Trouble from the Start (24 page)

“I did do something wrong, just not what they think. I'm not good for you, Avery.”

“That's true. But you are perfect for me.”

“So perfect, let's keep it a secret.”

“I know you're hurt and angry.”

“You don't know anything about what I'm feeling.”

“But you're still trying to protect me,” I said. My chest tightened so painfully with the realization that he was more concerned about me than himself. It didn't matter if Mom and Dad were disappointed in my choice for a boyfriend. I knew I'd never find anyone better.

He shook his head. “Just looking out for myself. It's what I do best. Your dad would kill me if he learned about last night.”

I lifted a shoulder. “He already knows, and you're still breathing.”

His eyes shot to the mirror, before landing heavily on me. “You told him?”

“They think you robbed Smiley's. They think you hit Smiley on the head. I'm mad that they would even think you'd do those things, but I'm also mad that you didn't tell them you couldn't have done those things. Not because it's just not the kind of stuff you do, but because you were with me.”

He released a long sigh that seemed to come from deep within his soul. “I know how important your reputation and their expectations are to you.”

“I was wrong. I thought about it a lot after you went to get your bike. My parents are such good people, they do good things, but sometimes I think that they foster kids because I'm a disappointment.”

“That's nuts.” Fletcher didn't talk a lot but when he did, he got right to the point.

“I guess it's a little like thinking you'll be like your dad. We get these crazy thoughts and we can't shake them off. I've always tried so hard to be what they want me to be, to pick the right clothes and the right college, the right major. To get good grades, to not get into trouble. To make them proud.”

“Avery, you just have to be you.”

“I know that now. I thought about how you don't do things because of what people will think. You do them
because of what you'll think. I'm at my best when I'm with you. I came over this morning to tell you that but you weren't there. I just thought you were too mad to open the door.” I tentatively placed my hand over his, grateful when he didn't jerk free. “Before I knew what had happened, where you were, I came to the realization that nothing is more important than you. Not my reputation, not what my parents think. The only thing that matters is how much I love you. I love you so much, Fletcher.”

He lowered his head, groaned. “You kill me, you know that?”

“Not literally, I hope.”

Chuckling low, he turned his hand palm up, closed his fingers around mine, and I felt the touch deep inside, near my heart.

“I do love you, Fletcher, and I'm so, so sorry that I made you feel like I didn't. I don't blame you for being upset with me, but you have to tell them the truth.” I glanced back at the mirror and nodded.

Less than a second later, Dad opened the door and signaled for me. I squeezed Fletcher's hand, stood, and walked out.

Dad closed the door—with him on my side.

“Aren't you going to talk to him?” I asked.

“Avery,” Dad said quietly, “our taking in foster kids wasn't because of any kind of disappointment in you.”

“Dad—”

He cupped my face. “Your mom and I love you. You bring us such joy. We're so fortunate to have you. Helping other kids is kind of our way of sharing our happiness. That's all.”

“Oh, Dad.” Tears rolled down my cheeks.

“Fletcher's right, sweetie. Just be yourself. You'll never disappoint us.” He hugged me tightly and I wound my arms around him.

“I love you, Dad.” I leaned back. “Will you let Fletcher out now?”

We were all silent in the car on the drive home. I sat in the front with Dad; Fletcher rode in the back.

When we arrived at the house, we all climbed out of the car. I walked over to Fletcher and wrapped my hand around his. Dad stood there and looked hard at me.

I tilted up my chin. “I love him.”

I knew he'd probably heard everything I'd said to Fletcher but it was important that he hear it now, that he knew I'd meant the words. That Fletcher understood I'd meant the words. I was going to stand beside him, no matter what.

“Well, then, I guess we need to have a little talk,” Dad said.

“Actually, sir,” Fletcher began, “it's really between me
and Avery.” He grimaced. “Avery and me.”

Dad arched a brow. “Oh?”

“Yes, sir. I know you won't approve, so I'll be moving out.”

“Where are you going to go?”

Fletcher hesitated. “I'll find someplace.”

“I don't think that'll be necessary,” Dad said. “Although we may need to revisit the rules.”

Mom came flying out through the front door. She staggered to a stop beside Dad. I figured she was about to hug us, but then she saw our joined hands. “What happened?”

Dad nodded at us. “Fletcher corroborated Avery's story that they were at the beach.”

“Well, that's good news,” Mom said. “From the police perspective.”

“I love him,” I told her. “He's my boyfriend. And I'm proud of him.” I squeezed his hand.

Mom smiled. “We know that, sweetie.”

I stared at her. “You do?”

“Your dad's a cop. I'm a mom. Not much gets by us.” She looked at Fletcher. “We're thrilled.”

“But I thought . . .” I began.

“Thought what?” Dad asked.

“I thought you expected me to love someone like Jeremy.”

“Someone who can make you as happy as Jeremy
makes Kendall. That's all I meant. We don't have any other expectations,” Mom said. “If Fletcher makes you happy, that's all that matters. Lunch is ready. Grilled cheese and tomato basil soup.”

Mom and Dad started to walk off like it was all settled.

“You should know,” Fletcher began.

They stopped, looked back at him.

Still holding my hand, he shifted his stance. “I care for Avery.”

“Care?” Dad echoed.

Fletcher looked at me, and I saw everything he felt for me in his eyes. “More than care. I just haven't told her that yet.”

“They're not easy words to say the first time,” Dad told him. “I understand you wanting it to be a private moment.” Then he and Mom went into the house.

I swung around and faced Fletcher. “You don't have to say the words. I know how you feel.”

“You deserve the words.”

“I don't know that I do. I hurt you. You mean so much to me. I was afraid to trust what we were feeling and that I might lose you. That maybe it wasn't permanent. I was afraid if I told them that I might lose them, too.”

He cradled my cheek. “You're not going to lose me, Avery. I like being your boyfriend.”

He kissed me, and it was better than any other kiss
we'd shared. It was out in the open; we were out in the open.

I heard a door close, then Dad clearing his voice. Fletcher and I drew apart.

Dad held up his phone. “They just called me. Smiley's awake.”

“That's great,” Fletcher said.

“But do they know why he said it was Fletcher?” I asked.

Dad rubbed his chin with his thumb. “Apparently, he was trying to say ‘Fletcher's dad.'”

Fletcher stiffened beside me. “My dad robbed Smiley's?”

Dad nodded. “The evidence is pointing that way. They just arrested him. Found Smiley's cash bag in his car. Most of the money is still there.”

“I need to see him,” Fletcher said.

“I'm on my way to the station now,” Dad told him.

“I'm going with you,” I said, but I wasn't sure if Fletcher heard me. He was already heading for the car.

I stood outside the window looking into the interrogation room where I'd been sitting a short time ago. Now my father was sitting there, slouched back in the chair, his handcuffed wrists resting on the table. I didn't know if I'd ever felt more ashamed.

Avery was beside me, holding my hand. Every couple of minutes she squeezed my fingers. That was the only thing that stopped me from feeling completely dead inside.

“You're not responsible for his actions,” Avery's dad said.

“Why would he do everything he did?”

“Sometimes there's no explanation that makes any sense.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“Do you think that's a good idea?” Avery asked.

“Probably not, but I need to talk to him. He's my father.”

“I'll go in with you,” she said.

I was so glad she was here, but I couldn't expose her to him. Shaking my head, I touched her cheek. “I need to do this alone.”

“You won't be completely alone,” Avery's dad said. “I'll be in the room.”

“I'll wait out here,” Avery said.

I looked back at the man in the room and realized that I didn't really know him. We'd shared a trailer for most of my life, but it was like looking at a stranger.

Avery's dad placed his hand on my shoulder. “Ready?”

Not really, but I needed to do this. I took a deep breath, nodded, and followed him into the room.

My father glanced up, sneered. “Got nothing to say.”

I took the chair across from him, while Avery's dad leaned against a wall.

“Why'd you do it?” I asked.

He looked at me with dead eyes. “I ain't talking until my lawyer gets here.”

“This is unofficial,” Avery's dad said. “Talk to your son. I'm not recording anything.”

My father curled up a lip, lifted a shoulder. “Okay, then, sure, why not?”

At least I realized where I'd learned the art of conversation. I'd once revealed as little. Until Avery.

I knew no matter what I asked, he wasn't going to give me an honest answer. That didn't mean I couldn't talk to him honestly.

“When you used to hit me, I thought it was because I did something wrong.”

“You gonna cry about it now?”

“No. I didn't cry when your fists came down. I'm not going to cry now. But I wanted you to know that I can't seem to not love you. I guess because you're my father. But I don't like you. I don't know if I ever liked you. But I do know that I'm not going to be like you.”

I leaned forward. “I'm going to make something of myself.”

“Make me proud?” he mocked.

“It's got nothing to do with you. I'm doing it for me, because I deserve it. When I walk out of here, I hope I never see you again. But I wanted you to know that if you ever come at me again, I will flatten you.”

“You couldn't—”

My fist hit his face so quick, so hard that I felt the force of it shimmering up my arm and through my chest. “That was for Smiley.”

Gerald Thomas—I no longer thought of him as my dad; I didn't want anything more to do with him—was moaning, cursing, rolling on the floor.

I didn't remember coming out of the chair to strike
him, but Avery's dad had his arms around me and was pulling me back.

I was breathing harshly, my body was coiled.

“Got anything else you want to say?” Avery's dad asked.

I shook my head.

He pushed me gently in the direction of the door. “Then get on out of here.”

I put my hand on the knob, looked back over my shoulder.

Avery's dad was crouched near Gerald Thomas. “You need to watch how you sit in the chairs, Mr. Thomas. It's very easy to topple yourself over and break your nose on the floor.”

I opened the door and walked out without another backward glance.

I almost cheered when Fletcher walked out. His father had so deserved that.

But Fletcher didn't even look at me. His face set in a stony mask, he simply walked by. I followed. Normally I could keep up with his stride but he was moving too fast.

By the time I did catch up with him, he was outside, standing on the front lawn by the flagpole. His back was tense, his hands fisted.

My heart ached for him. “He deserved that, Fletcher.”

He shook his head. “I never hit anyone before. It didn't feel good, I'm not proud of what I did, but I'm glad I did it. I didn't even think about. I just did it.”

“You're not your father,” I said as I pressed my hand to his back.

He spun around, and I could see the anguish on his
face. “He hit Smiley over the head with a wrench. He could have killed him. What did Smiley ever do to him?”

“What did you ever do to him? He's just a horrible person.” I took a step closer. “But you're good.”

“Avery—”

“You helped me with Tyler when he was sick. You didn't have to do that. He's not your responsibility. You repaired Mrs. Ellis's car because her husband isn't here to do it for her. On your own time. Again, not your responsibility. You made my car purr like a contented cat. You made sure no one took advantage of me when I was drunk. You can say it was because of the bet, and that you took me home because of the bet, but I think you did it because you knew I was vulnerable. You're a good guy, Fletcher. You're tough on the outside, but inside you're a marshmallow.”

“I'm not a marshmallow,” he groused.

I pressed up against him, wrapped my arms around him, and held his gaze. “Am I right, Fletcher, about Scooter's party, about the reason behind the bet?”

“I needed a few bucks,” he said. He cradled my face. “And yeah, I was standing with a group of idiots who noticed you weaving around the patio, knew you'd been drinking, and were trying to decide who should make the first move on you. Made me mad. I thought, ‘Einstein's got nobody watching out for her.' I've loved you, Avery, for longer than you know.”

He kissed me. I wound my arms around his neck and kissed him back. I loved the way he held me, the slow sweep of his tongue. He pressed me closer, and it was just the two of us, melting into each other. He loved me. I loved him. The kiss was a little different with the words said, but it was also the same. We had cared for each other longer than either of us had known. Now we were together and everything felt right.