I drop them back to my lap, and a little surge of panic settles in, because I know I’m in no state to drive, even though it’s only a couple minutes to home.
With a shaking hand, I reach for my cellphone again. Generally speaking, I’m more of a texter than a phone talker, but there are times when you need to hear someone’s voice. When you need to connect with someone who cares.
This is one of those times.
Ben’s name is in my FAVORITES list, and I hit DIAL.
He answers on the second ring. “Parks.”
And then, for some weird reason, that’s when the tears come. All at once, they flood my eyes and are running down my cheeks as I make an ugly blubbering noise.
“Parker?” Ben’s voice is sharper now.
I try to take a deep breath and it sounds like a honk. “Can you come get me?”
“Anywhere. Always.”
Chapter 4
Ben
I’ve seen Parker cry a bunch of times.
When her grandfather died. When her mother was diagnosed with cancer. Anytime we’ve ever watched a movie where an animal’s in distress. That time she slept through her world geography final sophomore year.
Once she had too much wine and said that the rain made her cry.
And no matter how legit the reasons (see: sad movie, mom getting cancer) or how absurd (the rain), I always do the same thing.
I hold her. I pet her hair. I let her soak my T-shirt with her tears, and supply her with ample tissues to cry into. (She’s not a dainty crier, this one.)
Whatever the cause¸ the tears always rip at me a little bit, like there’s this pressure on my chest that I don’t know how to relieve. I mean, all girls’ tears do that.
But Parker’s especially. She’s my girl.
And that weird feeling in my chest is definitely there this time. But it’s accompanied by something else, too.
Anger.
All the other times, her tears were out of my control. I couldn’t stop her grandfather dying, or her weird reaction to the rain.
But this time I have options.
One of which is beating the shit out of Lance Myers.
And right now, I want to.
I’m not a violent guy, strictly speaking.
But from the second I saw her trying futilely to hold back tears as she sat behind the wheel of her car, looking lost and devastated, to the moment I took her home and held her in my lap on the couch, I’ve thought about nothing except how good it would feel to plant my fist into Myers’s preppy face.
He’s a friend of mine, sure. I like the guy. I might even be a little bummed when my anger fades and I realize we won’t be hanging out anymore.
But this isn’t about Lance. It’s about Parker.
And he hurt her.
But…