I can hear you.”

I stand outside Mary’s door with a paper bag in my hand. I left her just this morning, but it’s already been too long. She’s not been back in my life for even a full day, and I can’t get enough of her. I have some buddies doing patrol to keep an eye and make sure she doesn’t take off again, but I don’t think she will. The threat of Scott Smith is gone; she has nothing to fear anymore.

When I was looking for her, our memories kept me going. The only thing pushing me forward. But now that I know she’s
here,
the future is suddenly obtainable. A future with her. A future I thought was never possible. A future I knew I always wanted.

We used to play house. At first, I hated it; I would have rather played ball or something with Travis. She had no other friends, so I was stuck playing the dad. She would be off in her own world being the mom. I sat in a chair with a fake pipe and newspaper watching her gently bounce a doll, humming and rocking it to sleep. Then she’d put it in a fake crib and bring me supper. I always knew she’d make a great wife and mother. Being in our own pretend little world was one of my favorite places to be. I’d imagine that was exactly what it’d be like when we grew up. Eventually, we got too old to play house, but I never forgot that.

The door swings open, and I take off my aviators, firmly setting them on top of my head.

“I’m not pretending I’m not here. I’m ignoring you. There’s a difference.” Her crossed arms make her perky tits stand at attention, and I lick my lips imagining what they look like. Although we made out a few times, it never went much farther than that. Funnily enough, looking back, I don’t understand what the fuck I was such a pussy about. Dad really wouldn’t have made her stay away.

“Oh, my God! Are you really doing that right now? I haven’t seen you for twelve years, and you have the balls to stare at my chest?”

I peel my eyes away and look at her face. “I’m sorry?”

“Yeah. Okay.” She uncrosses her arms and rests them at her side. “What do you want?”

“For you to stop acting like you’re pissed at me. Which is complete bullshit, seeing as I’ve been searching for you for twelve years. And the fact that I moved to Wisconsin, just because I got a lead on your whereabouts, should make you realize how much I sacrificed for you.”

Her eyes widen with every word, and she struggles to speak. “I . . . I’m sorry, Brandon. Really, I am. I figured you wouldn’t want me around since, ya know? Your dad and everything. And with the threat Scott left me, I was so scared he would try to hurt one of you guys. I was trying to protect you.”

I run my finger down her face, and her eyes close. “How could you ever think that? You were my best friend. I loved you and you disappeared. Just up and left me.”

She raises her lashes, and wetness brims the sexiest pair of green eyes I’ve ever seen. The hurt, the agony, and the guilt she’s been holding in fills every tear that falls. She never cries. Always holds her emotions tight in her chest.

“Shit.” I step into the room and kick the door shut behind me. The paper bag gets set on the floor and I pull her into my arms. “Not a day, Mary. Not a fucking day that I didn’t think about you. I would have nightmares about what was happening to you. Thinking you were hurt. Not knowing if you were dead or alive. I never felt an ounce of anger toward you for what happened to Dad. We were never threatened or afraid that Scott would retaliate.”

Silently, her body shudders, and I decide to get it all out there. Things I should have said when I first saw her instead of pretending I could just be content with having her back in my life. I still have so many questions about what she’s been doing, but all I care about right now is that she’s safe and she’s in my arms. But there are some things I need to get out in the open now and out of the way.

“You destroyed me. My soul, my heart.” She pulls back and wipes her tear stained face, but I continue. “Thank Christ I found you again because you’re the only one who can put me back together. And I’m not leaving you, you’re not leaving
me,
until the emptiness I know we both feel is filled with so much fucking love that we wonder how we ever took a breath without it.”

She leans up and kisses my cheek, my jaw, before she reaches my lips. A calmness enters the room, and we take our time. Slow, gentle, soft kisses that I feel in my chest and my dick. When she finally pulls away, I have to grab the wall to steady myself.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I missed you. So much. And I can’t tell you how many times I dreamed about you, about us. Where we would be in our lives if my stupidity hadn’t—”

“You’re not stupid. You were scared.”

“I made a huge mistake. It almost cost your dad his life.”

“What mistake was that? What could you possibly have done differently?”

She sits on the bed and crosses her legs. “I dropped the phone. You told me to stay calm, and I didn’t.” Her voice is quieter than before.

“What? That’s . . .” I stop and shake my head, trying to rid it of the mess swirling around. “You didn’t do anything wrong. None of it was your fault.” Her fingers twirl her long ponytail, a nervous habit. “Look at me.” Slowly, she does what I say and lifts her head.

“Nobody blames you.”

“I do.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“If I—”

“No.”

“But, if I’d only—”

“No. Stop!” I yell. “You will not carry this guilt anymore. We’ve already wasted enough time. Guilt won’t be in your vocabulary anymore. Understand me?”

“Sure,” she shrugs, unconvinced.

I put the bag in her little fridge, take off my shoes, and sit next to her on the bed. She crawls under my arm and snuggles her head on my chest. The same position we always watched movies in. Familiar. Comfortable. Right. My fingers comb through her hair, and she wraps her arm around my waist. I trace the large scar on her arm and her entire body tenses.

“From when he pulled you out from under the bed?”

Her head nods slightly. “How did you know?”

“My dad. He remembers everything. Saw it happen. Was trying to wait for it to be clear before he shot him but didn’t want to risk you in the process.”

“Yeah,” she whispers. “It got caught on a piece of metal or something.”

Her shrill cry of pain still echoes in my nightmares. The kind of cry you know is because someone is hurt. “That was the scream.”

She nods.

“Heard that all the way to my bones.”

“And I heard your voice yelling through the phone the whole time. I saw your dad get shot, Brandon. Saw his body jerk and smelled the burning flesh. But I still heard you; I knew you were there with me.”

“I know. I wish you never had to see something like that.” Lifting her hand, I kiss the top and set it back down around my waist.

“Your dad . . .” Her fist tightens on my shirt, and I run my fingers through her hair, knowing it calms her. “I thought he was dead. He looked dead.”

“But he’s not. He’s alive. He’s happy.”

“He hates me.” She sobs.

“No. God, Mary. Nobody hates you. Nobody blames you.”

I clench my jaw and squeeze my eyes shut. Nothing in the world upsets me more than when my Mary is sad. She was always so tough, so guarded. Now, I’ve seen her cry three times in less than twenty-four hours. It’s killing me.

“I’m here now. It’s okay.”

“But . . . but why? Why are you here?”

“Because you’re the only girl I’ve ever loved. You’ve had my heart with you since you ran away. I want it back. I want you to give me my fucking heart back so I can love you the way I’m supposed to.”

“I don’t deserve it!” Her small fist hits my chest as she yells. “I don’t deserve you or anything you have to offer me.”

“Mary! Mary!” A pounding on the door makes her jump.

“It’s just Betty.” She sniffles and pushes off me, wiping her face before she opens the door.

“Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” Betty’s voice is worried, and I’m strangely appreciative that someone cares about Mary’s well-being.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” Mary blocks the door, but Betty pushes past her, wielding a baseball bat.

“Did he hurt you?” She swings at me, and I hop off the bed.

“No. I didn’t hurt her. Put the bat down,” I say calmly.

She eyes me up and down. “Why is she crying then?” Another swing, then she looks back at Mary. “Why are you crying?”

“Stop. Betty. Stop. He didn’t hurt me.” Mary’s soft laughter fills her room, and I smile at the sound I love so much. It is quite comical, this old, plump lady swinging a bat at me.

Betty squints her eyes and tilts her head, twirling the bat. “You’re that cop. Was here the other night.”

“Yes. I was.” I eye the bat, just in case she swings at me again.

“Why are you here? Didn’t you find who you were looking for then?”

Mary and I both turn to each other, and I answer. “Yeah, I found more than I was looking

for.”

She smiles at me then turns to Betty. “This is Brandon. Brandon, this is Betty.”

A brief moment of confusion crosses her face before she drops the bat and covers her mouth. “Oh, no.”

“Everything is fine, I’m fine. We’ll talk later. I promise I’m all right.” Mary puts her hand on Betty’s shoulder and gives her a smile. “What do you need, Betty?”

“Huh?”

“You came here. Looking for Mary,” I prompt.

“Oh. That. Yeah.” She picks up the bat then uses it to lean on like a cane. “I was just seeing if she had that
thing
I asked her to pick up the other day.”

“Yeah. I’ll bring it over.
Later.
”

“That would be for the best, probably.” Betty turns and blocks Mary, whispering in her ear. They give each other a hug, and Betty walks out.

“What was that?” I ask.

“Just Betty being Betty.”

“Who, exactly, is Betty?”

“A friend,” she shrugs.

“Stop doing that!” I snap. “Stop avoiding my questions. I think I deserve some answers. I’m really trying to be patient with you.”

She straightens her shoulders and steps closer. “You’re trying to be patient with me?”

“Yes. This is me being patient.”

“Please. You don’t have a patient bone in your body.”

“Exactly. So you should know how much I’m trying here.”

“Fine. If I answer your questions, will you leave? I’ve got work to do.”

Her words cut straight through my heart. Why can’t she be as happy to see me as I am to see her? I thought when I finally found her that she would run into my arms, and I’d carry her off into the sunset. But this. This hot and cold. This crying then laughing. This is not what I expected, and I don’t know what to do.

“Okay. First, where have you been?”

“Here.” She opens her arms and spins around in a circle. “I’ve been here.”