Page 74 of Tulips and Lost Time

LUC

DECLARATIONS AND DELULU

Ifollow Marcus all the way into the city on Saturday morning, driving toward the sun and squinting for every minute of the trip until we move from a single-lane highway onto six lanes of traffic already chugging and thick despite the hour.

Marc’s truck is large and old, squeaking every time it hits a stone on the road. While Angelo’s Charger is in showroom condition. Her age, not defining her beauty. The roar of the engine, forcing the whole frame into a soothing vibration that settles in my veins and leaves me a little jumpy as we cross the city.

Anyone who wasn’t awake before stirs to the rumble of a perfectly kept motor when I pass.

Pulling around one corner, then another as my smile grows a little larger, nerves batter at the back of my stomach as we come within a block of the girls’ soon-to-be former apartment.

I wonder what I’ll do when I see her for the first time in three years… again.

Will she look different? Will she be different? Will she still hate me? And beneath that hate, will she still love me?

Fuck knows. But a lot can change in a single second. Six years is a lifetime to some.

I follow Marcus all the way to the front of the girls’ building, double parking in the space I stopped on my bike three years ago. Curious, I glance across to the Thai restaurant I saw her lined up in front of, huddled with another man and snuggling in like they knew intimacy with one another. Then I think of the cold, miserable ride home, and the liquor I chugged until I felt warm again.

I think of the black spot in my memory, the night I know I did something bad, but the act, mercifully, wiped from my memory banks, either a result of alcohol poisoning, or pure, sheer will.

The second, probably. But I have no room in my consciousness to know what Brittany Turner looks like beneath her clothes. I have no desire to remember. And I have no intention to ever repeat the experience.

Once was more than enough.

“Kari Macchio!” Marc climbs out of his truck, banging the roof with the side of his fist and making a racket so unlike any he would usually make. But he’s still excited, and so I guess he’s living his own Lloyd Dobler moment. “Wake up, kiddo. It’s time to come home.”

“Jesus christ.” I cut the Charger’s engine and tug the key from the ignition, pushing the door open, I step onto the street outside and pray no one will scratch up Ang’s pride to spite my inconsiderate parking. “The sun has barely come up, stupid. You want the whole neighborhood to strangle you?”

He laughs and slams his door shut. “I figure if we’re noisy enough, they might be inclined to come out and help her load up and leave. Remove the troublemakers, so to speak.”

“Mmhm.” I move around to the front of the car and lean against the hood. A crime, should anyone take a photo and share it with Angelo Alesi. “And if the girls aren’t even awake yet?”

“Then they’re about to be woken up.” He looks up when the girls’ street-facing apartment window slides open in a shitty, ill-fitting frame. Then as Laine pokes her head out the window and her eyes zoom straight to me. Maybe it’s a familial bond thing, her instinctually knowing where her brother is. Or maybe it’s the shiny red hood I rest my ass against. But her eyes stop on mine and her lips flatten into dangerous lines. “Shout like that again, and I’m gonna stab you both.” She casts her eyes along the street. “Angelo here too?”

“Nope.” Marcus cups his mouth and shouts again, “Kari! Move your ass, little girl. I’ve waited six years to bring you home.”

“Shut up already.” Kari stomps through the front door of the building, her body wrapped in itty bitty sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt that dwarfs her frame and makes her appear a little… short and round. She looks at Marc first, snarling as he drags his focus down. Then she scans across and finds me.

From anger to shock.

Shock to disbelief.

Finally, she transitions from disbelief back to rage and aloofness. How someone can be both pissed and unphased, puzzles me. But when I flash a wide grin, big enough to compete with a clown on coke, her eyes only narrow. “What the hell?”

“We’re your ride home, Bear. Get your shit and pick a car.” I glance to Marcus and pray he means it when he says he’s cool with her dating. It’s not like I’m gonna grab a poster and markers and declare our history for the world to know. But I’m also done treating her like she’s five years old.

Our cards have been dealt and the game is underway. It’s time to play like I mean it.

“Cute shorts.” I bring my gaze back and stop on hers. “A little under dressed for moving day, aren’t you?”

Her nostrils flare. Her cheeks warm. And then her chest puffs forward. She wants to deck me—in fact, I think she’d love nothing more than to grind me into the concrete—but she spins on her heels instead and slams back into the building with a shouted “UGH!”

“She’s not great with mornings,” Marcus ponders. “I guess. I dunno. She used to be.”

“Sometimes people change as they age and mature.” I drop Ang’s keys into my pocket and push away from the car. “Come on. The sooner we load them up, the sooner we can be on the road. Do you know what day Bear starts at the hospital?”

“Yep!” He’s way too fucking happy. It’s weird to see Marcus Macchio so… flamboyant. “Tuesday in ten days. She’s on afternoon shift, two days in a row. Then nights.”

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