Premiere, page 29
Without thinking, he’d pulled Clarey into his arms, holding her against him, wishing he could absorb her sorrow into his body, feel it for her, take it away.
“Oh, Clarey. Oh, God, Clarey, I’m so sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”
She’d wilted against him like a ragdoll, crying, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. He’d picked her up into his arms and carried her back to his dorm room, laying her gently on his bed, taking off her shoes, brushing her hair off her face as she wept.
“Lie with me,” she said softly, and at first he pretended he hadn’t heard her. But she said it again, “Lie with me, Ford.”
He kicked off his shoes and got into bed behind her, wrapping his arms around her, just wanting to offer comfort to this unspeakably sad girl of his dreams. When she turned in his arms, pressing her body up against his and leaning forward to touch her lips to his, he knew he should have pushed her away. Some part of him knew it was wrong to return her kiss, knew she was a wounded thing who needed comfort, not complication. But he’d waited his whole life to be with Clarissa Calhoun, and here she was, in bed, with him.
They hadn’t ended up having sex, only making out for a while before Clarey turned back around in his arms and fell asleep pressed against him. She’d been gone when he woke up the next morning and had avoided him like the plague ever since.
Although he had always hoped—even prayed—for something to happen between them, he’d never wanted for their first experience to be so mired in brokenness. In fact, when he’d confirmed Linc’s affair with Bettina Bray in the dim light outside of the Delta Phi frat house, he’d expected Clarey to haul off and hit him, if for no other reason than he was Linc’s little brother. He certainly hadn’t expected for her to end up in his bed asking him to hold her. He couldn’t have seen it coming. But, truth be told, even if he had, he probably wouldn’t have gotten out of the way.
When the bus jolted over a bump, Clarissa’s eyes opened, and she was momentarily confused about where she was. She was leaned up against the window, covered by a blanket with something warm and heavy draped over her shoulders and something even warmer—and hairier—pressed against her neck. She took a deep breath and sighed. Soap and cotton and Ford.
Oh, right. Mmmm.
It was Ford’s arm around her, his head on her shoulder, his soft and wavy chestnut hair warming the smooth hollow of her neck, and his breath on her chest every time he exhaled. He was fast asleep.
She shivered, more from the deliciousness of the contact than from the chill inside the late-night bus. She wiggled her wrist out from under the blankets, tilting it to catch the light. Three twenty a.m. They’d only been asleep for three hours, and they’d be pulling into Topeka, Kansas, in about twenty-five minutes if the bus was on time. They still had a long day of travel ahead, including a midnight transfer in Columbus, Ohio.
After two hours of gin rummy, Clarissa had gotten off the bus at the rest stop, grabbing them Cokes and snacks, and when she returned, the cards had been put away. She’d smiled as she sat back down and he asked about her major.
“So,” he’d started. “English and Studio Art, huh? What’re you planning to do with your degree after you finish?”
“How do you know my majors?”
“I keep track of you,” he said, grinning at her.
“Well, I still have another year. I don’t know yet.” She shrugged, wondering about Ford, wondering why she’d never considered him. She’d been so blinded by Linc she had never really noticed his younger brother. In addition to being hard-bodied with deep eyes and beautiful lashes, Ford was kind to her—he’d always been kind to her. He had always listened when she talked. He always had a smile for her. And, of course, there was that night …
She shook her head as if to clear it. What were they talking about? Oh, yes. Her plans. She knew, of course, what she wanted to do after graduation, but she’d never told anyone, not even Lincoln.
“Come on,” he said, nudging her gently with bright, interested eyes. “I bet you know exactly what you want to do.”
She smiled, feeling herself blush. “Well, there is this one thing …”
“Which is?”
“Don’t laugh.”
“I promise.” He crossed his finger over his chest.
“Seriously. I’ve never told anyone except my academic advisor.”
“I won’t laugh, Clarey.” His grin faded as he held her eyes.
“I want to … write children’s books.” She swallowed, hoping her dreams would be safe with him. “The English is for the writing. The Studio Art is so I can do my own illustrations.” She searched his blank face, feeling worried. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re perfect,” he whispered, reaching up to tuck a stray wisp of blonde hair behind her ear.
“You mean my plan,” she murmured. “It’s perfect.”
“No, Clarey. I mean you.”
He had asked her more about the books she wanted to write, and she’d told him about this idea she had about two pennies named VinCENT and MilliCENT who start their lives at the U.S. Mint and travel the country together. He’d laughed at all the right places, holding her eyes, nodding and smiling, and making her feel like all of her dreams would someday come true.
But, if she were honest, the whole time, all she’d heard were the words No, Clarey. I mean you.
He adjusted in his sleep, the hand on her shoulder pulling her closer to his chest, his face burrowed into her neck. Her body heated up from the contact, her blood racing, pumping faster, as she became aware of every place his body was touching hers. She wanted … She wanted—
As the bus rumbled over another pothole, the bump caused his lips to momentarily graze her skin, stealing her breath away. She swallowed, trembling, wanting more, wanting Ford to kiss her again as he had that night several months ago.
Oh, good Lord! I can’t be falling for Ford McInerney, can I?
She wanted to sort out her thoughts, but the light in the bus was so soft, and the motion rocked her to sleep in her warm cocoon. Before she could wrap her mind around the daunting, inconvenient question, her heavy eyes had closed again, and she fell back to sleep.
They slept through the three stops in Kansas, finally waking up when the bus rolled into Kansas City, Missouri, at seven fifteen, for breakfast.
Ford woke up first, his eyes opening slowly against the glare of sunlight streaming in through the tinted window. He was warm. And hard. And the reason was clear.
Clarey Calhoun’s cheek was nestled under his neck, and she was curled into him, her breasts pressed up against his chest. As she breathed deeply in her sleep, they pushed into his chest, then back, into him, then back. He groaned, flicking the blanket off his body with his free hand, then gingerly sliding his other arm from around her body and urging her back gently. She murmured in her sleep, resting her head on his shoulder. He was glad she didn’t wake up. He didn’t want her to see the naked lust on his face. The want. The love.
He forced himself to think of his last football game, the play that had led to the final touchdown, and he felt his body relax. Faking a yawn as she stirred beside him, he smiled as she opened her eyes slowly, blinking twice in surprise as she looked up at him, recognizing him.
“Ford,” she breathed in a drowsy, half-asleep voice, licking her lips and pressing them together.
“Morning, Clarey,” he whispered, his lips a breath away from hers.
She tilted her chin up, just a fraction of an inch, and, closing his eyes, he lowered his lips to hers. It was just a touch, a brush, a grounding gesture, to be sure she was real beside him, to be certain he wasn’t dreaming. He drew back from her, his heart thumping madly and his breath catching as she opened her eyes wide and sat up, pressing her fingers to her mouth.
“It’s like that?” she asked him.
“It’s always been like that.”
She swallowed and nodded once, looking down, but he tipped her chin back up so she would look at him.
“Hungry?” he asked. “Can I take you to breakfast?”
She grinned, the uncertainty fleeing from her face like a passing cloud.
“Starved.”
He stood, offering her his hand, and he couldn’t be sure if it was butterflies or hunger rattling around in his stomach when she took it.
By late afternoon, they’d reminisced about elementary school, middle school, and Sunday school, with Clarey laughing to the point of a snort when Ford confirmed that he, Lincoln, and Dodge had been the culprits who’d managed to hoist a shopping cart from the Pathmark onto the top of the water tower. It had been the anonymous prank of the century and had all of Big Chimney up in arms for weeks, trying to figure out how it had gotten there and how to get it down.
“My favorite,” he said, eyes twinkling, “was when old man Thoroughgood suggested that a rogue tornado had ripped the cart from the Pathmark parking lot in the middle of the night and gently placed it atop the tower without a bit of damage to any other part of town!”
“That was the popular theory for at least two weeks!” she said, wiping her eyes. “How in the world did you do it?”
“That’s a McInerney family secret,” he said, pretending to lock his lips and throw away the key. He mumbled through closed lips, “I’ll never tell.”
“You still ticklish?” she asked, lunging toward him.
He chortled as her fingers wiggled over the hard lines of his stomach. Finally, he clamped his hands around her wrists, pulling them away.
“Quit it now,” he said.
“If we needed information,” she said, grinning at him, “that was always your biggest weakness.”
“Not even close,” he murmured, his body throwing off heat and his eyes full of longing as he studied her.
“Then what was?” she asked, even though she knew the answer. She wanted to hear him say it.
“You.”
He pulled her wrists toward him, wrapping them around his neck, then lowered his head to kiss her.
He sensed that she had something to say to him as they sat side by side on a bench in the Columbus, Ohio, bus depot, waiting to board the transfer that would take them the rest of the way home. He had his arm around her, unable to resist the opportunity to touch her, to hold her, to continue to ride the wave of awesome that had started as a result of their thirty-five-hour truce.
Anyway, it was almost two o’clock in the morning, and he knew she was tired. He ran his hand distractedly up and down her spine.
“Ford,” she said softly, not looking up at him, “I gotta say something.”
“Okay,” he answered, not sure where she was going.
“I think I owe you an apology.”
“I don’t know what for.”
“I was real angry at you back in September. When I walked into that party after getting off the phone with Myrna. I mighta blamed you a little bit for what Lincoln did. But it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry I blamed you. I’m sorry I avoided you … after.”
“I probably should have pushed you away that night, Clarey.”
She paused before answering in a small voice. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Yeah?” He leaned back from her, tilting her chin up with his free hand so he could look into her eyes.
“Made me see there was more to you than just being Lincoln’s little brother.”
“Man, I hated being Lincoln’s little brother when I found out what he was doing behind your back. Broke his nose when—”
“Wait. What do you mean, when you found out what he was doing? Nobody knew he was cheating on me until Bettina announced she was pregnant.” Her eyes widened as she stared up at him, her mouth dropping open. He could see the wheels in her head spinning. “Oh, God. Did you know? You knew he was cheating on me?”
He wanted to deny it, but he knew his eyes had already given him away.
“You knew. You knew Linc was sleeping with her behind my back, didn’t you? You knew last summer. You knew when we rode the bus out here in August. All those weeks at the beginning of school when you’d see me around campus. You knew. I must have looked like such a fool to you. Stupid Clarey Calhoun, doesn’t even know her boyfriend’s cheating on her. Stupid little …” Her voice trailed off as her eyes filled with tears, broken, but not because of Linc this time. Because of him. She scooted back from him on the bench, still holding his eyes, hurt and wary.
“Clarey,” he said, reaching for her hands. “I woulda died before hurting you.”
“But you didn’t die.” She pulled her hands away. “And I am hurtin’.”
“I couldn’t tell you,” he whispered. “I couldn’t—I didn’t want to be the one who—”
“You chose your brother instead of me.” She looked down, swiping at a tear that trickled down her face. She reached down for her bag, standing up. “I’m going to go get a seat by myself.”
“Clarey, please—”
“No! You knew!”
“Please let me explain—”
“No, Ford McInerney. You leave me be,” she said, her voice thready with disgust and betrayal as tears flooded her eyes, wetting her eyelashes before they tumbled down her face. “You made your choice.”
She walked away from him, out the wooden doors, stepping on board the waiting bus outside, leaving him alone.
Damn Linc! Damn him! Ford strode across the depot, watching from the windows as she found a seat next to someone else on the new bus. She bowed her head, and he knew she was crying. Damn it. Damn, damn, damn you, Lincoln!
He clenched his jaw painfully, remembering the day he’d found out about Linc cheating on Clarey. He’d stopped by Linc’s place unannounced in late August to say good-bye before leaving for school, shocked to find a half-naked Bettina riding Linc like a rodeo bronc in the center of his brother’s bed.
“Get the fuck out!” Linc had shouted to Ford in the doorway.
Bettina, mistaking his meaning, had scrambled off his lap, grabbing her panties and skirt off the floor before scurrying from the room to leave the brothers facing each other alone.
Ford stood at the foot of the bed with crossed arms, staring at Lincoln, who had laced his hands behind his head, his face annoyed, shameless with his slick erection still in plain view.
“What the hell, Linc!” Ford whipped the bedspread over his brother’s lap, then ran a hand through his hair, processing the scene in an instant. His thoughts led him to one place: to the prettiest, sweetest girl in Big Chimney, who had no idea her boyfriend was a cheating scumbag.
“What?” asked Linc, shrugging. “You’re telling me you’d say no if Bettina Bray offered you a ride? Bullshit.”
“I’d say hell no if I had a girl like Clarissa Calhoun in my life.” Ford spit the words, hating that he shared the same blood as his asshole brother. “You’re a bastard.”
“You don’t fuck girls like Clarey,” explained Linc, as though speaking to a moron. “You marry them. You want to do kinky stuff, you need a friend like Bettina.”
Ford sneered. “You make me sick.”
“Ain’t your concern no how, pup.”
“Screw you, Lincoln. You don’t deserve her.”
Lincoln jumped out of bed, pulling on his jeans and zipping them before approaching Ford. Ford was big, but Lincoln, who had dropped out of junior college to work in the coal mines, was bigger.
“Keep your nose out of it, little brother. Always knew you had a thing for my girl. Always knew you wished it was you—”
Ford drew back his fist, and it connected, sending Lincoln’s head reeling as his nose erupted in a bloody mess.
“Fuck, Ford, you dumb shit! You mighta broke my nose.”
Lincoln turned and stalked to the bathroom, returning a moment later with a wet washcloth pressed up against his face. When he spoke, his tone was laced with menace.
“You try a stunt like that again? I’ll take you down. That’s a promise.” He drew the washcloth back to look at the blood, then pressed it back up against his nose. “Stay the fuck out of it.”
Ford had considered going straight to Clarey, telling her everything. But when he’d consulted his older brother, Dodge, he’d decided against it. Not only was Dodge the smartest guy Ford knew, teaching math and science at the local high school, he was also full of good advice.
“You’re headed to the same college she’s at, Ford. Don’t be the messenger of bad news. She and Linc will end things soon enough. Trust me.”
A week later, he’d sat next to Clarey on the bus that had taken them from home out to college in Colorado, keeping his awful secret hidden from her. Maybe, being so far from home together, he could make her see him for the first time. Maybe he could find a way to connect with her without telling her about Lincoln and Bettina. Maybe he’d find a way to make her his.
And maybe pigs would fly out of his ass.
Ford twisted his neck to look back at her, at her blond head against the headrest five rows back, at her slender neck and closed eyes. They’d been riding for four hours since Columbus. They’d be pulling into Huntington, West Virginia, soon—the last stop before Charleston. Ford felt a dire need to resolve things with Clarey before they got home. Like if they didn’t, they never would.
Desperation, raw and insistent, bubbled up from inside of him. He loved Clarissa Calhoun. All he had left was the truth, and it was time to tell her exactly how he felt about her. It was time for her to know.
“Huntington, West Virginia, folks. Five-minute stop to drop off and pick up.”
Clarissa roused herself, stretching lightly as the driver’s voice bit into her unhappy dreams. She’d been kissing Linc, who’d turned into Ford and stayed Ford. Her eyes felt puffy from too much crying and too little sleep. She reached into the seat pocket for her bottle of water, and her hand brushed against a crisply folded paper sticking up, bearing her name: Clarey.
