Random

Chapter TWENTY-TWO

Then he's behind me, his hands on my shoulders. "Jess," he says, wrapping himself around me from behind, breathing into my hair. His arms are tight around my waist. "I love you. I really love you, but I don't want to ruin your life. I'm a total fuck up, I have been for years, and I can't seem to stop doing things that wreck my life."

I turn in his arms and we're kissing, and I don't know if I taste my tears or his tears are mixed in there, too. It's not the kind of kissing we've done before, so full of sex and heat. These kisses are soft and bittersweet. His hands are on my face. "I'm so sorry," he breathes. "Everything about that day was my fault. You didn't deserve it."

"I didn't," I say, "but I really didn't have any idea that you'd be in so much trouble if I called 911."

He presses his forehead to mine and our noses just touch. "I should have told you, but you still would have had to call an ambulance." He frowns. "You're not seeing him, are you?"

"No." With some exasperation, I pull his hands from my face. "I wouldn't do that. When you're jealous like that, you're not giving me any credit. When you kick his ass after I tell you I've got it under control, you're not giving me enough respect." I pause and swallow. "When you humiliate me over sexual stuff that you started, it really hurts me."

He closes his eyes. "I know. I was wrong, so wrong. I'm sorry, Jess."

Raindrops start splatting on our heads, and he takes my hand. "Come inside. Just for a minute."

I allow myself to be led up the steps and through the living room, into the kitchen. It breaks my heart a little that I had imagined myself here, living here, maybe. He tugs me on, into the studio.

"I'm not there yet," he says. "But maybe I'm getting closer."

There are dozens of sketches, maybe hundreds, tacked to the walls, all of me, or some part of me, rendered in the slightly off-scale, surrealistic style he uses. My hands, showing how dry my nails are from waiting tables and scouring things. My face, peeking out from a curtain of hair, wise and shy at once, which is a sweet one but still looks a lot like those velvet paintings. I smile, pointing at it.

He inclines his head. "I know. There's still something I can't quite get, but I will."

There are drawings of my shoulders and my sleeping form, of my mouth. In one he's sketched a pair of glasses and added a giant book, and when I see it, I blink hard. "That one," I say.

He nods slowly. "Getting there." He doesn't touch me. "I wish you were going to school instead of New Zealand."

"Ty, I don't have a job. I don't have any money. I don't have anybody to pull strings for me when everything falls apart. I don't have my rent for next month and my step-dad is a hoarder and the guy I thought I was falling in love with was in jail." I shake my head. "I had to do something."

For a long moment he looks at me. "I know."

"What about you? What happened with the parole violation?"

He sinks onto the bed, rubs a hand over his face. "Because Rick was arrested after assaulting you, I'm probably not going to have to go back to jail. The lawyers are pretty hopeful."

"But?"

"Rick is suing me for damages. Going after the trust fund. Which infuriates my father. Not sure what's going on with all that yet."

He sounds almost as exhausted as I felt the night of the fight. I sink down beside him and take his hand. "What are you worried about?"

"They're rich boy problems," he says with a wry little smile, looking down at me. "When do you leave?"

I look at the Felix clock on his wall. "In approximately 14 hours."

"Shit," he says, and then he's kissing me, tumbling me backward, and as the rain starts to fall we make love. Kissing tenderly, exploring and looking and going slowly. I read every single tattoo on his body, the Emerson and the Mary Oliver, some Cat in the Hat, and some nihilistic stuff from Nietzsche that must have been done right after the accident. He kisses my face and hair and belly, he twines his fingers through mine, and we lace our legs together and talk. Talk about silly things and foolish ones and sad ones. When full dark falls he goes to the kitchen to bring us back some cheese and bread and cold water.

We make love one more time, then both of us set our alarms for three hours, and we sleep together, entwined and aching, hearts broken but also healing.

We wake up before the alarms. "What now?" he asks.

"I don't know. We can write letters. Talk on Facebook."

"How long are you staying?"

"I don't know. Maybe a while."

"Can I come see you if they drop the charges?"

"Of course!" I rise up on one elbow. "I'm not leaving you, Tyler. I'm just trying to find a life that means something."

He studies my face, tenderly draws a finger along my jaw. "I'm proud of you."

I half-smile. "Thanks. Try not to find too many models while I'm gone, okay?"

"We're not making vows of faithfulness, then, huh?"

For a minute I consider it. "No," I say. "I love you and I hope we work this out, but I don't want to have some false bond between us. Does that make sense?"

"It does." He grabs me suddenly and holds me tight. "I love you, Jess. I'm so sorry I fucked everything up."

I breathe in the smell of his skin, feeling my veneer crack. I hug him back just as fiercely. "I love you, Tyler. More than I've ever loved anyone. Try to get yourself together, okay?"

"I promise," he says fiercely.

Then it's time to leave. I drive back down through Manitou as the sun breaks in the east, and from this height it's amazing how much I can see, how much color there is.

My heart rises with it, and I think...

New Zealand!

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Book 2: Stoked

Book 3: Epic

Book 4: Brilliant

Book 5: Intense