A Want So Wicked (A Need So Beautiful #2)(35)
Author: Suzanne Young

“I want you to,” I say, my fingers threading through his hair.

“I know.” He leans his forehead against mine, looking into my eyes. “Please believe me when I say it’s taking every ounce of my willpower to do this: But I think you should leave.”

I’m frozen at first, but when I realize he’s serious, I back out of his arms—humiliated. I feel utterly rejected and it stings, especially since he’s the first guy I’ve ever tried to kiss. He winces when he sees the hurt on my face.

“It’s not what you think, Elise,” he says quickly, reaching for me. But I push his hand away.

“And what do I think?”

“This has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh, well. That makes me feel so much better, Harlin. Thanks for the explanation.” I walk quickly around the bed, mortified and shaking. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe I could have misread him completely.

I open the motel room door, the first bit of tears stinging my eyes. Harlin steps in front of me, backing me against the wall. He stares until I look at him. When I do, I’m surprised to see the tears gathered in his eyes. “I’m in love with someone else,” he says. “But she’s gone. And I—”

I push him then, nearly slapping him. If he’s in love with someone, then why did he come to my house? Why talk with my dad?

I move past Harlin, walking through the door, when he takes my elbow to stop me. “Elise, please—”

“Don’t,” I say, pulling my arm from his. “Just . . . don’t.”

With fresh hurt on his face, Harlin nods and steps away.

* * *

My dad is asleep when I arrive home, and the day’s dishes are still in the sink. I didn’t let myself cry on the way back, refusing to let a guy—one I just met—so thoroughly wreck my self-esteem. And as I start in on the bowls and plates with soapy water, I keep myself calm, even though I’m devastated. What’s most troubling is that beyond embarrassment, it shouldn’t be this painful. How can someone I just met hurt me so much?

I’m nearly done when my father comes out of his room, his blue eyes concerned when he finds me in the kitchen. “You’re cleaning?” he asks. “Is it that bad?” He comes to kiss the top of my head, spurring on my sudden urge to cry, but I fight it back.

“I wish you’d buy a dishwasher,” I say instead, turning off the water. I grab the red towel to dry my hands and stare out into the dark night.

“Why would I need a dishwasher when I have you?” my father replies, going to the fridge to pull out a foil-covered plate.

“That joke never gets old, does it?”

“Not to me.”

I sit at the kitchen table, and my father sets the plate of chocolate cake in front of me, leaving a fork at my side. When he sits next to me, I take a bite of cake, slowly chewing as the silence drags on. I’m not sure if I have the guts to tell him what happened tonight. It occurs to me that I’ve been lying a lot—and I hate the thought of it.

“Harlin’s not interested in me,” I say quietly, setting down the fork. Embarrassed, I feel prickles of heat break over my face and neck.

“What?” my father asks. “I don’t believe that. He looked completely smitten.”

“Yeah, well. He just told me he’s in love with someone else. So he’s apparently not smitten with me.”

“Oh, kid,” my father says, putting his arm over my shoulders. “I’m not convinced this is true, but I’m sorry. He seemed like a very genuine person at dinner. Maybe he’s confused. I’m glad he was honest with you, though.”

I scoff. “He could have been honest before having dinner with us. Before agreeing to come to church with me. I feel ridiculous.”

“He agreed to come to a service?” my father asks, sounding impressed.

“Yeah. But he’s a heathen, so who cares.”

He chuckles. “There is that possibility, but I don’t think you should write Harlin off just yet. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing him around.”

I push the plate away, unwilling to have another bite of cake when I’m too depressed to enjoy it. Just then Lucy walks in, wearing her pajamas—something I haven’t seen her wear in a while. They’re polka-dotted and long-sleeved, and all at once I think that she appears younger. Well, except for the heavy foundation that seems too tan for her skin.

“You’re still home?” I ask. “It’s not even curfew.”

“Thought I’d grace you all with my presence.” She pauses to smile. “I can occasionally be the responsible child, especially when my little sister is off riding around with a strange guy. And besides,” she says, pushing my shoulder, “I’ve missed you.”

I’m slightly taken aback by Lucy’s words, but at the same time, I want to hug her. I haven’t seen her this vulnerable since . . . well, since our mother died. My father must notice too, because he comes to put his arms around both of us, resting his chin on the top of Lucy’s head.

“I love you girls,” he says. “You make me proud every day.” Lucy and I start to groan, ready to tell him to stop being so sappy, when he laughs. “And I’m most proud when you’re home by curfew without any boys around.”

Lucy pulls back and rolls her eyes. “If you ever tire of being a pastor, I think you have a real chance at stand-up comedy.” She reaches past me for my fork, scooping up a bite of cake before popping it into her mouth. “And yes,” she says to my father. “We love you too.”

Lucy and I stare at the TV in the dim living room after she finishes the cake. She rests her head on my shoulder as the sink runs in the kitchen, my father rinsing off the plate.

“Elise,” my sister says in a low voice, barely audible over the movie. “Do you remember when Mom died?”

I tear my eyes from the television to look down at her, her face hidden from view. “Yeah?”

Lucy starts playing with a loose string in the couch blanket, twisting it around her finger. “There was that night,” she says. “The night before she died, when we laid in bed while Dad was at the hospital. Praying.”

A lump forms in my throat. “They wouldn’t let us in anymore,” I add. “It was against their policy.” It hurts to think about it, my mom in that hospital bed, unconscious. During her last week, she stopped waking up, drugs coursing through her system. They said it was better that way, but I’ve always wondered. What would she have said to us in those moments? Had we robbed her of them?