Unspoken(82)

Bo shook his head. “No. I didn’t see it often, but I could tell by how my mother moved, tenderly, cautiously, if she’d had a beating. I don’t ever know what she did to deserve it.”

Nothing. But Bo knew that, I’m sure. I stroked his head, smoothing down the strands of his hair.

“I’ve never felt like you’d ever hit me, Bo, but maybe you’ve got to stop letting physicality be your first response, no matter how instinctive it is.”

“Yeah, I know. That was some bullshit I spouted to you, wasn’t it?” Bo leaned his head against my leg, as if in need of comfort.

“Violence is part of history, but I understand that you don’t want it to control you.”

“No, that’s right.” Bo sighed, and allowed more of his weight to rest against me.

“I won’t transfer because my father went here and his father before him. It’s the only legacy I have of him.” With this, Bo drew back away from me and I felt the ache I’d been battling with tears, liquor, and ice cream invade me once again.

“This is the first time you’ve ever spoken to me about your dad.”

“He’s not really my dad,” I explained. “He’s just my mother’s lover. She’s the ‘other woman,’ you see.” At Bo’s look of incomprehension, I said, “My mom’s his mistress. He has a legitimate family with two perfect and legitimate children. They’re about ten years older than I am. They were Central alums, too.”

The more I spoke, the more Bo understood, compassion flooding his expression.

“He pays for me to go here, but I felt like he’d rather I didn’t exist. My mom has never held a job for as long as I can remember, and she survives on the gifts he gives her. I was afraid that if he knew of the rumors about me, that he might just cut me off or, worse, cut her off.”

“Your dad might rival mine for the Darth Vader award,” Bo said.

“What’s that?”

“Worst dad ever,” he explained. “You aren’t afraid anymore?”

“No, I don’t think so. He called me just the other day and we kind of talked for the first time.” Even I could hear the wonder in my voice. “My mom’s convinced that if we just spend some time together, we could get along better.”

“Sunshine, I wouldn’t want to spend time with him either. It’s a wonder you don’t hate all penises after what’s gone on.”

I shook my head. “When I was a kid, my mom always told me to be careful with my reputation. Never do anything that would call attention to myself. Keep my head down. As I got older, I understood better, but I never fully comprehended what she must feel like in our small town until I came to Central. Leaving Central would be like giving up or something. I figured that even if Roger didn’t want to acknowledge me, I’d take this opportunity to get a degree from a great college, and I’d be a success,” I declared.

Bo took my hand. “I believe it. I believe you.” He squeezed my fingers and bent to press kisses on the tops of my legs. “Do you know why I think we’re going to make it when others don’t? Because you don’t let me get away with any bullshit, and I’ll keep you from going too far into your own head. Plus I know all your dark secrets and you know mine and we still feel the same about each other.”

“Is that right?” I said, almost giddy with his affirmation.

“Yes,” he replied firmly. “And pretty much twenty-four-seven I’m thinking about boning you.”

“Goddammit, Bo.” I pushed him so he rocked back.

He laughed. “See—no bullshit.” He slipped his arms around my waist and pulled me onto the floor with him. “You have no idea. Whenever I see something even halfway interesting, I turn to tell you, share it with you. Nothing makes sense unless you’ve seen it, too. That’s how far you’ve crawled into me. I’m sorry for running away. I’m sorry for being afraid. I’m sorry your dad is a dickhead. But together, you and I, we can do this.”

He stood and picked me up to carry me the short distance to the bed. He took off his shirt, pulling it over his head with one hand. His undressing was too hurried for my taste, but I liked to cut my wrapping paper off and carefully preserve it. I would have liked a slower reveal so I could savor the body underneath, all sinewy muscle. The bruises of his fight had purpled, but he moved like he couldn’t feel them. Hard-edged hipbones jutted out over jeans, which rode dangerously low on his hips. His thighs were powerful and his calves lean. His abdomen was ridged and defined so sharply that I often wondered how I didn’t cut my tongue on the edge as I swept it along the ridges and valleys. The light smattering of hair on his chest arrowed down to a single line of darker golden hair leading straight into his jeans and under his boxers.