Falling Into Us (14 page)

Can
you
get
away
right
now?
I sent the text before I could second-guess myself.

Give
me
a
few
min
I’ll
try
.
 

I wiped at my chin, then saw my forearm was crusted with tacky blood and gave up. He didn’t often let himself hit my face, because that always raised questions. I wiggled my jaw, testing it for soreness. He’d gotten me good on the jaw, so it was sore, but thankfully not broken or anything. I’d never had a broken jaw, but I didn’t think it’d be fun, or real easy to explain.
 

I was staring out the window at the deepening evening dark, and didn’t see Becca approaching the passenger side. I started when she swung the door open and hopped in. I didn’t even stop to think how seeing me bloody would affect her until I turned to smile at her in welcome.

“
Jesus
, Jason! What happened?” She was shoving the center console up and out of the way before I knew what was happening, and her fingers were gentle on my face, a Kleenex from somewhere dabbing at the cut on my cheek and the still-dripping blood from my nose.

“Got in a fight with Dad.” I shrugged, going for a nonchalance I didn’t feel.

Becca’s eyes were watery. “God. You’re covered in blood.” She probed at my nose, and I winced at the pang of pain. “I think your nose is broken.”

“I’ll be fine.”
 

She shook her head. “You for sure need s-s-ssss-stitches on your cheek.” A tear dripped down her nose as she wiped at the blood with shaking fingers. “You need to go to Urgent Care.”

I couldn’t figure out why she was crying. All I knew was I hated it. “Don’t cry, Beck. Please. I’m okay. It looks worse than it is.” That was bullshit, since I could still barely see straight from the pain.
 

She shook her head, and the tears were dripping faster now. “You’re not fine. Don’t f-f-fucking lie to me, Jason.”

“Sorry. You’re right, it hurts like a bitch, but I can’t go to a hospital. They know me around here. They’ll ask questions.”

“Questions th-that should be an-an-an-answered.” She was blinking when she stuttered, which I was starting to realize was a sign that she was intensely emotional. “It’s not right, J-J-Jason. You shouldn’t—”

I pulled away from her touch. “I
can’t
. I
won’t
. I know you don’t understand, but I won’t tell. It’d be bad for me. For you. For Mom. For whoever I told.” I dug deep and told the truth. “I’m too scared to tell, Becca. Please. Just let it go. I’ll be fine.”

She shook her head again, wiping at her eyes. “I can’t let it go. It hurts too bad to see you like this.”

I swore, a long string of florid curses. “I should’ve gone for a drive instead of coming here. I’m sorry I involved you in my bullshit.”

She grabbed my arm in a sharp-nailed grip; I stared down at her fingers digging into my bicep, each nail long and painted with a white strip of polish across the tip, some kind of fancy manicure. “Well, you
did
involve me. I’m involved now, and you can’t t-t-ttt-take it b-back. You’re my boyfriend, and I care about you.”

“What do you want me to do?” I spoke to the window, snapping at her irritably and unable to reel it back in. “I’m not telling. This is my life, and yeah, it fucking sucks ass. But it’s the hand I got dealt, and I only got till I graduate. Then I’m fucking gone. If you can’t accept that I’m not telling, then…I don’t know what. Then this won’t work. ’Cause I’m not gonna.”

“Why? I just don’t get it.”

“No, I know you don’t. You want the goddamned psychology for why I’m too fucking afraid of what my dad will do if I told someone again? I can’t give you that. I’m not as fucking smart as you, okay? I just know he scares me. A broken nose, some bruised ribs, a cut face here and there, I can deal with that. If I tell, what will happen? I’ll get taken by CPS and put in a foster home? From what I know, chances are that’ll be just as bad or worse. Then he’ll start in on Mom ’cause I won’t be there, and she won’t tell, either—she won’t leave. She could’ve left before I was born and she didn’t, because she’s a fucking coward, just like me. You don’t
know
him, Beck. What we deal with now is better than the alternative. He’d deny it, and he’s got credibility to burn. No one wants to cross Mike Dorsey. You want to know why I’m all bloody today? I fought back. That’s why. He hit me, and I hit back. It ends faster that way, usually. It’s never gotten this bad before, though. I guess because he wasn’t as drunk as he usually is when he goes after me. I don’t know.”

Silence, thick, hard, and for once uncomfortable, rose between us.

“I’m sorry, Jason,” Becca whispered.

I knuckled my forehead. “Don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry I got you caught up in this. I’m sorry I yelled at you. You deserve better than this shit. Than me.”

“Drive.”

I glared at her in puzzlement. “What?”

“Start driving, please. Anywhere. Just drive.” She sounded mad, which I couldn’t figure out.
 

So I drove. Far, and fast. For once the radio was off, and we were each lost in our thoughts, hers inscrutable, mine a whirl of guilt and shame and confusion and pain. At some point, I hit the freeway and kept driving as evening turned into night. Still, neither of us spoke.
 

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Why are you mad?”

“Why should you deserve better than me? What’s wrong with me that you don’t trust me to know what I want?”

That made my head spin. “What? How…?” I stared at her sideways, then returned my gaze to the highway. “How can you turn this back on you? I’ve got so much bullshit, Becca. You don’t need it. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re talented—you can be anything you want. I’m just a jock with Daddy issues. You should be with someone who’s…I don’t know…who’s got less problems than me.”

She shook her head, which I realized wasn’t a denial, a no, but rather an expression of disbelief or inability to express what she was thinking. “See? That’s what I mean. If I want to be with you, then that’s my choice. It’s
my
choice to be your girlfriend, in spite of the fact that yeah, you’ve got problems at home that are hard for me to understand or deal with.” She was speaking as if she’d scripted this out, sounding rote and monotone, but I knew she meant every word, that this was just how she dealt with strong emotions while struggling to speak fluently. “Who you are is who you are, because of what you go through. I like who you are. I want to help you. I want you to tell me things. I want you to trust me.”

“I wouldn’t have told you a damn thing about my life if I didn’t trust you,” I said.

“I know. But now you need to trust me to deal with it.”

“Then you need to stop pressuring me to tell someone, okay? I know it doesn’t make any sense. It seems like I should want to get away from him, or stop it, but that’s not how it works. I don’t like it, but…I don’t know. I just can’t, okay?”

She nodded. “I hate it, and it goes against everything I believe in to let it happen.”

“You’re not letting anything happen. There’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
 

“There
should
be,” she whispered, vehement and frustrated.

“But there’s not.”

Becca just shrugged, and we lapsed into silence. Then her phone rang. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen, and her face paled. “It’s Father.”

“Can’t you ignore it?”

She shook her head. “That’d only be worse.” She breathed deep with her eyes closed, then answered it. “Hello? No, I’m—oh. I—I—I…yes, Father. I’m sorry. I’ll be home right away.” She hung up and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“What’s up?”

“He knows I left with you.”

“How? What’d you tell him when you left?”

“That I was going out with Nell. I was going to call her and let her know to cover for me, but when I got in, I saw you and forgot. He figured it out somehow. I don’t know. This is bad.”

“What’s going to happen?” I took her hand and laced our fingers together, ignoring the twinge when her fingers brushed my split knuckles.

“I don’t know. Trouble.” She visibly retreated into herself, so I just held her hand as I exited the freeway and re-entered going back the other way.
 

We’d gone farther than I’d realized, and it was a good half hour before we even hit the exit for our end of town. I pulled into a McDonalds parking lot, told Becca to sit tight while I ran in and cleaned up. Half a roll of paper towel later, my face was clean, my nose bent but no longer bleeding, my cheek split wide and ugly. I pulled the truck across the road into CVS, grabbed some Band-aids, and stuck one over the cut on my cheek. I had a spare jersey in my backpack, so I tossed out my bloody T-shirt and slipped the jersey on, not missing how Becca’s eyes were riveted to my chest and abs while I had my shirt off.

When we got to Becca’s neighborhood, I didn’t stop at the entrance like usual.

“Where are you going?” She sounded puzzled.

I shrugged. “He knows, so why bother hiding?”
 

I pulled into her driveway and got out with her. I wasn’t about to let her face trouble alone, not when it was brought on by me. She kept glancing at me sideways as we approached her front door, as if waiting for me to bolt. She didn’t realize that no matter how bad her dad was, he couldn’t possibly be scarier than mine. I waited at the door while she opened it, then followed her in.
 

“You don’t have to do this, Jason,” she whispered to me as we crossed the threshold.

“Yes, I do.”

Her father was a big man, barrel-chested with a bit of a belly, mostly silver hair slicked back, and small, dark, hard eyes. “Who are you? Why are you in my home?”

I stepped forward and held out my hand. “I’m Jason Dorsey. I’m Becca’s boyfriend.”

He took my hand automatically, shook it firmly, then dropped it when I said the last part. “The hell you are. My daughter will not have a boyfriend. You leave now.” His eyes burned into me. He was clearly used to intimidating people, and he didn’t like that it didn’t work on me. “You are the nuisance who has been distracting my daughter from her studies, coercing her to sneak out at night. She will not be seeing you anymore.”

“Maybe if you gave her a bit of freedom over her own life, she wouldn’t have to sneak out, you ever think of that? I’d be perfectly willing to tell you exactly where we are and what we’re doing, sir. With all due respect, I’m not a bad influence. I like your daughter a lot, Mr. de Rosa. The only reason she ever snuck out was because you wouldn’t let her leave the house otherwise.” He opened his mouth to argue, but I spoke over him. “I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job as a parent, sir, but I can tell you this much, that the harder you try to control every little thing Becca does, the more she’ll rebel. Give her some freedom, and she won’t have to break the rules.”

He glared at me, clearly infuriated. “I am her father. I will decide. You are no one.”

Becca touched my arm. “Jason, I appreciate what you’re doing, but please, let it go.”

Mr. de Rosa took a step closer to me. “You leave now. You will not be seeing my daughter again. Never.”

Becca stepped between us and stared up at her dad. “Father, please. He’s right. We’re not doing anything wrong. I’m still studying, still getting good grades. Give us a chance.”

Her mother, who had till this point been sitting silently at the dining room table, stood up and crossed the room to stand next to her husband. I saw a lot of Becca in her, with curly black hair framing an older version of Becca’s facial features. She spoke quietly in a foreign language that I belatedly realized was Arabic. Becca was clearly following the discussion as her father replied in the same language, arguing heatedly, frustrated. At some point during his argument, Becca’s father switched to Italian, and when her mother responded, it was in that language. I even caught a few words of English scattered throughout. It was dizzying to listen to.
 

After a few minutes of back and forth between her parents, Mr. de Rosa turned his gaze back to Becca and me. “This goes against my better judgement, but your mother has prevailed upon me to give you a chance to prove your responsibility. Both of you.” He fixed his gaze on me. “I don’t like you, Mr. Dorsey. You seem like a rough character, and I’m not convinced you’re not a bad influence on my daughter.”

“Well,” I began, choosing my words carefully, “I’m sure we can agree that Becca is a good influence on me. But I’m not a bad kid. I have a straight-A average, and I’m first string on the football team. I don’t drink and I don’t smoke.”

“What happened to your face?”

I swallowed and then focused on believing the lie I was about to feed him. “A game of pick-up football with my buddies. A tackle went wrong, and I caught a forehead to the face.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re sure it wasn’t a fight?”

I nodded. “I’m sure. Coach is very strict about that stuff. I’d be benched for half the season if I got suspended for fighting.” Which was true, just not applicable to my situation. “If you get in trouble with the office, you’re benched. If your grades drop below a C average, you’re benched. I’m hoping for college scholarships on both football and grades.”

Her father nodded, seeming to be satisfied. “I will allow you one chance with my daughter. If she’s late,
once
, if she fails to check in at the predetermined time, or if she is not where she says she is, then it is over. Do you understand me, Mr. Dorsey?”

I nodded, tamping down the triumphant feeling. “Yes, sir. I do.”
 

He hesitated, then shook my hand again. “What position do you play on the football team?”

“Wide receiver,” I said. “I currently hold the district record for most receptions in a single game, as well as the most receiving yards in a season.”

He seemed suitably impressed. Glad to know those records were good for something at least.
 

“What is Becca’s curfew?” I asked.

“Ten—” Mrs. de Rosa interrupted him with a single word, and he suppressed a sigh of irritation. “Fine, eleven on the weekdays. Midnight on the weekends. But if her grades slip—”