Erin McCarthy - Believe

“I know that.”

He nodded. “And I also realized that it’s not up to me to protect you or save you from being with me. That you’re smart and you know what you want and I trust that.”

That meant more to me than anything else could have. “I know that what I want is you. I believe in you and me, too. And when I was there in the house with Davis, I realized what it must have been like for you to find me passed out, and I never want to hurt you like that again.”

He didn’t say anything. He just kissed me, a deep, tender kiss that made my whole body tingle.

“Phoenix, what happened to your hands?” I had looked down and realized his knuckles were bruised and scabbed, and his hands were actually swollen. “Is that from your fight with Nathan? It looks too old for what happened today.”

But he shook his head. “No. I have to tell you that you were right—I can’t react to every crisis with anger. That’s my problem that I have to deal with. When I was a kid I was diagnosed as having intermittent explosive disorder. It means I lose my shit uncontrollably. I always think I can control it, which is dumb considering the very definition means I lose it. So I have no right to criticize you for slipping and drinking. I went off on that car, and I would have preferred to go off on Nathan.”

It wasn’t surprising to me. I knew his anger was different, deeper. “I start alcohol counseling next week, just so you know. What scares me is how I sat there with that bottle and knew that it would make feel better, short term, but worse long term. Yet I couldn’t resist it. Not really.”

“My rage is alive . . . it’s like it’s moving cell by cell through my body. I should probably take the medication.” He gave me a small smile, brushing my hair back. “If you can deal with your stuff, I can deal with my stuff, and we’ll deal together. Fair?”

“Fair.” I nuzzled my lips over the side of his face.

“So what do we do now?” he asked.

“‘There is no remedy for love, but to love more.’ That’s Thoreau,” I murmured.

Phoenix kissed the corners of my mouth. “‘The future for me is already a thing of the past. You were my first love and you will be my last.’ That’s Bob Dylan.”

I smiled.

My mom was actually crying. “Seriously?” I asked, rolling my eyes. But secretly I was pleased that she cared.

“Shut up,” she said, sounding annoyed, wiping at her eyes. “I’m entitled to fucking cry when my only kid moves a thousand miles away.”

We were standing in the driveway at Tyler and Riley’s, a dusting of snow on the ground, the dead Christmas tree that Jessica had decorated the month before now on the lawn, waiting for garbage removal. Robin’s car was packed with all her belongings. I had a duffel bag of my stuff on the front step, waiting to be crammed into whatever space was left.

My whole family was next to my mom, bundled up against the cold, saying good-bye. I was excited about me and Robin heading south, but I realized I was going to miss these motherfuckers, every one of them. My cousins had given me a place to stay and legit friendship, and my mom and I had been working on being nicer to each other. She had even finally told me my father’s name, but I hadn’t pursued getting in touch with him.

I rubbed Easton’s head. “I’m going to miss you, dude.”

“Can I come visit?”

“Sure, you can,” Riley said. “When I win the lottery.”

“We’re going to have a lot of cool stuff when we win the lottery,” Jayden said. “Because you always say that.”

I laughed. And how could I not miss that guy and his unintentional humor? I gave him a fist bump. “Keep sending me those stupid pictures of dogs being shamed. They make me laugh, cuz.”

“I will,” he promised.

Riley and Tyler both gave me a one-armed hug. Jessica, who still didn’t seem to particularly like me, managed to give me a hug and a smile, probably because she was glad to see the last of me for a while.

Rory’s hug was more genuine. “Take care of Robin,” she told me.

“Not a problem,” I assured her.

Robin was in the house, using the bathroom before we left. We had already said good-bye to her family, who had been amazingly accepting of me over the last few months. I think the tattoos were overlooked by the fact that I was sober. They liked that I offered no temptation to Robin to drink. Which she hadn’t. And I was taking my little bottle of prescription meds to Louisiana with me, working through my issues with taking any sort of pills, knowing it did help me feel less tight inside.

But truthfully, I hadn’t had a whole lot to be angry about.

Robin came out, zipping up her winter coat, a smile lighting up her face when she caught my eye.

“Ready?”

Yep. She still made my mouth hot and my lips turn up in a stupid grin I couldn’t contain.

“I can drive first,” I told her. “Now that it’s, uh, actually legal for me to drive.” I had gone and finally ordered documentation online and had taken the test to get my license. I had also given Davis three hundred bucks to put a deposit down on an apartment and had cleared my debt to him. I had been worried that moving would violate my parole, but I’d been given the go-ahead.

Robin had spent the fall semester with a whole new schedule, dropping out of all of her business classes before it was too late and quickly trading them out for art classes. The one that she had taken on a whim, glassblowing, had turned out to be something she had completely fallen in love with. Which was why we were moving to New Orleans. She had transferred to Tulane to study at their glassblowing program, which was supposed to be one of the best in the country. I had gotten a job at a tattoo shop by answering an online ad, and we had a studio apartment waiting for us.

“See you all in May!” Robin said, giving out hugs. She even hugged my mom, who looked like she’d swallowed a bug.

I had never left the Cincinnati area. Not in my whole twenty-one years.

As I crossed the bridge into Kentucky, Robin singing a song off the radio in the passenger seat, I focused on the road stretching out in front of me.

Hell to the yeah.

Reaching over, I snaked my fingers through hers.

Yep. The future for me was already a thing of the past.