[Re-cap]:
“What are you talking about, Shawna?” he demanded in a tight voice.
I opened my mouth to wave away my words. My shoulders were ready to shrug it off. My hair was positioned perfectly for one tilt of the head, and the curtain would close on my face, blocking him out.
So I scared myself when, instead of hearing the word “Nothing,” casually come from my throat, I heard myself burst into tears.
***
{Part 33}
I sniffled, trying to get myself back in control, but the damn tears wouldn’t stop flowing and I’d forgotten how to turn them off. I hadn’t cried like this in front of anyone in a long time, and somewhere in the back of my mind, the humiliation was getting unbearable as I gave a hiccup, my crying now turning into full-out sobbing.
Adam had frozen as soon as I’d burst into tears, letting our car come to a stop in the middle of the road. An angry honking suddenly blared out behind us, jolting Adam out of his transfixed state, and he slammed down on the gas pedal so that we lurched sideways and onto the shoulder of the road.
The traffic that had been behind us started moving again, cars now speeding past us as we sat at the side of the road, with me completely falling apart in front of Adam, the most worshipped guy on campus who really had better things to be doing on a Saturday morning than seeing girls lose it.
“You’re crying,” Adam finally observed in a horrified voice, “Oh, God, why are you crying? No – please don’t.”
If some other girl had been crying and I’d been observing, I would have found Adam’s reaction funny. His eyes held an almost panicked look as he helplessly stared at me in the passenger seat of his car, bawling.
“I’m s-s-sorry,” I cried, “I c-can’t s-s-top.” I wrestled with the uncontrollable emotion that was literally pouring out of me, desperately trying to find the switch that had held me together for so long.
Adam was mumbling something under his breath, running one hand through his thick dark hair in a helpless gesture. I didn’t blame him for not knowing what to do; heck, even I didn’t know where this was coming from or why I couldn’t stop.
“Tissues? Food? Water? Back rub? Make-out session?” Adam muttered, rummaging around for something in the cabinet between our seats. I realized he was still trying to figure out what to do to get me to stop crying, and I gave a hiccup that was half-laugh, half-sob.
“I’m ok-k-k-ay,” I gave a shuddering gasp, trying to breathe deeply.
“Breathing, yeah,” Adam said, now handing me enough tissues to wrap his car with three times, “Air is good.”
I quieted down after a few minutes, and every so often I gave a deep, shuddering breath that hitched on the way out, the way a person’s body gets after hysterics. The tears wouldn’t stop flowing, but at least I wasn’t making the gasping noises anymore.
Red and splotchy from the crying and embarrassment, I dabbed at my face and cautiously peeked over at Adam. He hadn’t moved since giving me the tissues and instead sat frozen, like he thought that by not moving, I’d calm down faster.
“I’m sorry,” I said after a while into the dead silence. Thankfully, my voice barely hitched.
“Don’t be sorry,” Adam said automatically, still staring straight ahead.
I bit my lip and wiped my face again, crumpling the tissues in my hand.
“Here,” Adam held out his hand, and I stared at him in confusion, the occasional tear leaking out now.
“Pass me the used tissues,” Adam indicated my clenched hand, and I reddened to an even deeper shade of maroon.
“No, it’s alright, I’ll hold them,” I told him, completely horrified at the idea of handing Adam my used, wet tissues. For some strange reason, it seemed far too intimate. Disgusting for Adam, and not at all romantic, but intimate all the same.
Adam sighed. “Shawna, they’re tissues. Just pass them and I’ll throw them into the built-in disposal on my door.”
Reluctantly, I handed him the tissues and he dropped them into the slit. Face still flushed, I studied Adam. He was no longer freaked out, and gradually he was gaining back his comfortable confidence, but I’d never thought I’d see the day when Adam was at a loss.
“So do you want to tell me why you think it’s your fault that your little brother is in a wheelchair? But,” he warned me as I turned to face him, “if you start crying again, I’m locking you in the trunk with the tissues and driving you home.”
At that, I cracked a dry grin. “So the mighty quarterback has a weakness,” I said. It was a comforting thought.
Adam gave a half-hearted scowl. “What is any guy supposed to do when a girl starts crying? I’m studying to be a lawyer, not a plumber, which means that when you start acting like a human hosepipe, of course I have no idea what to do.”
“You’re studying to become a lawyer?” I asked in surprise. Adam had never seemed like the lawyer type.
“Yeah,” Adam said quickly, glancing away. “So I could manage my father’s company. I already know the business administration part of it because my dad’s been training me since I was fifteen. But having a law degree on top of that would be useful, which is why I’m here.”
I mulled that over. Mr. Ferrell’s company must do incredibly well for itself, judging by the sheer size of Adam’s countryside estates. I had a sudden vision of Adam, sitting behind a mahogany desk in a spacious office in a pristine business suit, then standing on the steps of his firm with some beautiful woman on his arm as he smiled his half-smile at the camera.
I hadn’t seen myself beside him. Could that ever be me? Picture-perfect? Maybe some of us are too damaged for that kind of life. One day that smile could break and I wouldn’t want cameras to be around to see it happen.
“Oh, I didn’t know that,” I eventually said as the silence stretched on. I glanced out of my window onto the grassy expanse stretching along the road.
“How about you?” Adam’s low, pleasant voice asked. “Why did you decide to study Photography and Film?”
Startled, I looked away from my window and at Adam. “How did you know that?”
Adam hooked one thumb on the edge of his steering wheel and focused hard on his hand. His cheeks got the slightest bit pink. “You mentioned it during our fake dinner before the real date.”
I stared at him and he flushed a bit more. “You didn’t answer my question,” his electric blue eyes turned to stare accusingly at me.
I averted my own eyes, which were already feeling puffy. “I know that next year, which is when I graduate, a spot will open up in a humanitarian organization that I really admire. I’m hoping they’ll hire me to be their photographer and filmmaker.”
“A humanitarian organization?” Adam asked, and he seemed genuinely intrigued.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, suddenly shy about explaining it to him. 'I want to change the world' always came across as a bit extreme whenever I had to talk about it to people.
“Basically, I want to travel the world with them, visiting third-world countries and the like, filming documentaries, working for their awareness campaign.”
“But won’t that be dangerous?” Adam’s voice was tight.
I gave a noncommittal shrug. “It’ll be worth it.”
“Worth it?” Adam sounded disbelieving. “But what about other people who need you? What about Jaime? What about—” he suddenly coughed. “...What about Jaime?” Adam demanded again, staring straight ahead.
We were still sitting in his car, not moving, discussing our futures even though I’d long since calmed down.
“If anything, Jaime will always have the Wells,” I finally said quietly, looking down at my hands. “But the chances of me getting hurt aren’t that high. I’m not going to be filming in active warzones or anything. More villages and orphaned children.”
“Jaime won’t always have the Wells,” Adam persisted stubbornly. “He’ll need you here, not on the other side of the world.”
I turned to stare at him, and he had that purely stubborn, strong-willed look in his eyes, his jaw clenched and angular, being overprotective and bossy as usual.
“Then why don’t you adopt him,” I finally snapped in exasperation. “Goodness, Adam, it’s not like this is happening tomorrow. And this won’t have to be my entire life.”
Adam’s jaw worked for a few more seconds before he finally gave up. Sighing and holding his hands up, he muttered, “Stubborn as always.”
My mouth dropped open in indignation. “You’re one to talk, buddy,” I retorted.
He shook his head, a half-smile tugging the corner of his left lip up as he turned on the ignition. “How about we try making it to the Wells’ without any more bickering,” he suggested drily.
We entered the fast-moving lane and Adam leaned comfortably back as he guided the Porsche forwards. He caught the small smile I gave him right before I turned to look out my window, greenery flashing by, letting my hair fall as a curtain between the two of us.
Quietly, I let out a shaky breath. For now, it seemed that Adam had forgotten the reason of my crying and my outpour of words and all his questions.
"Why is it your fault that your little brother is in a wheelchair?"
Closing my eyes, I leaned my forehead against the window’s cool glass.
It was terrifying how close I’d come to telling Adam everything. Too close.
I cringed in real pain as my mother’s voice was suddenly there in my head, whispering the words that I couldn’t stop believing, no matter how hard I tried:
“When that Someone comes along and he’ll try to unlock you, he’ll see you for who you really are. And he’ll be running in the opposite direction. So don’t show them your heart.”
Adam tilted his head, the wind from the open window whipping his hair back, blowing his scent into my face. I could smell the aftershave, the slightly muted spice that was solely Adam’s smell. He was right there beside me - handsome and fierce and real. I could touch him, if I wanted to.
And all I could think was,
Too close.