Unspoken(81)

Bo jumped down off the car and held out a hand to Adam. They slapped their hands together, and Adam got into Bo’s car and drove away. Instead of going to the front door like a rational human being, Bo vaulted onto the first-floor fence and swung his way onto the second-floor balcony and then the third floor.

“You’re a crazy person, Bo Randolph.”

“But you love me anyway?” He spread out his gloved hands in front of me, trying for innocent schoolboy but not quite pulling it off.

“I guess so.” I sighed and turned to go back into the apartment. Inside, I felt all shivery. Love? Did he really love me? Bo followed me inside, locked the door, and pulled the shades.

“Your security here is really bad,” Bo noted, trailing me into my bedroom.

“I don’t think anyone else is going to scale the walls to get into our apartment,” I said dryly.

“Still, I think it makes sense, from a safety standpoint, to sleep here every night.”

“From a safety standpoint?” I asked, dropping the blanket and starting to help Bo out of jacket and gloves.

“Yeah, don’t want the owners to get sued for unsafe premises.” Bo allowed me to unzip, unbuckle, and unsnap.

“That would seem to be something that would jeopardize my lease,” I agreed. “I like living here, with Ellie, and across from Sasha.”

I pushed his jacket off and ran my hands across the uneven texture of his thermal shirt, lightly kneading the muscles underneath.

“No, we wouldn’t want to do anything that would create unnecessary friction,” Bo murmured, a hitch in his breath as I dragged my nails down his chest to his belt buckle, but before I could undo the fasteners, Bo grabbed my hand.

“We need to talk.”

Four of the most hated words in the English language. I knew we should talk, but I didn’t want to, which was why I was trying to undress Bo before either of us thought too long and hard about this. Was this a precursor to him telling me we were done? That he just wanted to be friends? That it was him and not me? I bent to grab the blanket and wrapped it around me like the fibers and threads could somehow prevent his words from hurting me.

“I was scared I was going to hit you,” Bo confessed. His admission cut me off at the knees and I had to sit down.

“You wanted to hit me?”

“No!” Bo exclaimed. He squeezed the back of his neck with one hand and covered his eyes with the other. “After I struck the wall, I saw you look at me. With fear. Like I was going to hit you. And I ran away. I found a fight, or several, and I used those guys to beat out every ounce of feeling inside of me, but each time they hit me or I hit them, I kept thinking of you.” He dropped to his knees in front of me. “I was afraid for you, for me.”

“Because your dad hit your mom?” I guessed.

Bo reared back onto his haunches. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t, but it was the only thought that made sense to me.” I smoothed a hand over his shoulder. “I never thought you’d hit me. It was an emotional night. I was just taken off guard.”

Bo rocked forward and dropped his head in his hands. “I’m so screwed up, AM. I don’t know why you’d want to be with me. I’m not sure when dear old Dad started beating my mom, but I remember the first time I caught him doing it. I was at Little League and had gotten sick to my stomach. One of the coaches drove me home early. I came in and Dad was hitting my mom with his belt, across her arms, her chest, her legs. She was just sitting there, curled up in a kitchen chair. His face was red and each blow seemed to fire his rage hotter and harder.” Bo’s tone hadn’t changed, but his breathing was becoming choppy, faster, as if he were reliving the moment. His eyes stared, unseeing. I kept stroking his shoulder even though I really wanted to hug him to me. I bit hard into my tongue to keep my tears from falling. If the ducts were unleashed, I was afraid I’d fill the room with my tears.

“I launched myself at him and felt the sharp end of the belt across my face for my efforts. I was bruised for days. I can still hear the whistle as the fucker swung the thing through the air.” Bo lifted a hand up to his temple as if remembering the blow.

“What did they say, your parents?”

“Nothing. My dad sent my mom up to her room, like she was a disobedient child. Then he turned to me and said I wasn’t to ever to come between them again like that. It was his right as the man of the household. What did I know? I was a motherfucking ten-year-old.”

“Did he stop?” I knew he hadn’t, or Bo wouldn’t be so torn up by this, but I asked anyway, hoping.