Watch Over Me (21 page)

I don't even realize I'm advancing on him until I'm right in front of him staring
up at his six-foot-two frame, waiting for him to tell me all of the things I already
know about myself.

"I understand she's your friend and that you're probably upset about what happened—"

"You don't understand shit!" I yell at him. "Do you know what I was doing a year ago
next weekend, Dad? I was sitting at Mom's grave, full of pills with a razor blade
in my hand, curled up next to her headstone wishing I could be anywhere else but here
without her. All of those things you're thinking about Meg right now—how she's a bad
person and hopeless and broken and a lost cause—well guess what? So am I."

I shove the sleeve of my shirt up to my elbow and thrust my arm in his face and watch
it lose all of its color as he listens to what I'm saying and stares at the long white
scar on the inside of my wrist.

"This is what hopeless and broken looks like, Dad. It looks the exact same way as
Meg, and it feels the exact same way she feels. It's
feeling
alone and
being
alone and realizing that everyone you loved and depended on left you and didn't give
a shit about you enough to be there for you," I shout as he slowly shakes his head
back and forth in denial.

"Oh, Addison, no," he cries softly.

I'm sure this isn't exactly what Dr. Thompson had in mind when she advised me to finally
talk to my dad, but now that I've started, I can't stop the venom from flying out
of my mouth.

"She died and they may as well have just buried you right next to her. You got rid
of all of her things, and you refuse to talk about her or acknowledge her. One day
she was here and everything was fine, and the next it was like she never even existed.
We don't talk about how much we miss her, and we don't talk about the memories we
have of her, and God forbid we even say her name. The holidays are spent ignoring
all of the traditions we shared with her and shitting all over everything she ever
blessed us with because NO ONE WILL TALK ABOUT HER!"

I want to cry. I
should
be crying. It's overwhelming to be telling my father all of the things I've kept
to myself the last year, and my emotions are going haywire. Every truth I speak is
like a knife to both of our hearts. I know I'm hurting him, I know I'm ripping open
old wounds, and the look on his face tells me the wounds are festering and bleeding
and excruciating, but I don't care. I
want
him to hurt. I want him to feel a fraction of the pain I've felt and had to deal with
on my own all this time.

"This is because of Zander, isn't it? He's filling your head with things and turning
you against me," my dad argues, still shaking his head back and forth as I pull my
arm away but refuse to cover up my scar. I always wear long-sleeve shirts and always
have something covering my arm so no one can see what I've done. I'm finished with
that now. I'm finished with the lies and the hiding and the pretending.

"Do you even hear yourself right now? Why would you think Zander had
anything
to do with what I'm feeling or what I've done? You don't even know him."

My dad lets out an irritated laugh and nervously runs his hands through his hair.

"And neither do you. You've been spending a lot of time with him lately. I'm glad
you're getting out and away from this place, but I just don't trust that guy," he
tells me.

"Oh that's rich coming from you," I fire back.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

I roll my eyes at him and take a step back, putting some distance between us.

"You know exactly what it means. I may not have known him for very long, but I trust
him. I've known
you
my whole life and I can't say the same."

The irritation falls from his face, and it's quickly replaced by sadness. I know my
words did that to him, but I don't care. We've been tiptoeing around each other since
he came home and I'm done. I can't keep worrying that something I say or do will force
him back to drinking. Dr. Thompson is right. He's an adult and he makes his own choices.
I can't keep being responsible for the bad ones he makes. For the first time I finally
understand and believe what she's been telling me all along: it's not my fault.

"Meg's going to be fine by the way," I inform him, bringing the focus back to the
important matter at hand, knowing that all of the things I shouted at him about my
mom fell on deaf ears, just like always. I turn away from him and stalk to the front
door flinging it open and walking outside, ignoring my dad as he calls after me over
and over.

"
You're the only one who can make yourself happy again, Addison. You've had the power
all this time. You just needed to find a reason to
be
happy again," Dr. Thompson tells me. "If Zander makes you happy, why are you hesitating?"

I don't have an answer for her. I honestly don't know why I'm stopping myself from
letting him in all the way, aside from fear that he'll leave. But I know that's not
true. He's not the type of person who would do that, and I know it from the bottom
of my heart.

"I think you know by now that you can't live your life in fear. You know that each
and every moment you have on this earth is precious and should never be taken for
granted. Don't waste the time you have being afraid. Get your ass in gear and be happy!"

I sit there and stare at Dr. Thompson in shock for so long that she finally rolls
her eyes at me. It's something my mom would have said and done to me, and I'm taken
aback.

It's the first time I've ever walked out of Dr. Thompson's office with chills on my
arms.

I'm standing on Zander's small front porch, soaking wet, trying to gather up the courage
to knock. I had to call a cab when I stormed out of the bakery because Zander picked
me up early this morning for our picnic so my car was still parked at my apartment.
I didn't feel like waiting in the parking lot for it to arrive and chance my dad seeing
me and coming out to talk to me, so I walked until the cab pulled up. I walked seven
blocks in the pouring rain, the dark clouds and torrential downpour matching my mood.

But standing here with my hair plastered to my face and my wet clothes clinging to
my body, I feel like I'm in a stupid, tragic romance movie where the heroine runs
through the rain to get to the man she loves. It's too cliché even for me, but I'm
here now, and I might as well knock and get it over with. I need Zander. I need the
comfort of his arms and his soothing voice to tell me everything will be okay.

The door flies open before I can even finish knocking once. Zander stands there in
his hospital scrubs and it takes me a moment to remember why I'm there. I've never
seen him in his scrubs, and it's a sight to behold. They are the same color blue as
his eyes, and all I can think about is taking them off of him.

"Oh my God, did you walk all the way here? Why didn't you call me?" he asks in shock
as he glances out to his driveway and doesn't see my car. "Hurry up, get in out of
the rain."

He pulls me inside and closes the door, immediately wrapping his arms around me and
holding me close.

"I'm getting you all wet," I complain as he quickly rubs his hands up and down my
back in an attempt to warm me up.

"I don't care about that. Why didn't you call me? You promised you'd call if you needed
something. I would have picked you up," he scolds.

I burrow my face into his neck and breathe deep, letting the smell of his soap and
cologne fill me and calm my nerves and wash away my anger.

"I'm sorry. I got into a fight with my dad, and I just needed to leave. I just needed
to be here with you."

I speak against his throat and can't help but place a small kiss right against his
Adam's apple. His hospital scrubs are now completely wet thanks to me, but at least
now I can feel the heat from his body and the chill that spreads through my skin has
nothing to do with my wet clothes and everything to do with the man holding me.

I pull out of his arms a little so I can stare up at his face. He brings one hand
up and pushes some of my wet hair off of my forehead.

"You need to get out of these wet clothes. I'll get you some towels," he tells me
softly as he starts to move away, but I clutch onto the front of his wet hospital
scrub shirt and pull him back up against me.

"I have a better idea. How about you just take your clothes off too, and we can kill
two birds with one stone," I tell him with a smile.

I watch as he wets his lips and swallows nervously before he speaks again. "Don't
tempt me right now. It's hard enough as it is trying not to stare at your see-through
shirt. I'm trying to be a gentlemen here."

He starts to move away again, and before he can take his eyes off of me, I quickly
reach for the hem of my wet shirt and pull it up and off of my body, tossing it to
the hardwood floor where it lands with a
splat
. His mouth drops open as he stares at me standing right in front of him in nothing
but a white, lace bra and wet jeans.

"What are…oh Jesus…I…holy…wow…"

I can't help but laugh as he stutters through his words while he looks me up and down.
I thought I would be more nervous about this, but I should have known better. Everything
about Zander makes me feel comfortable, like I can finally be myself.

Reaching for the snap of my jeans, I slide the button through the hole and then slowly
lower the zipper.

"I think I might need some help getting these wet jeans off."

When I hook my thumbs into the waist of my jeans, Zander finally finds his voice and
quickly rests his hands on top of mine to stop my attempt of removing them on my own.

"Sugar, you're driving me crazy. What are you doing?" he whispers.

"I know I'm a little inexperienced when it comes to this, but I do believe I'm taking
my clothes off. You should probably do the same," I tell him with a smile.

"You just had a fight with your dad and you walked halfway here in the pouring rain.
I don't want you doing something you'll regret because you're upset."

Grabbing onto his hands at my waist, I pull them up to my face and place his palms
on my cheeks, holding them in place.

"You're right. I am upset and I had a bad night, but I would never, ever regret this.
Not with you. I'm here because I need you. I'm here because I want you. I'm here because
I
love
you."

I can't take the words back, and even though I know I should have waited to tell him,
I couldn't do it. I need him to know how I feel. I need him to know that this isn't
some spur of the moment decision based on my erratic emotions. I may not have planned
on this happening tonight, but the fact that his face and his home and his smile are
the only images that popped into my head as soon as I walked out of the bakery mean
something. He's important to me, and I need him to know that.

"Say something," I whisper to him as he stands in front of me with his hands on my
face and stares into my eyes.

Maybe this is too much for him. Maybe he's not ready for something like this, and
I just screwed everything up by telling him I love him. No matter what, I will never
regret telling him how I feel. I'm done keeping things bottled up inside of me—the
good and the bad.