Page 16 of Truth or More Truth (Throwback RomComs #3)

fifteen

. . .

“ T his isn’t a very flattering story—for me, that is,” I admit to Bobby.

“I don’t think I’m one to throw stones,” he replies.

“Touché.” I take a deep breath. “You know I grew up with the Hamilton boys. We went to both school and church together, and our moms have been friends since before I was born, so we were around each other all the time and knew each other pretty well. In seventh grade, Ash and I were both at a party and we ended up in the closet together during ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven.’” I bury my face in my hands and take a deep breath.

“The kissing was that, bad, huh?”

I lower my hands and shake my head. “It actually wasn’t, even though it was the first kiss for both of us, though neither of us knew it at the time.

Anyway, Ash wasn’t the most popular kid.

He was nerdy and quiet and giant and awkward.

I liked him, though. But after the kiss, I didn’t want to admit to anyone that I enjoyed it, so I made fun of him instead.

The news that he was a terrible kisser spread around school really fast.” I can feel Bobby looking at me, even though I’m looking out the side window to avoid his eyes.

“Go ahead,” I say. “Tell me how terrible I am.”

My body twitches when his hand lands on mine.

“Melissa,” his deep voice says, “you’re not terrible. Not now, at least. You were a kid, and kids do dumb things.” I’m well aware of the idiotic choices thirteen-year-olds can make, since I’m the parent of one. “I did my share of them, and I’m sure Ash did, too.”

“No, I don’t think he did. Ash was a really good kid. He always treated everyone with kindness, even when they were terrible to him, like I was. He never would’ve done what I did. He didn’t deserve that from me.” A tear leaks out the corner of my eye.

Bobby squeezes my hand before letting it go, but he doesn’t say anything else as we continue down the dark, winding road.

“I apologized to him when we reconnected this past year, and he forgave me, but that doesn’t change the facts.”

“Sounds like you maybe need to forgive yourself for it,” Bobby says.

I finally turn to look at him, and he gives me a brief glance and a small smile before returning his attention to the road.

“Look at you being all full of wisdom,” I tease.

“I’m really good at telling other people what they should do,” he says.

“Let me guess,” I say, “you’re not that great at doing it yourself?”

“That would be correct.”

I start to laugh, but it turns into a shriek as Bobby slams on the brakes, flings his right arm out in front of me, and curses while the car fishtails down the road.

He moves his hand back to the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, before the car finally skids to a stop along the narrow gravel shoulder.

Even though it’s dark, I know if I opened my door, I’d be looking down into a deep ditch.

“What the heck, Bobby Joe?” I suck in a few lungfuls of air and press my hands over my pounding heart.

He doesn’t reply. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and he’s staring straight ahead while slightly shaking.

I remove my hands from my chest and shift the car into park.

Then I cover his right hand with my left, slowly prying it off the wheel.

He’s still not talking, which is making me nervous.

“We’re okay, Bobby. Everything’s fine.” Well, I’m not sure he’s fine, but I need to get his attention. “Bobby,” I say louder, trying to bring his focus to me instead of being stuck somewhere inside his head. “Bobby.”

He blinks a few times and then his gaze swings to me.

“What happened?” I ask. “Why’d you hit the brakes?”

He breathes deeply a few times before saying, “Deer.”

Why’s he calling me dear? Did he somehow hit his head?

“What, Bobby? What happened?” Worry bubbles up in my chest.

“Deer. Road.” He’s still not speaking in complete sentences, though he’s finally starting to make sense.

He continues, “Deer … in the headlights. It’s a … real thing.”

OK, that was a complete sentence. He’s coming back to me.

The car interior suddenly lights up, and it takes a second for me to register another car has come around the corner behind us and is quickly approaching.

I tense, hoping it sees we’re at a stop, because half of our car is still in the road.

As I reach over and press the hazard light button, I briefly hope it’s Diego, Randall, and Wendy coming upon us, but then I remember they left before we did.

Thankfully, the vehicle slows down, but it veers around us instead of stopping, honking as it passes.

“Bobby,” I say, concerned that he didn’t even flinch when the car passed or honked, “we can talk about what happened later, but do you think you can drive? Can you get us to the next driveway or a turnoff or something, so we can get off the road? I don’t want us to get hit.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything as he shifts the car back into gear and pulls onto the road.

We ride in silence for a mile or two before a mailbox appears up ahead on the right.

Bobby pulls into the gravel driveway, shifts into park, and kills the engine.

Again, he stares straight ahead, but his hands aren’t wrapped quite as tightly around the wheel.

I release both of our seatbelts, and without thinking too much about what I’m doing, I scoot on top of the emergency brake between the seats and wrap my arms around his neck. He’s still tense, so I press his head onto my shoulder .

“Bobby,” I whisper against his forehead. “We’re OK. We’re OK.” I repeat the words until the tension starts to leave his body and he relaxes into me.

Then his arms slip around me, and I’m being shifted until I’m sitting sideways on his lap, my legs draped onto the passenger seat.

He squeezes me so tightly I can barely breathe, though not because my lungs are crushed.

It’s because he’s so strong and solid. I give my head a little shake.

I need to focus on the man attached to the strong arms because while he might be more than OK physically, something’s clearly wrong.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

He shakes his head no. I want to press him, but there’ll be time to do that later.

“Do you want me to drive us the rest of the way to the hotel?”

He nods yes but doesn’t loosen his grip on me.

“You’re going to have to let go of me for that to happen,” I explain gently.

He finally releases me, and a minute later, we’re back on the road with me in the driver’s seat. Since he doesn’t want to talk, I turn the radio on low so we’re not driving in complete silence.

When we arrive at the hotel, he holds my hand as we walk inside, and I don’t ask any questions. We get to my room, which is a few doors before his, and when we stop, he turns me to face him.

It takes him a few seconds to meet my eyes, and then he takes a deep breath and asks, “Can I come in? Stay with you?” He takes another deep breath. “Not to … you know, but … I don’t want to be alone. I can’t be. I promise I’ll explain, but … not tonight. You have two beds?”

I nod as I search his eyes, hoping to find some answers to what’s tormenting him, but I don’t know him well enough to read him yet. “Yes, there are two beds, and yes, you can stay here. Want me to go with you to grab your stuff from your room?”

He shakes his head. “No. Thanks.”

Then he shocks me by cradling my face in his hands and pressing a kiss to my forehead before turning and making his way down the hall to his room. I watch until he disappears through the doorway. Then I slump against my own door for a few moments before digging into my purse for my room key.

What in the world is happening?