She’s quiet for a moment. An awkward, self-conscious feeling comes over me. I don’t know if she’s waiting for me to elaborate. I pick up the oars and propel us further out, toward the lake’s center. My shoulder gives the tiniest twinge of protest, but it’s almost back to normal.
“I hate all this sneaking around,” I say. “I just want this shit with Sasha to be behind me.”
She shrugs. “Even if it were, there’s still my dad to contend with,” she says. “We’d still have to keep this quiet. But I’ll admit, I’m kind of praying Sasha gets packed off to boarding school or juvie or something.”
“I don’t know why I was with her so long,” I say. “She was horrible to everyone and I just . . . excused it, I guess. But I shouldn’t have. I should’ve stood up for them. For myself too.”
She gives an odd little smile.
“Said everyone who ever got out of a bad relationship, ever,” she says.
“Yeah, well, I think Sasha wrecks the curve a little. Most people don’t enter into long-term relationships with psychos.”
Her eyes dart across my features like she’s trying to piece together a puzzle. “Maybe. But that’s what makes the psychos so awful. They’re pretty good at getting under your skin.”
I cock my head at her. “You sound like you know from experience.”
She looks down at her lap. “I’m just saying, you aren’t the only one who’s ever been manipulated. People will always find a way to hurt each other. To use each other.”
I rest the oars against my thighs. The boat bobs a little as I shift my weight. “Not all people.”
She gives me an odd, measuring look. Then she smiles.
“No. Not all people.” She takes a swig from a water bottle and wipes her mouth. “Sorry. I’m used to seeing the worst in everyone.”
“So young, and so cynical,” I say, trying to sound like I’m teasing. But I can’t keep an edge of curiosity out of my voice.
Catherine gives a little shrug and doesn’t reply. I let it drop.
“Well, anyway, I’m glad it’s over. I feel like . . . like a different person. Especially since I met you,” I say.
Our eyes meet, and my body sparks like a live wire. The sun is bright behind her, the light lost in her glossy hair. Almost without realizing what I’m doing, I leave my seat and climb across to where she’s sitting. The boat rocks hazardously, and we laugh, clinging to one another, before it steadies. I rest my cheek against the crown of her head and take a deep breath.
“I do too,” she says softly. I can feel the vibration of her voice against my chest. “It’s probably obvious, but I was scared at first. It’s been a long time since I . . . since I had anyone. I mean, friends, or . . .” She trails off. I can see that she’s blushing from the pink in the part of her hair. “And the last time I trusted anyone it didn’t go well.”
I don’t speak for a few minutes. I’ve known from the first time I saw her that something, someone, hurt her. You can see it in the angle of her shoulders, in the wounded curve of her mouth. You can hear it in her voice. I’m not sure if I should ask more, or let her tell me in her own time.
Finally, I swallow my curiosity. Because whatever happened, it was bad enough that it’s kept her lonely and locked up ever since. She’s the one who has to decide what it means. But I tilt her face upward to look at mine. “I’ll never hurt you.”
“Don’t say that,” she murmurs. “You can’t promise that. Not really.”
I rest my hand against her back, feeling the way her breath moves in and out, the way our bodies gently conform to one another’s. “Why can’t you trust me?”
“I do,” she says quickly. “I just mean . . . things happen, sometimes. People get hurt.”
“Give me a chance to show you,” I say softly. I look down into her face again, and a desperate ache twists in my chest. “Cat, I love you.”
The words are out before I can think about them, but I know as soon as I’ve said it that it’s true. Her lips part in surprise. Then she puts her forehead to mine, closes her eyes.
“I love you too,” she whispers.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Elyse
“Hey, Elyse, you coming?” Frankie asks.
It’s nine on Saturday night, and we’ve just wrapped our last performance of the week. Everyone’s gathering up their stuff and getting ready to go, but I’m still in the green room’s vanity, wiping away my makeup. I’m taking my time so I have an excuse to linger behind when everyone else is gone. The rest of the cast is going downtown tonight—there’s talk of trying to get into a bar, but really they’ll probably just get donuts and coffee and wander around the Pearl District watching hipsters stagger from one cocktail bar to another.
Brynn’s crouched next to one of the big plastic tubs we keep our props in, helping the stagehands pack the swords and things away, but I can tell she’s listening. We’ve been tentative with each other, a little halting. I realize with a pang that we’d probably make up by midnight if I went out with them tonight. Nothing like the camaraderie of getting kicked out of a gay club, or eating too much sugar and horsing around Pioneer Square, to bring people together.
But I already have plans.
“I can’t tonight,” I say. “I’ve got work.”
“The night of the performance? That sucks.” Brynn frowns. “It’s already ten.”
“Yeah, Rita’s sick. I said I could cover the last few hours of her shift,” I say, smiling. “But I’ll be at the cast party next week.”
Trajan slides an arm around Brynn’s waist. They look adorably ridiculous; she comes up only as far as his shoulder. “Text when you get off. If we’re still out, I’ll come get you.”
“Thanks.” I smile, truly grateful.
In the dressing room, I change slowly into my street clothes. When I get out, everyone’s gone. I pick up my phone and text my mom.
Going out with the cast to celebrate—is it okay if I stay at Brynn’s tonight?
A few minutes later, her reply comes.
Sure see u tomorrow
I grab my bag and turn out the green room’s light. When I step back out into the theater, Aiden’s waiting.
“Ready?” he asks.
I lean up to kiss his cheek. “Ready.”
* * *
? ? ?
He drives toward the Columbia River Gorge. It’s dark, so I can’t see much, but the high canyon wall looms to our right, a slice of darkness that blocks out the sky. The moon’s hidden behind the clouds. Even with the heat on in the car I can feel the crisp chill of the air whipping across the river.
We don’t talk much, but it’s a comfortable, intimate quiet. The radio is on low, and I lean against the window. It feels like a luxury to be driven somewhere—to lie back and trust in the person at the wheel.
After almost two hours he pulls onto a small side road that wends its way up the mountains. He turns on his brights, flooding the narrow road ahead of us with light. I can see needles of rain, lichen-covered trees. I sit up as the gloom closes in around us.
It feels like forever before we pull up in front of a small A-frame cabin. The forest crowds in on all sides, so it feels like a fairy-tale cottage in an enchanted wood.
“It’s gorgeous up here during the day,” he says. “Sorry your first glimpse is at night.”
Inside, he snaps on a lamp to reveal a small, cozy space. There’s a woodstove and a worn rag rug, and the windows are covered with hand-sewn curtains. A single queen-sized bed sits in the middle of the room. The air is cold and smells like the woods.
I suddenly realize Aiden’s studying my face. He hangs back a little, frowning. “You’re freaked out. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you.” He takes my hands in his. “Listen, I didn’t bring you up here to pressure you into anything you don’t want. I just wanted to be alone with you for a little while, so we could spend some time together without worrying about getting caught.” He nods toward a ladder in the corner. “See, there’s a loft. I’ll sleep up there tonight, and you can have the bed. I just thought we could come out here and talk. Maybe go hiking tomorrow.”
I draw closer to him and slide my arms around his waist. “I’m not freaked out. I trust you, Aiden.”