Volition (9 page)

I heard Jesse’s footsteps behind me, and I opened the driver’s side of the car where Colin was just as I expected him to be. He might drown in his drool faster than he could drown in this rain.

“Colin, wake up. I’m going to murder you and then frame Jesse for it.”

Jesse didn’t laugh, and I thought back to the bunny incident.

“Too soon?” I asked him.

He narrowed his eyes at me.

Colin didn’t budge.

“Fuck you,” I said, slamming the door back in his face.

“Is he drunk?” Jesse asked, concern written all over his face.

“Yeah.”

“And he was driving you?”

“No,” I sarcastically spit the words out at Jesse because I hated Colin, and he wasn’t even awake to notice. “I just put him there after he passed out because it seemed like the right thing to do.”

Jesse’s eyes narrowed, and I knew I was close to driving him to the edge of his wit.

“
You
could have just driven home,” Jesse said, his lips tight. His words came through his teeth as if they could censor the malice rising in his voice.

It matched mine, and I liked it.

“No.”

“No?”

“
No
.”

“Why not?”

“Because, asshole, I can’t drive.” I had never admitted this fault to anyone before. I simply omitted it by never actually getting behind a wheel. I made everyone else drive me anyway. I looked like a brat because of it, but really, I was afraid to drive since that was how my parents died.

Jesse looked at me for a moment, and I watched as laughter bubbled up from somewhere inside him, and then it overflowed from his lips like lava.

“Fine,” I said flatly. “I’m sleeping here.”

I started to climb into the passenger seat while Jesse regained some intelligent thought.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing. It’s just, you’re
you
. I never thought that…” He trailed off once he realized how much his comment stung. He might as well pour the rest of that poison down my throat because it looked like I was going to die here anyway.

“Here,” he said, his voice changing now, “help me move him to my car.”

“Was this on your to-do list today? Moving more bodies for me?”

“Nope, but somehow, I think I’d move bodies night and day for you, Tate McKenna.”

I stared at him because people just weren’t that candid. He didn’t shy away or try to eat his comment back up like I expected.

Where was this version of Jesse when I wanted him?

“Fine. I’ll push, and you pull.”

It took us ten minutes to roll Colin’s massive frame out of his car and into Jesse’s. By this point, I was actually concerned that Colin was dead because even the dead would rise when they had been put through what Colin was subjected to in transit.

Finally, he was slumped over in Jesse’s backseat, and after retrieving the keys to Colin’s Bentley, I was in the passenger seat. I was sure that the interior in this car would never be the same again, but Jesse didn’t seem to mind.

He entered the driver’s side and simply sat there, staring at the road.

“Are you going to start it? Or have you decided to kill me after all?”

“Why is everything about death with you?”

“It just is.”

He seemed to accept that, but he still didn’t turn on his car.

I took the keys from his hand, turned them in the ignition, and plugged my phone into the stereo. My favorite song came out of the speakers, but Jesse made no motion to drive.

“Why didn’t you call anyone?” he asked, turning his head slowly to look at me.

“I didn’t have anyone to call.” I shrugged.

He took my phone out of my hands, and I assumed he was putting his name and number into it.

“Now, you do.”

The way he looked at me when he said those words took a hammer to my icy heart and didn’t just chip away at it, but it completely obliterated the glacier that had taken up residence inside me.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore.” I broke our gaze and looked out the window. I saw tiny raindrops chasing each other down the glass, and I couldn’t look at that either.

“Yes, you do.”

I couldn’t handle anything he was saying. It wasn’t just his words. It was the power that came with them. It was like everything had an underlying meaning imbued into it, and for every word he said, there were ten thousand he didn’t say, yet I still understood.

“Just take me home, please.”

I reached over to the stereo and turned it up loud. At least I could pretend that Florence would drown out everything Jesse was making me feel.

Now

HAYDEN IS ALARMING. I feel like all my limbs have turned to jelly, and it’s like I’m forced to care about my actions for once. I don’t like it, but I’m addicted to it at the same time. I can’t deny that he’s attractive, but I’m wary of him. I dealt with Casper and enough of his friends to know I can’t trust a beautiful man when I don’t know the first thing about him.

I’m still standing, frozen to the spot, contemplating whether or not I should kiss or kill Catherine next time I see her. Hayden approaches, and once again, I feel his movements more than I see or hear them. It’s as if all my senses are on overdrive, acutely attuned to him. I haven’t felt this kind of attraction…ever—not to Casper, not to Jesse. I’m torn between the desire to run and the need for this to become routine.

“Have dinner with me,” he says, breaking the silence.

He’s standing in front of me, and I can’t move. I dare to look up at him beneath my lashes, and I feel like I’m finally observing his face for the first time. Up until now, it has been all shadows and side glances. There’s never been a moment when I’ve truly looked at him.

I noticed his green eyes, the planes of his face, and his dark hair when I first met him. His hair is styled in an effortless way, but it still looks as if he doesn’t care too much. Everything about him is so entirely classic that it’s as if he’s not real. I do something completely un-Tate like.

“Yes,” I say.

He looks mildly surprised, like he thought he was going to have to chase me to the ends of the earth instead of just to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

I wish I could have made it infinitely more difficult for him, but it was like my mind, my heart, and my mouth were all on different wavelengths, and I had no idea how to line them up. I should get to know him before I fling myself at him or run away. At least, that would be the smart thing to do, and I’m trying to be smarter. I’m trying to think before I act instead of the other way around. I’m trying to be a better human being.

He smiles, and his lips reveal perfectly straight white teeth. I don’t know what else I expected. I want to roll my eyes because I’m not sure how I could possibly find anything wrong with him. That’s the problem. I need to find something wrong with him because I can’t go with him if he’s perfect. I’m about as perfect as a shattered mirror, and I’ll feel like a child playing in her mother’s clothes if he’s perfect. I’ll feel like no matter how much I want it and how much I’m pulled toward it, I’ll never be able to fully commit myself to anything because we aren’t equal. He has to be imperfect, too.

He doesn’t try to take my hand, but he puts his own on the small of my back as we walk out of the now empty gallery. I look back over my shoulder one more time at Pissarro, as if saying good-bye.

I see Hayden smile again, and I can tell he doesn’t understand how I’m so obsessed with this painting. I don’t think I understand it either. I just am. Some things have to be felt.

We glide down the front steps, and I brace myself for the heat that’s going to assail us once we are on the other side of the doors. Hayden is wearing a black shirt with dark jeans, and I wonder how he hasn’t melted already.

I get my answer when a man in a black suit and cap parked on the street waves to Hayden, who gives him a nod back. No one is allowed to stay parked on this street—except, apparently, Hayden Rockefeller’s chauffeur.

“Stop,” I say, feeling like I need to catch my breath even though we’ve done nothing strenuous. I’m about to have some kind of panic attack because I don’t belong in the same world as he does, not even close.

“What?” He looks concerned, like he wants to touch my face to make sure I’m not hurt, but he doesn’t.

I find it interesting that he’s hesitant to touch me there, and I laugh a little, thinking of how terribly physically possessive Casper was.

“I need you to have a fault.”

“What?” He looks at me like I’ve just asked him to travel to another dimension with me.

“I need you to not be perfect.” I say it like I’m angry with him because I’m not sure how else to say it. If he’s perfect, I’m running to the subway in less than five seconds.

He laughs like he can’t believe what I’ve just said, but his smile fades when he sees the conflict on my face.

“Okay,” he says, looking down at his feet.

The gesture doesn’t fit the persona I’ve placed with the man, but it’s somehow endearing, like he’s answered my question without actually speaking.

“Can you keep a secret?” he asks me, leaning in.

“Yes.”

“Okay then. I’m deathly afraid of cherries.”

Now, it’s my turn to look at him like he’s insane. “Cherries?”

“Cherries.”

“What kind?”

“All kinds. I’ll scream like a girl if there’s one near me.”

I laugh a little, feeling more at ease.

“Are you being serious right now?”

He suddenly takes my hand and pulls me down the rest of the steps to the curb where his driver is parked.

“Al,” he says to the man, “what is my worst phobia?”

Al gives him a painful look as though he’s not sure he should really be answering this question because his job might be at stake.

Hayden nods, and Al clears his throat.

“That would be cherries, sir.”

Al looks around as if he hopes no one else has heard that Hayden Rockefeller is terrified of cherries. Hayden looks to me to see if I’m satisfied, and I shrug my shoulders.

“Cherries,” I say, letting a smile come to my face.

I want to ask myself where in the world Tate McKenna has gone because I feel like I should be slapping myself right now instead of being slap-happy.

“Dinner?” Hayden nods toward the car.

“Dinner,” I say, sliding into the backseat.

Hayden says something inaudible to Al before getting inside next to me, and all of a sudden, I’m sitting in an air-conditioned town car, and I understand why he hasn’t melted.

He’s Hayden Rockefeller.

And I’m in trouble.

Then

“TATE, GET BACK in the car.”

“No.”

“Tate, please.”

Jesse had that look on his face like I was really hurting him, but I tried to harden my heart. He had been trying to teach me to drive all summer, and I was a failure at it. I had just driven the car into a ditch, which was better than the tree last week. The front license plate on his car was unreadable.

“No.”

I continued to crunch along the gravel road as I walked away from the wreck I had created. Destruction—that was what I was put on this earth to do.

He shut the car door, and I heard his footsteps following me until he was walking right beside me. I didn’t know why I even tried to walk away from him because the invisible grappling hooks that spread from his soul to mine wouldn’t let me get far. If he knew that, he didn’t ever show it. For all I knew, it was just me, and I was officially certifiably crazy. I wouldn’t put it past myself, but I hoped I hadn’t reached that point yet. I figured I still had sixty or so years left to live, and I didn’t want to spend it in a mental hospital. I would have to pretend to be normal for at least forty more.

Neither of us said a word until we’d reached the house.

Mae was standing outside with her hands on her hips, looking at me like I’d just killed someone with my bare hands. “You’re late, young lady.”

“For what?”

“Your own birthday dinner. They’re waiting in the main dining room.”

“Fuck,” I said under my breath. I looked at Jesse. “Come with me.”

“What?” He looked at me like I had a fever.