Every Little Secret (Second Chances #2) (14 page)

Silence falls between us. Patrons leave and enter, the door squeaking on its hinges. This feels like the twilight zone. Chad breaks the silence.

“Carly and I were good at first. Just like this.” He wrapped his fingers into a knot. “We understood controlling fathers.” His voice grew wistful. “We never realized until it was too late that we weren’t good for each other. She figured it out first. She pushed my buttons. I’m not always a jerk.”

“I get it.” I didn’t excuse some of his behavior, but I understood that our passion can get so twisted up on the inside that we make wrong decisions.

“Okay, so my dad’s an ass. What happened to you that was so bad?” He turns to me and for the first time there’s no trace of mockery or sarcasm.

“In high school I was accused of date rape.” The words flow out, spilling and tumbling over each other as I tell Chad the basics of what happened with Dalia. I finish and take a deep breath. Shit. Did I really just tell Chad? For some reason it feels safe. I’ll probably never see Chad again and we run in different circles. I wait for the snide remarks, the dirty looks.

He snorts first and then he’s hunched over laughing.

Laughing?
 

“You?” He tries to control it but it keeps coming, his body jerking with spasms. “You wouldn’t force a girl if your life depended on it. You got suckered, man.” He claps me on the back. “It’s been real.” Then he heads inside.

I stand alone. A strange feeling rises in my chest. My breathing is fast and shallow. No one has ever said that to me before. In my family, the issue was never really talked about but brushed into the corner and forgotten once my therapy sessions and community hours were over. I spent years living with the anger over Dalia’s lies and with the shame at something I didn’t do.
 

I punished myself worse than Mr. Donahue ever did.

Chapter 10

Carly

For the past few days, Chad has texted me a total of twenty times. I ignore every single one. Even if Noah and I are a dead end, I refuse to go back to a relationship that is unhealthy. I refuse to deal with his temper and the road we eventually go down, the one of suspicion where I’m trying to explain to him that I love him and that I’m not cheating, the one where we end up in bed in order to show our love.

I’m done with that.

I leave my last class of the day. I’ve stayed away from The Watering Hole in the morning so Chad won’t find me, so I’m dying for a cup of coffee. I’ll have to sneak in and snag one anyway.
 

In the hallway outside my class, Chad leans against the wall, a smirk on his face.

I lift my chin higher and walk straight past, not acknowledging his presence. In a few strides, he catches up and walks with me.

“Go away, Chad. We have nothing to talk about.”
 

He follows me down the hall, his footsteps thudding on the floor. “Can we talk?”

I whirl around. “I don’t want to talk. About anything.”

As I head down the stairs, he’s right behind me. I can practically feel his breath hitting the back of my neck. I clench my backpack and my arms tremble. The blood rushes to my face.

I stop without turning. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

But at this point that’s not enough for me. Too many grievances rise up, wanting to spill out. “If you think you can win me over with some flowers, phone calls, and an afternoon in my bed, then forget it.” I step outside, pushing the door so it bangs against the wall and bounces back.

“God, why do you have to be such a bitch?” He rubs his shoulder where the door hit him.

I stomp away, then with long strides try to put as much distance between us as possible. I cut through the grassy yard in front of the student center, the fury beating inside. My neck prickles and adrenaline rushes through my body. I flip around. “I’m the bitch? That’s funny.” I step up to him and jab his shoulder. “What about you?”

He snorts, shifting as if uncomfortable, but ends up saying nothing.
 

My breaths come fast and hard. “Let me refresh your memory. When I deal with my dad and have a rotten day, your idea of cheering me up is sex. When I don’t swoon and fall at your feet, you get pissed off and paranoid that I’m cheating when really I just need a friend more than I need a lover.”

Chad glances around at the people stopping to watch and listen. He fiddles with his lip ring.

“Thank God Noah was there to be my friend through all this.” I raise my voice a notch. “You could never handle it when I wasn’t under your thumb, when I showed any independence. Well, guess what? I’m not your bitch. I’m not yours at all.”
 

Chad’s face turns red and a vein pulses at his temple. He slides his arm through mine and leads me away. “Can we talk somewhere else?”

I yank my arm away. “No!”
 

This is how it always happens. I’m not a puppet he can control. Every time, every word Chad has spoken to me floods through my head and my heart. Every time he’s tried to control me and keep me in a little box. More memories flash. All the times Dad told me what to do, what to say, what not to say. All these words and emotions blur together.
 

“What the hell is your problem?” Chad says, low and demanding.

“My problem?” I swing my backpack off and hit him with it. He’s so frozen in shock, he doesn’t respond. I swing it at him again and again. I’m crying, the tears blurring my vision. But I keep swinging. Books start flying and items fall from my pack, scattering across the grass. I don’t care. I give one last yell and drop to my knees.
 

He helps pick up my things. He hands me a tissue. “God, Carly. This isn’t why I’ve been texting you or hunting you down. I didn’t want to fight. You were right.”

I stop moving and look at him.
 

He keeps picking up my things, unable to look at me. His hands are shaking. “You were right about us not working well together. I’m sorry for the things I’ve said and done. That’s not the person I want to be. But for some reason when we’re together, I end up in a state of frustration and I take it out on my friends and on you.”
 

Now that my outburst is over, our classmates move on, casting casual glances of curiosity at us, shaking their heads. My cheeks feel hot. It’s not every day someone completely loses it right in front of the main building for all to see.

“I know we’re over,” he says. “I had an enlightening conversation with your boyfriend the other night.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” This time I’m suspicious.
 

“Noah?” he says.

“Oh.” I stuff the last few things in my bag and walk away. There’s nothing he can say about Noah that I want to listen to.

“Please! Stay! There’s something I have to tell you,” he pleads.

I turn, my book bag falling from my shoulder. He doesn’t deserve a spare second of my time but I’m curious. “You have one minute.”

“I don’t know why you two aren’t together but he’s fallen hard for you.”

I scoff. “Right. And who makes you the expert?”
 

“Trust me on this. Go talk to him. Go find him. Demand he tell you the truth, the whole truth. I’m not stupid. I can see you two have something we never did. Please?” Then a weak smile flashes across his face. His eyes are sincere and he holds his arms out as if begging me. Then he speaks, his voice soft and low. “I want to see you happy.”

I’m speechless.

“And after Noah tells you the truth, tell him to contact my dad’s law offices if he wants counsel or a legal perspective on everything. If for anything to give him peace of mind.” Chad slides his dad’s business card into the outside pocket of my backpack. “That’s why I’ve been texting you. To tell you to fight for him. And that I’m sorry. I’m going to change.”
 

Then with a final nod goodbye, he walks away. Leaving me completely flabbergasted.

Two days pass, Chad’s words lurk in the back of my mind. I go through my daily routine: eating, classes, studying, sleeping. Noah won’t be chasing me. The other day at his house when he refused to talk with me, that expression won’t change. In that way, he’s not like Chad. If I want to know the truth, then I’m going to have to ask him. Even if it means he turns me away.

When is love worth the risk? We were barely dating. Barely anything. We had the start of a friendship and one night of the sweetest most passionate kisses I’ve ever experienced. Will I ever find that again? That is the question that nags me. Am I letting something go when I should fight for it? By the third day I wake up with the question answered.

I need to find Noah. I need answers. I want no regrets in ten years. If he rejects me, at least I tried. I stand to stretch and the anticipation and nerves dance in my stomach. I dress and barely take the time to put on some mascara and lip-gloss and I’m out the door.

First, I go to Noah’s house, hoping to catch him before he leaves for classes. Frantically, bursting on the inside, I knock at the door. Then I wait, my heart pounding.

The door opens. It’s his mom.

“Hello. Carly, isn’t it?”

I nod. She reminds me faintly of Haley and a little bit of Noah with her brown hair. “Is Noah here?”

“I’m sorry. You just missed him. Want me to leave a message?”

“No, thanks.”

Back in the car, I send him a text, asking him to talk to me. I want to talk to him face-to-face, not through a phone. I head back to school. In every class, I watch the clock, the seconds ticking by painfully slow. I search The Watering Hole. I wait for him after his classes but I must just be missing him.

Then in one impulsive moment, even if it means I’m done with college until I can pay for it, I text my dad. I say two words. I quit. After I press Send, a heavy weight lifts off my shoulders. I’m flying, soaring as I drive over to The Salty Dog. The last place I know to look.

Inside, the darkness is oppressive. Did I really enjoy hanging out here all the time with Chad? Noah sits at the far end of the bar. A shot glass sits on the counter in front of him, but I know better than to think he’s drunk. The full shot has probably been there for an hour or more.

It’s now or never. I take a deep breath and cross the floor. I tap his shoulder.
 

“Go away,” he says.

“Noah, it’s me.”

He looks, his eyes murky and filled with pain. My heart goes out to him, meeting his. I understand him better than he realizes. “You and me. Outside now.”
 

He sighs. “Carly. You’re better off somewhere else.”

I fight against instinct to use a seductive voice or my body to try and get him to come with me. He doesn’t like that or fall for that. “Please? I need to talk with you. Just you and me. One last time. Then I won’t bother you again. I promise.”
 

He pauses, his hand on the shot glass. I stifle a sob because if he won’t talk to me then it’s over. “Please?” I ask one last time.

Seconds pass, maybe minutes. I feel like my future weighs in the balances during those moments.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

I breathe out in relief, a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Now how the hell am I going to convince him to talk to me? To give me a chance?

Noah

This is crazy. I shouldn’t even talk with her. Instead, I should let her go because she deserves the best, especially after the shit she’s dealt with. I follow her out of The Salty Dog and across the street to the boardwalk. I try not to but my gaze lingers on the curves of her body and my mind and my body remembers our one night. That night, kissing her, touching her, has ruined me for any girl because no one else could ever compare.

At the edge of the boardwalk she takes off her shoes and steps into the sand. I slip off my socks and sneakers and follow, wondering what she could possibly want. Why the privacy of the beach?

I flash back to the first night this all started. That night started and finished everything. It ended my self-imposed stint of celibacy, of not allowing girls into my life, and it started the flashbacks, the memories of Dalia and the hell one secret relationship caused me.

Halfway down to the water’s edge, she stops, facing me with determination. I can’t read her expression. She’s about to slug me or yell at me or something. A storm passes through her eyes, emotions whirling about but I can’t pick one out. I can’t figure her out.

She steps closer.

I suck in a breath, uncertain, wanting to pull her to me and push her away at the same time.
 

She opens her mouth to say something but stops. Instead, hesitantly and slowly, she reaches out. Her fingers trace down my arm. She lifts my hand to her mouth and kisses the tips of my fingers, then she lowers my arm back to my side.
 

Then she’s touching my face, my cheeks, teasing my hair, skimming my lips. I close my eyes and give in to it for a moment, the temptation strong. She leans up and kisses my chin, then my cheeks, then my eyes. Then slowly, her mouth makes a trail down to mine. Her lips hover, gently kissing, trembling.

Her message comes through loud and clear. Begging. Pleading. Asking me to listen and feel instead of operating on instinct. She’s loving. She’s asking me to trust. It pulses off her.

My chest shudders and something cracks on the inside. It spreads and grows. She kisses me again and I taste the salt from her tears.
 

Finally, she talks. “There aren’t any words for everything I’m feeling and everything I need to say.”

Shit. I can’t fall for this, for love. No matter how I feel. Everything will change once she knows.

“It’s always been about me. I’ll admit,” she says. “I couldn’t imagine that someone else had a crappier life than me. No one could fully understand or get through my defense. But dammit, somehow you did.”

Let’s be secret friends, Noah. Shh. Don’t tell anyone
.

When I speak, my voice cracks, from the intensity of my emotions. “You don’t understand.” Maybe that’s all I’ll need to say, and she’ll leave.

She takes in a breath. I hear the subtle sound. “Then tell me.”