The Hate Between Us, page 23
My hands gripped the straps of my backpack tightly as Jason got out and went around the car to take my wheelchair out of the trunk.
“Jason, is there another way in?”
He leaned my folded wheelchair against the side of his car and opened the door for me. “The only other way is through the back porch and there’s steps there too. I’m going to have to carry you in.”
I licked my suddenly dry lips. Jason’s going to carry me. My insides clenched at the image.
“Okay. Just don’t drop me.”
His lips turned up in a devilish smile. “Don’t tempt me.”
He leaned into the car and picked me up with surprising ease, his lips coming very close to mine for a split second. My heart went haywire as he straightened up and then stood unmoving, his eyes shifting between mine. I was too aware of my hand around his neck, of his smooth skin under mine. The air was cold, but the warmth of his body canceled that out, tempting me to snuggle against him. I could feel his strength and a hint of something protective as his hands pulled me tighter against him, his eyes moving down the length of my body. Something tightened in my chest.
“You feel so tiny in my arms,” he said quietly.
My fingers curled against his skin, longing to cling on to him. “I do?”
He nodded, his face inching closer to mine. I wasn’t sure if that was a conscious move or not.
Lightning cut across the horizon, and thunder exploded a second later. I yelped, clinging to Jason as if he was my lifeline.
He smirked. “Scared of thunderstorms?”
My face reddened. “Aren’t you?”
“Do I look like a pussy to you?”
I scowled at him. “Just like an asshat.”
He threw his head back and laughed, looking so carefree I couldn’t stop staring at him. He’s laughing. But before I could get enough of that, rain started pelting down on us, soaking us in three seconds flat. Cold pierced through me like hot needles.
“Shit,” Jason growled. “Hold on tight.”
He kicked the door of his car closed and darted for his house, his body hard steel against mine. I felt weightless in his arms. Protected. I tightened my arm around him, burying my face in his neck, inhaling his heady scent that was quickly becoming my personal drug.
He unlocked the door with one hand and rushed inside, trails of rainwater pooling on the floor in our wake. It was warm inside, but I was shivering. My jacket was waterproof but my jeans were drenched, so I’d need to change them. Luckily, I kept spare clothes in my backpack.
Jason made a beeline for a door at the end of the hallway, passing by the living room with quick steps, but not quickly enough for me to miss seeing the cans and bottles of alcohol strewn over the coffee table and floor around a worn, checkered couch. The containers were strangely colorful against the alcohol-stained beige carpet. Jason pushed open the door of his room with his leg and took me inside. I stiffened with the awareness that I was in his room—that my old fantasy was coming true.
He deposited me right on his bed, not seeming to care that I was wet and would drench his sheets.
“Wait, I’m going to soak your sheets—”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“If you’re sure.” I looked all around me, trying to take it all in as quickly as I could.
His room was small but not as small as mine. Movie posters hung on his walls, sharing a similarity with mine. His furniture was made of dark wood. Two shelves hung above his computer desk, holding books on acting and loads of Blu-ray movies. His small window provided the room with the view of the back fence and shrubs that had seen better days.
He ran his hand through his soaked hair as he inspected me, a few drops of water sliding down his chiseled cheeks in a mesmerizing way.
“I’m going to go bring you your wheelchair and a towel. I can get you some clothes to change into.”
I raised my brows. “You’re offering to let me borrow your clothes?”
“Do you have a better idea?”
As much as the thought of wearing Jason’s clothes thrilled me, there was no way I could accept his offer even if I were to need a change of clothes.
I patted my backpack. “I have spare clothes in here.” He raised his brows and I said, “It’s just this thing Mom insists I do. ‘Always be prepared,’ she says. So, I always keep my medicine and other stuff with me.”
Something strange filled his gaze as he observed me for a moment longer. He turned to leave. “I’ll be right back.”
He returned a few minutes later. He placed my wheelchair next to the bed and handed me a towel, then grabbed a pair of gray sweats and a hoodie out of his closet before he left so we could each change our clothes. I waited a long time after he left to make sure he was really gone before I removed my jacket and sneakers and then took off my jeans.
My heart was racing in my chest. I was getting naked in Jason’s room. There was something thrilling about it, the warm air against my skin like a soft caress that was forbidden to me. I allowed myself only a couple of seconds to soak it in before I quickly pulled on sweatpants and new thermal socks. I massaged my legs to improve circulation as I gave his room my undivided attention.
It was very neat and organized, at odds with the rest of the house. Various scripts and pamphlets lay in tidy stacks on one side of his desk. The titles on his bookshelf were placed in alphabetical order, and the bed was made. There were no scattered clothes, and all his belongings were placed with great precision. Even the skull stickers on his drawers were placed there with perfect symmetry.
What took most of my attention were the framed photos on his dresser. They were mostly of him and Caroline in recent years, each of them painting a picture of their unconditional love for one another. But there was something else—beneath the veneer of happiness, there was a deep-rooted sadness. Sadness that radiated in varying degrees as time passed but was nevertheless present. It only drew more attention to the only photo of them with their parents, which must’ve been taken when Jason was in preschool, seeing how young Jason and Caroline were in it. Their dad and mom looked very happy, both smiling at the camera as they hugged their children sitting between them on a park bench.
Finally, my eyes snagged on what appeared to be the most recent photo—one of Jason with Caroline and their dad. Caroline stood between them with a small smile and arms that wound around Jason and their dad in a side-hug, and she was the only one smiling. Jason’s eyes had an edge to them, his lips thinned, and their dad looked lost in his own world. His beard was unkempt, his hair demanded a brush, and his bloodshot eyes weren’t looking at the camera but somewhere off in the distance. This photo was such a blaring contrast to the photo of the whole family, bringing forth the fact that life had had no mercy on them. All the photos were a collage of irony and lost opportunities.
I thought about the cans and bottles in the living room and Jason’s ambition—how hard he worked to make something out of himself. How he hoped for his dad to shake free of the hold his demons had over him. How he included his sister in all his future plans. My heart pulsed with compassion.
Jason returned, having changed into sportswear, and I took a second to just appreciate how hot he looked in it. The clothes embraced his body tightly, emphasizing his firm, toned muscles my hands begged to feel. He was carrying tea but also had a blanket. I raised my brows at that, watching him deposit my tea on the nightstand.
“I thought you might need this.” He handed me the blanket. “You were shivering.”
My heart palpitated. That had been thoughtful of him. I had to try my damnedest not to show on my face just how mushy that made me feel.
“Thank you.” I tucked my legs under me and wrapped myself in the blanket, resting my back against the headboard. I took the mug and sipped the tea as I studied his hair. He’d toweled it off and slicked it back, but it was still wet enough to be glued to his head, giving him a more mature and sophisticated look. I wanted to run my hand through his hair and make it all messy and unruly.
The storm raged outside, creating curtains of water over the window, but the room was thickly quiet. The air was swollen with something sensual. The light reflected off his piercing as he sat down on the desk chair across from me, and my fingers twitched, spurred on by a sudden urge to play with it.
I cleared my throat. “I like your room.”
He smiled, but it was a smile that showed years of shame and pain over a space from which he clearly wanted to escape. “You don’t have to be nice about it. This house is a mess.”
“I wasn’t talking about the house. I was talking about your room. It’s so you. Your dreams, your drive to push forward, the effort you put in everything you do. You know, it feels like even in the hardest circumstances, you’re able to shut it all off and keep going.”
He said nothing, but his gaze grew intense, sending my heart into a tailspin. He didn’t move from his chair, yet it felt as though the space between us had shrunk, leaving me bare to him, and I had to say something, anything, to break the silence.
“I never got to thank you for what you said last week.”
He cocked his brow.
“At rehearsal,” I clarified. “About working on my acting. It put some things into perspective.”
He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
“No, you don’t understand.” I gripped the mug with my hands, unable to meet his gaze. “The truth is, I’m still trying to figure out what to do with myself . . . with the rest of my life. My parents and Dylan keep saying that my disability shouldn’t stop me from accomplishing whatever I want. How I can do everything and grab any opportunity and turn it into a victory. But it’s hard not to feel stripped of my independence and choices.
“Sure, I have some independence. And I’m learning my way through all of this, but still, it’s not enough. That’s why I’m not so sure about acting. It still feels as though I can’t have the same opportunities as the able-bodied Katie would.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. I finally convinced myself to look at him, finding his face open, free of masks or false emotions. His gaze was raw. Overpowering.
“I think you can have as many opportunities as you want. Acting is about acting. Nothing more, nothing less. Don’t limit yourself and use your legs as an excuse. Think about who you are as an actor and start from there.”
My fingers twitched against the mug. “It’s so hard, Jason. It’s hard to let go.”
“I know.” He looked at his Courage tattoo, his eyes glazing with memories. “I lost my mom in a car accident when I was only thirteen. Our car caught fire. My mom was trapped and couldn’t get away from it.” His breath hitched, but he cleared his throat and continued. “She was screaming at us to get out of the car, and then she was just screaming while the fire burned her. I knew I only had seconds to get me and Caroline out or we’d burn too. The smoke was so thick I couldn’t breathe, but I finally managed to get my door open and pull Caroline out with me. Nothing has been the same since then.”
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t believe he was sharing this with me, and my heart broke for that thirteen-year-old who had watched his mother die in the worst possible way.
He flexed his hand, the tattoo standing out against his skin. “I know what it’s like when you can’t let go and feel hopeless, with no sense of direction. When you carry the whole weight of the world on your shoulders. But there was someone who had it worse than me, and I had to get a grip for her. I had to find sense where there was none, and I did. This tattoo is my reminder of that. One day, you’ll find it too.”
Another crash of thunder thudded in the distance as we watched each other. His confession was like a kick in the gut, and I felt like some piece of the wall between us had just been reduced to smithereens, despite all our previous misunderstandings and antagonism.
My heart contracted with so many emotions. His words held assurance—assurance that there was a way out of my darkness. He’d been through a true horror, and he’d managed to find sense; I could find it too.
I placed the mug on the nightstand. “You knew how to help me with my panic attack. Do you have them?” He’d almost mentioned Caroline at the time, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t having them too.
He shook his head. His gaze went to the pictures on the dresser, and briefly, all I could find in his eyes was pain, sharp in all its intensity. “But I do have nightmares.”
“Have you talked to someone about them?”
“I went to therapy for a couple of years. It didn’t help much.”
“I’m so sorry,” I all but whispered, feeling some of his pain inside me. “That’s so horrible what you and Caroline went through.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes life’s a bitch.”
I half-smiled.
“What?”
“That sounds exactly like something Nathan would say.”
“And the dude would be right. Except that he can be too pessimistic sometimes.”
“I think Chloe balances him out.”
“It goes both ways. Once she gets sick, he shows how strong he is by doing everything to protect his girl. He changes for the better.”
“I think so too. Nathan is a one-of-a-kind guy.”
He tilted his head, looking at me with sudden interest. “Why do you think that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? He’s the kind of guy any girl would fall for. Smart, handsome, devoted, tough to get to know but once you do . . . he’ll give his life for you.”
Jason smirked. “So, he’s a typical bad boy.”
I scowled at him. “Of course not. He’s so much more than that.”
He laughed. “He’s a tortured, poor soul, who needs someone to love him and—”
“Stop it!” I swung a pillow at him.
He dodged it easily, laughing. “But it’s true! He’s just waiting for the right goodie-two-shoes to find him and show him he’s missing out on looove.”
I erupted into giggles, swinging another pillow at him. He dodged that one, too. “You’re just jealous because he has Chloe.”
“Yeah, right.” He was still smiling. “How about you? Would you want that kind of guy?”
Color rose to my cheeks. Jason was that kind of guy, I knew now. He was ready to do anything for his sister, willing to put up with his dad’s alcoholism, and was working hard on making something out of himself so they could have a better future. The girl who was loved by him would be so lucky.
I wished I could feel what it was like to be loved like that. To be loved by him.
I closed my eyes, and my lungs expanded with a long intake of breath. I was falling for him again.
“I would love that,” I whispered.
His eyes were glimmering darkness. The room shrank around us, and my heart rate kicked up as his gaze went to my lips. He stood up, and never breaking our gaze, came up to me. He leaned in and reached out his hand. My mouth opened around a quick breath . . . until I realized his hand wasn’t reaching out to touch me, he was grabbing his script from the nightstand.
He sat right next to me. His knee bumped against mine, and I had to force myself to keep breathing. He was so close. So close I was sure he could hear my heart hammering in my chest.
“Has Holloway mentioned to you we’ll start kissing in rehearsals next week?”
My stomach tightened. “What? No.”
“She told me yesterday. I think we should probably go through the kissing scenes again, so we’ll be more ready.”
“What? You mean like now?”
He smirked. “Yes, now.”
My mouth went dry. My mind frantically whispered to me that this was just part of rehearsing, that he’d told me he had to pretend he had a connection with me, so this intimacy wouldn’t mean anything, but my body wasn’t listening. My body wanted his touch—yearned for it. My body wanted to believe it would be real.
“O-Okay. All the kissing scenes?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” I hoped he didn’t notice the tremor in my voice.
But he did notice. “You okay?”
“Yep. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you look nervous. Remember what we discussed about physical contact. Just relax.”
“How do you know that’s what’s bothering me?”
His lips formed another smirk. “Because you’re obvious.”
I didn’t deny that. “Are you going to improvise again?”
He looked at me with a question in his eyes.
“With the kisses, I mean.”
He angled his head to the side, and the way he looked at me sent a spark of thrill right down to the pit of my stomach. His eyes dropped briefly to my breasts, which I was sure were now visibly rising and falling more rapidly. “No. Do you want me to?”
My heart throbbed. Yes, my body shouted. But my mouth said, “No.”
He opened his script and flipped through the pages to reach the scene with Chloe and Nathan’s first kiss, while I pretended I wasn’t having a hard time focusing on acting.
My anxiety wasn’t building up just because we would have to kiss in front of the others next week. It was also building up because being alone with him in his room allowed for privacy we hadn’t had in the theater with Ms. Holloway. It was highlighting how intimate we could get here, and my nerves danced a jig as we delivered the lines that led up to the kiss. My eyes were constantly drawn to his lips, my body anticipating his every touch with sharpened awareness. And when he hugged me, I was sure he could hear the loud beating of my heart.
“Promise you won’t give up on me,” I said, a little breathless.
His fingers dug into my waist as he pulled away. “How could I give up on you when I love you? Yes, I love you, Chloe. I have for a while, actually.”
I placed my hand on his cheek, leaning closer to him. “Why me? Look at me. I’m sick and—”
He clamped his hand around mine. “You’re perfect. You’re beautiful, sweet, and you give my life sense. Everything makes sense when you’re around. You make everything better.”
“And you really don’t care that I always steal the last piece of chocolate?”
