Page 12 of After All The Wreckage
Demi reached out and covered Gage’s hand with hers. A strange look ran over her face. As if she’d plugged herself into a computer and was getting a download. Her eyelids fluttered, and when they opened again, they were hazy.
“Sometimes,” she said with a faraway voice, “sometimes, in order for something to grow into what it’s supposed to be, it has to be left alone. The roots need to struggle through the clay and soil to the water below without help. They’re more powerful that way. Stronger. Harder to rip out. I want you to have the joy I see ahead of you, even if it’s a long way off, but you’re going to have to fight to keep it. You’ll need to grow roots that are deep and strong and sturdy to make sure you can, and you’ll have to do that on your own.”
“Fuck that. You aren’t doing this for me. Or for them.” He waved toward the house and his family. “And you won’t leaveus again as some noble act of self-sacrifice. You’re doing this because you get bored. Because you don’t love him—any of us—as much as you love yourself.”
My heart broke apart in my fifteen-year-old chest.
I knew what it felt like to not be enough for a parent. Even when you were loved completely and wholly by one, the missing parent left marks you could never heal.
Demi pulled back a little and said, “I know it seems that way.”
“Notseems, Demi. Itisthat way.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take his anguish. His anger. I bounded up the steps, my boots pounding on the wood and causing both of them to glance my way.
Demi’s eyes widened on seeing me, and then, she smiled. She had Gage’s smile. Except it made her look like a fairy—mischievous and spirited and good all at the same time. I wanted to hate her. I wanted to hate her with every fiber of my being for what she was doing to him, and yet, it was impossible when she looked like goodness personified. Our gazes locked for several seconds. My pulse picked up as she seemed to read my soul and all the mixed-up feelings I had for Gage.
She winked at me, taking my confused emotions and notching them up another level. Then she turned back to Gage, patted his arm, and drifted into the house without another word.
The silence she left behind felt as loaded as the sky.
Finally, I forced out an, “Are you okay?”
Gage pushed a hand through his black hair that had grown longer and wavier since I’d seen him last. He shrugged in response and then asked, “How are you, Rory?”
I’d almost forgotten the rasp of his voice. How it seemed to coast over me, electrifying my nerve endings. Just like I’d almost forgotten how those stormy eyes were the only ones to ever see the truth of me.
When I didn’t respond right away, he raised a brow. He took me in slowly, a curious look on his face. As if he was surprised to no longer see the thirteen-year-old who’d bit her lip trying not to cry while saying goodbye after his high school graduation party. Now, I had curves in places I’d never had, I wore makeup, and my hair was down and styled. I’d worn my impress-Dad’s-latest-girlfriend outfit today—tight jeans and a purple tank with half booties.
“Look at you…” A grin played at the corners of his mouth.
“Yeah, yeah. All grown up, yada yada.”
He chuckled, and I was thrilled to be the reason for it after all the grief I’d witnessed.
“I’d hardly call fifteen all grown up.”
I rolled my eyes. I felt older than fifteen, and working the front office of my mom’s PI business meant I’d heard and seen things many adults, let alone teens, probably never would.
Monte’s laugh drew our eyes toward the kitchen.
“He’s calling her Mommy,” Gage said, swearing under his breath. “Do you know what it’s going to do to him when she leaves again?”
We both knew I did. I threaded my arm through his, leaning my head on his shoulder, trying to give comfort by my presence like he’d done for me in the past.
“Maybe this will be the time she stays,” I said softly.
I realized it had been the wrong thing to say when his entire body tightened. He pulled away, heading for the back stairs.
“I gotta get out of here for a while,” he said.
For two heartbeats, I debated before following. I had to almost run to catch up with his long legs. As I trailed him inside the detached garage, he mounted the back of a cherry-red Indian motorcycle. My heart stopped and started. He looked perfect there. Not the bad boy I’d once imagined him based on his name, not a misunderstood rebel, but a god on his flaming steed.
“You got a motorcycle!” I said and then felt stupid. “I mean, duh, but you know I’ve always wanted one. Can I come with you?”
“Don’t think it’s a good idea, Pipsqueak.” The long-ago nickname hit me like a brick to my chest. It sounded too good coming from his lips. Growly and grown-up and addictive.
“Come on. Knowing this is my dream, you’d really refuse me?” I half teased, half begged.
