We paused so he could get me another beer when I finished mine. Little by little, I was starting to not mind the taste as much. Or maybe it was in my head, but I was already feeling what I guessed would be the “buzz” people always talked about. It felt kind of good.
“So,” I said, blurting a question that wasn’t in my script before I realized what I was doing. “Why are you so into wheelchairs?”
My eyes widened slightly. Did I really just say that aloud?
Tristan’s brows lowered, then he reached for the beer and drained the last of it, grinning. “Believe it or not, the chair isn’t really the part I’m after. I’m more interested in the girl who rides it.”
I felt like I was going to choke on my own tongue, if that was possible. I tried to swallow and failed, only managing to make an awkward clicking noise. “Sorry,” I said quietly. “I don’t know where that came from.”
“Alcohol,” he said. “It has a way of making us forget to be so up our own asses for a change.”
I shut off the camera, smiling awkwardly. “I should probably go. I think I got what I needed.”
“I didn’t,” Tristan said, stepping closer.
I lowered my eyes. “I should really go.”
“Then let me push you back home. You shouldn’t drive drunk.”
I couldn’t help laughing at the stupid joke. “It’s a wheelchair. Traffic laws don’t really apply.”
“You crashed that thing completely sober once. I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”
With a sideways smile, I nodded. “Okay. fine.”* * *A few hours later, the home phone rang. It was an automated message from the school about how I’d missed three classes. I tapped my finger nervously on the table a few times, then hung up. Assuming they never sent a letter home, I might have just saved myself the wrath of my mother.
Just a week or two ago, I would’ve never considered hiding something like this from her. I thought Tristan Blackwood was rubbing off on me, and that was a very scary concept.
I hated how thinking of him made me want to smile and blush at the same time. I knew I shouldn’t let him off the hook so easily, but there was just something about him and his intensity. Maybe a life of being stuck in a wheelchair and craving adventure made me like an empty vessel for him to pour all of that energy into. It didn’t matter how much he gave; I was hungry enough to swallow it all up.
I figured that was probably a dangerous combination, but he’d also proven in the car that I wasn’t willing to walk away from it.
My mom came home in time for dinner. She was exhausted from working all night, but she still sat at the table with me, like always.
“You look tired,” she said.
I shook my head. I didn’t feel tired. If anything, I felt more alive than I maybe ever had. “I’m good. Great, actually. I think there’s a boy I am kind of starting to like.” I bit my lip. I’d never had boy gossip to share with my mom, but like many things, it was something I’d spent an unhealthy amount of time imagining.
Instead of looking excited, my mom looked wary. “That one who came to check on you?”
“I didn’t say that,” I said. “I just… I think I’m starting to like this guy.”
“Well,” she said, shoveling down a bite of mashed potatoes and swallowing roughly. “Just remember that you’re not getting better any time soon. That means whatever little boyfriend you bring back is going to have to be willing to be a caretaker. Not many boys your age would be up for the task, I imagine.”
A cold ball of ice felt like it was growing in my stomach. “I’m in a chair, but it’s not like—”
My mom surprised me by bringing her fist down on the table. “Because I take care of you. You want to replace me with some pretty boy from your school, just wait and see how happy he is when he realizes everything involved in being your caretaker.”
I hung my head. “Can I be excused?”
“Go on, then.”
I parked my chair in the chairlift at the bottom of the stairs and waited for it to bring me up to my room. Once I had the door closed, I threw myself on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, feeling stupid. She was right, of course.
Why would anyone want to sign up to be with me? I was a burden, and I always would be. Tristan wasn’t a dumb person, and I wondered if he had already thought of that. But he was so incredibly protective. Part of me could almost imagine what kind of boyfriend he would be. If his possessiveness was any indication, he’d stop at nothing to keep me safe if we were together.