Alone (9 page)

Chapter Ten

Rage

Every nerve ending in my body is on fire as I turn away from Kyle. He yells after me, but I keep moving. It took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to beat the shit out of him, and if I look back now, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to control myself. Kyle has no idea how lucky he is that Jules stepped in.

My body twitches as I head down the beach. Above me, the sky grows darker by the second. The wind howls, blowing over the water until it curls over itself, making dark waves that hit the shore with more violence than even I’ve seen. That’s saying a lot.

When I reach the lifeguard tower Jules and I were sitting on earlier, I stop and climb up. It’s going to rain, but I need to cool down.

My hand moves for a cigarette, but my fingers are curled so tightly that I have to pry them open before I can a pull one out. When I do, I find what’s left of a cigarette already in my palm. Crushed. The wind blows, picking up the flecks of tobacco and carrying them away in one big burst. Damn. Cigarettes are too hard to come by to waste them like that.

I pull a new one out and pop it in my mouth, holding it between my lips while I flick my thumb over my lighter. It sparks but doesn’t catch, so I try again. Thanks to the wind, it takes me three tries to get a flame. Finally, I manage to get the cigarette lit. I take a long drag while I slide my lighter back into my pocket, sucking the chemicals down into my lungs. Feeling the burn and allowing the familiar taste to soothe me. By the time I’ve exhaled, my body is lighter.

On the inside though, I’m still seething.

Kyle is a prick. I’ve always known that, but his comment was way over the line—even for him. I’m just not sure who I’m more pissed for. Mac, Carmen, or Jules. Maybe all three. None of them deserve to be treated that way.

I sit for what feels like hours, smoking as the waves roll farther and farther up the beach. When the first raindrop hits my arm, it’s so warm I barely feel it. A second follows, nailing me in the forehead, but I don’t move until a bolt of lightning cuts across the sky. Seems like a good time to make my exit.

I flick my cigarette into the wind and start to climb, but I only make it halfway before the clouds open up. Water pours over my body, soaking me in two seconds flat and blinding me as I try to make it the rest of the way down the ladder. The second my feet hit the wet sand I start jogging, but it’s so dark and the rain is so thick I can’t see more than two feet in front of me. Good thing I don’t need to. I know where I live.

I’m still a few houses away from home when I slow. Despite how dark it is, it’s early, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Rick will still be up. After my beating yesterday, I’m not really interested in another confrontation.

Too bad I don’t have anywhere else to go.

Chapter Eleven

The Fake Father

I’m still sitting in the backyard when it starts raining. Water that’s warmer than a hot bath pours over me, and even though I’m immediately soaked, I stay where I am. I close my eyes and lift my face toward the sky as rain runs down my head and over my body. There’s a part of me that feels like it’s washing my past away.

Before long it’s coming down so hard I’m practically inhaling water. I make a break for the house, hopping over puddles, my feet sinking into the soft earth. When I finally reach the porch, I stop to catch my breath, and within seconds there’s a puddle under my feet.

The rainwater is warm, but thanks to the wind, there’s a chill to the air. Goose bumps pop up on every inch of my skin, and I shiver. My clothes are glued to my body.

“Juliana.” My father’s voice makes me jump.

I let out a little squeal as I spin to face him. He stands with the door propped open, staring at me. I’m not sure what the expression on his face means, but it puts me on guard. We’re going to have a fight. I know it.

He holds the door open when I head his way. Just as I brush past him, his jaw clenches. I was right. An argument is inevitable. He’s pissed.

“Where have you been?” he asks, shutting the door behind him before following me inside.

“Out with some friends,” I say, not bothering to try and sound sorry. Maybe he was worried, but I doubt it. I’m not sure my father has ever
felt
much when it came to me.

He takes a deep breath and slowly blows it out like he’s trying to control his temper. I don’t blink. “I heard you left school after lunch, so I came home to make sure you were okay. I’ve been sitting here since then, waiting for you. I had no idea where you were or if you were okay.”

His jaw clenches for the second time, and all the tendons in his neck stand out. He’s really trying to stay in control, which should count for something. It doesn’t, though. Too little too late and all that.

I’m shivering and wet. Fighting is the last thing I want to do right now, but I’m not going to apologize and pretend like I care when I know
he
doesn’t.

“Sorry,” I mutter, and he relaxes a tiny bit. “I didn’t know you’d suddenly started caring.”

All his anger returns, simmering just below the surface. “Jules—”

“I’m cold and wet,” I say, cutting him off. “I’m going to change.” I turn on my heel, heading toward the stairs. We can’t fight if I don’t stay.

“I’m your father!” he calls after me.

I throw my head back and laugh. I didn’t know I had it in me, but all the anger I’ve suppressed has built up, and I suddenly can’t keep it inside any more. It was bound to come out one of these days.

I stop and turn to face him, meeting his angry glare with one of my own. “You could have fooled me. I’m an obligation to you! That’s all I’ve ever been.”

My father flinches. He takes a deep breath but doesn’t relax. Still, when he speaks, it’s softer. He’s more in control. “Who were you with?”

“The Regulator’s son.”

My father shakes his head, and his entire body seems to turn to stone. “That kid is trouble. I want you to stay away from him.”

I roll my eyes as I turn back to the stairs, feeling like I’m in one of those cheesy teen movies Hollywood used to love to make. My father telling me not to see Roman is so ridiculous and is so obviously bound to backfire. It’s like he knows absolutely nothing about parenting.

“Jules,” he calls after me. “I’m serious!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, but it’s for my own benefit. He can’t hear me.

As I head up to my room, an amazing sense of satisfaction sweeps through me. I’ve never rebelled a day in my life. Never before the virus hit and not once in the two years since then. No matter how unhappy I’ve been with my father and his pretend parenting, I’ve always just taken it. Now though, it hits me: I don’t have to. Roman can help me get back at my father just a little bit.

I leave a puddle in my wake as I head through the house to my bedroom. The balcony door is wide open, and a cool breeze sweeps through my room, making me shiver, but I don’t shut it. The rain pounding against the Earth outside is loud and soothing. It helps block everything else out. All the hurt moving through me, seeping into my veins. After all these years, I was so sure I’d finally become numb to it all. Wrong again.

I strip and grab a fluffy towel from the bathroom so I can dry off. Once my hair isn’t dripping anymore, I pull on some dry clothes and I finally feel better. At least on the outside.

Inside, the ache is still there. From the idea that Roman may have said stuff about me last night, from the words Kyle had so carelessly thrown around on the beach, and from the uncomfortable feeling that he might have lied to me about Roman. From my father’s reminder of how absent he was during my childhood. More than anything though, I ache for my mom. If she were here, she’d know what to do about all of it.

I exhale, trying to push out all the anger and hurt as I cross the room to the balcony. The wind howls so hard that little droplets of water get blown in with each gust. I should shut it, but I don’t want to. I want to watch the storm moving in.

Chapter Twelve

Another Glimpse

The rain falls on me in sheets, making it almost impossible to see. That doesn’t stop me from searching the darkness for Jules’s house, though. Just like last night, I catch sight of the light shining from her window. This time, though, I allow myself to move forward. Crossing the boardwalk and dunes and heading into her backyard. When I’m closer, I find that her balcony door is open again. When there’s movement, I try to force myself to look away…

Come on Roman, you’re not a perv.
Even I have to laugh. Who am I kidding?

Water drips into my eyes as I move closer to the house, and I put my hand up to shield the rain. Jules steps out, and my heart almost stops. She’s dressed, but just barely. Skimpy shorts and a tank top that leaves little to the imagination—almost as good as last night.

I stop in the middle of the yard and stare up at her as she leans against the doorframe. Her hair is wet. Did she get caught in the rain or just get out of the shower? Filthy images of her in the shower go through my mind, and I fight to push them away.

I cup my hands around my mouth and call her name, trying to raise my voice above the deafening storm. It’s raining too hard though, and the sound is lost as soon as it leaves my throat. I yell louder, and Jules straightens. She looks around like she’s searching the distance, so I take a few steps closer until I’m standing in the light.

When she sees me, a smile lights up her face. I smile back and wave, my eyes sweeping over the house in the process. There’s a lattice leading up to the second story roof. I bet I can climb it and get over to the balcony pretty easily.

Just thinking about being in the room with Jules right now sends a jolt of electricity shooting through my body. But I don’t move.

What the hell am I doing here? What if I did get up there? What then?

I sweep my wet hair out of my face and take a deep breath. Jules isn’t like Roz. I need to be careful here. She’s innocent. Going up there isn’t going to get me laid. For some reason though, I don’t care. All I want right now is to talk to Jules. Just be with her. Which is as confusing as hell.

Jules doesn’t wave me up, but she doesn’t go back inside. She just stares at me, and it makes my mind up for me. I’m going in.

Chapter Thirteen

Claimed

Roman is standing in the middle of my backyard. In the rain.

My heart speeds up, and I grip the railing in front of me. For a few seconds, he and I just stare at each other. The sudden urge to wave him up sweeps through me, taking me totally by surprise, and with it comes fear. Fear of the unknown and the uncertain. It’s so intense that my legs tremble with the desire to run.

What would happen if Roman came up here? What do I want to happen?

We could be friends.

Yes, that’s what I want. Someone I can talk to and lean on. Not just that, I want Roman to be that friend. If he comes up to my room, we could talk and I could get to know him more. Let him know me.

Sure that’s what you want, Jules.

There’s more to the desire, though, and I can’t deny it. An electricity that makes my skin sizzle shoots through me when I think about Roman. About him climbing into my room. About what
could
happen.

Below me, he ducks his head and steps into the shadows, and my heart sinks. I’m too late.

Between the black night and the rain, the darkness is so thick that at first I can’t find Roman. Then movement catches my eye, and I squint, trying to locate him through the pounding rain. There he is. Climbing the trellis.

I grip the railing harder as he scales the side of the house. Halfway up, his foot slips on the damp vines and he slides down a bit, making my already swiftly beating heart pound faster. But he somehow manages to regain his footing and pulls himself back up until he finally reaches the roof, where he collapses on the shingles.

I let out a sigh, but my fingers don’t ease their grip on the railing. Roman isn’t out of danger yet. Rain pours down the slope of the roof like a waterfall, pounding into him as he raises himself up on his hands and his knees. He starts to crawl, slowly making his way across the slick roof. Every inch brings him closer to the balcony, and me closer to having a heart attack. He keeps his body low, but even in the dim light, the shakiness of his limbs is visible.

When Roman finally reaches the balcony, I rush over to help him, stepping out from underneath the overhang and into the storm. The rain pounds on my head, plastering my hair to my face and making it impossible to see what I’m doing. I shove the wet strands back, gasping when water pours into my mouth. Then I thrust my hand out, waiting for Roman to grab it so I can pull him over. His hand wraps around mine and I pull, and then he’s tumbling over the railing in the most ungraceful way possible. Landing on his face.

I step back under the overhang and brush the wet hair out of my eyes, fighting back a giggle. Roman always looks so easygoing, but there’s nothing laid-back about the way he just plopped down on his face. He gets to his feet, seemingly unfazed, and stands in front of me as the rain pummels him. Roman runs his hand through his wet hair, pushing it back, and the corner of his mouth turns up. Just as casual as always. How does he manage it?

“Are you okay?” I ask, raising my voice over the pounding rain.

“Yeah. Luckily I fell on my head.”

I giggle for real this time but cover my mouth so I don’t sound like a donkey. “That sounds like something Mac would say.” He must be wearing off on Roman.

Roman’s smile morphs into a full-blown grin, and my pulse quickens. His brown eyes stray down my body, moving over me so slowly that it makes my already heated blood start to simmer. A shiver moves through me, but I’m clueless as to whether it’s from the chilly night air or Roman’s intense gaze.

His eyes move to my face, but only for a second before going back down. It happens again, moving up and down so fast that they remind me of a ping-pong ball. It’s like he can’t figure out where to look. I shuffle my feet, my face and skin growing warm under his gaze despite the cold night.

What does he keep looking at?

I glance down to find my white tank drenched and clinging to my body like it’s a second set of skin. Showing off every curve.

Heat like I’ve never felt before blooms in my cheeks, and I cross my arms over my chest. “Can I get you a towel?”

I
need
a towel.

Roman is so relaxed that he seems to lean against thin air. He doesn’t answer me, but thankfully he does tear his eyes away from the mess that is
me
. He glances down at his own soaking clothes before looking past me. Into my bedroom.

My heart soars and then drops to my stomach like one of those rides you used to find at amusement parks
.

Dear God, what am I doing? This isn’t me!

“Is it okay that I’m here?” he asks, his eyes meeting mine once again.

The consideration takes me by surprise, making it impossible to answer for a few seconds. Thoughtfulness doesn’t really mesh with his façade of indifference.

“Yes.” Even though my heart is racing and my skin is hot and a very terrifying tremble has started in my legs, Roman being here is more than okay. I
need
this.

Roman steps out of the rain but not into my room. He runs his hand through his wet hair, wringing out as much of the excess water as he can. It falls around him, splashing against the balcony and leaving a puddle under his feet. He looks down at his shirt like it’s a puzzle he has to work out. I almost turn so I can get him a towel but freeze when he peels his soaking shirt from his body, lifting it over his head.

His body is lean, but firm and sculpted. The muscles in his arms and shoulders flex as he wrings his shirt out, drawing my eyes to the movement like a moth to a flame. I can’t look away. It’s like every inch of him is begging for attention.
My
attention. I’ve never felt the desire to touch another person as much as I do now. My fingers itch with the need to caress his bare skin, to move down his chest.

But we just met.

I ball my hands into fists at my side while Roman drapes his shirt across one of the wicker chairs on the balcony. His eyes meet mine, and he gives me a half-smile, his eyes twinkling. He’s caught me staring, and he enjoys it. It makes me blush more than ever before.

“I’ll get you that towel,” I mumble, turning away from him and hurrying to the bathroom.

Once I’m alone, I take a few deep breaths and work at slowing my pulse. It doesn’t help. Every time I almost get my body under control, I think about Roman being in the other room and my heart starts pounding even harder than before. Nervousness and excitement war against each other in my stomach, and I don’t have a clue what to do or how to act. I’ve never been alone with a boy, and Roman is so different from anyone I’ve ever met. Everything he does and says makes my insides flutter like a hummingbird’s wings. I don’t feel like myself around him, but like a better version of me. One who isn’t shy and insecure and terrified of the world around her.

I freeze in front of the mirror when my reflection catches my eye. My hair is soaked again, and water drips down my body to the floor until I’m standing in a puddle. My thin shirt is plastered to my chest. I should change, only there’s a small part of me that doesn’t want to. I liked the way it felt to have Roman’s eyes moving over my body. It was exhilarating.

But that isn’t me, and even though I’m not always sure who I really am, I know I don’t want to be that girl.

I rip my wet clothes off for the second time today and dry myself before grabbing something clean. Shorts and a shirt that aren’t quite as form-fitting. I don’t want to give Roman the wrong idea.

Back in the bedroom, I find Roman standing in the middle of the room. A small puddle has formed under his feet and is getting larger by the second. His pants are soaking wet, and it occurs to me that a towel isn’t going to help all that much.

He should take his pants off too
.

Where the hell did that thought come from? I don’t have a clue, but at the moment, I’m eternally grateful Roman can’t read my mind.

“I brought you a towel,” I say, holding the fluffy thing out. Refusing to meet his gaze because my cheeks are still warm from thinking about Roman stripping down.

“Thanks.”

He takes the towel and dries off, working it through his hair and then down his chest. I finally meet his gaze, and he smirks like he knows how uncomfortable I am. My only consolation is that he doesn’t know
why
I’m uncomfortable. His eyes hold mine as he drops the towel to the floor and moves it around with his foot so he can mop up the puddle. My insides buzz as if live wires have replaced my veins and electricity is shooting through them.

Now that Roman is standing in the bright light of my room, I notice a series of bruises on his chest and stomach. They’re different shades and sizes, almost as if he got them several days apart. Some are so dark they look black, while others have faded to yellow. They run over his ribs to his left side and across his stomach. When he shifts, I even catch sight of a few on his lower back.

He sees me studying them and tilts his head like he’s waiting for me to ask, but I don’t. Thinking about where he could have gotten them makes me queasy.

I tear my gaze away from the bruises and focus on his tattoos. He has a half sleeve done in all black covering his right bicep. It’s an intricate knot that’s either tribal or Celtic, I’m not sure which. His other arm is adorned by a knot that is definitely of Celtic origin. It’s five inches long and beautifully done. A real work of art. Maybe Hank isn’t stupid for offering his services after all. He’s obviously very talented.

Without thinking, I reach out and run my fingers over the lines that form the knot, tracing them as they weave together on his skin. The tips of my fingers tingle from the contact.

“Did you get these in town?”

Roman’s face remains expressionless, his eyes following the trek my fingers make across his skin. “Hank’s a good artist.”

My pulse races so fast that I need a second to collect myself. I drop my hand to my side, hating the loss off his warmth.

“I may be able to get you a pair of dry shorts.”

“I don’t mind being wet.” Roman shrugs like being soaked to the bone is nothing but a minor inconvenience.

“But you can’t sit on the bed if your jeans are soaked through.”

A teasing smirk spreads across his face as he lifts his eyebrows. “Are you inviting me into your bed? If that’s the case, I accept.”

My heart almost stops, and my mouth falls open. Did I really just say that? My cheeks are hotter than ever, and the butterflies that live inside me have now woken up. They start beating their wings against the inside of my stomach so hard I’m sure they’re finally going to burst through and make their way to freedom.

“I’ll be right back,” I mumble and turn on my heel, hurrying out into the hall.

I ease the door shut behind me and stand there for a second, trying to catch my breath and calm my jittery nerves. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. My heart has to stop pounding so hard soon, right? After thirty seconds, it still hasn’t slowed. There’s nothing to be done. Roman, for whatever reason, has me in knots, and it’s crazy how much I like it.

Thankfully, the laundry room is upstairs and my father threw a load of clothes in this morning before work. There’s no way he’s gotten around to folding it yet—it usually takes him a few days. I’d bet credits that it’s still in the dryer.

I tiptoe across the hall to the laundry room, being as quiet as possible, and almost jump for joy when I find a ball of clean clothes in the dryer. The black shiny material of athletic shorts sticks out among the tangle of material, making my mission easy. The house is silent, but my heart is still pounding when I grab them and make a quick dash back across the hall.

I slip back into my room, locking the door behind me, and almost collapse when I turn to find Roman in nothing but a pair of boxers.

“Here,” I say, tossing him the shorts.

I turn away to give him privacy and so he doesn’t have a chance to see how shaken I am. My legs are as unsteady as a toddler’s. A mostly naked Roman was not exactly what I expected to find in my room.

“I’m decent. You can turn around now.” His voice shakes like he’s trying to hold in a laugh.

Even though his teasing
should
irritate me, it helps me relax. I even manage a smile as I turn to face him.