Perfect Kind Of Trouble

27 Kayla

This morning, we brushed our teeth side by side at the bathroom mirror. We turned our backs on each other while we got dressed. And then we descended the staircase in the big empty house and got in my car.

Not once did we mention last night. And so much happened.

Getting swept up in the heat of the moment in Daren’s bed was a game changer in itself. But I also told him about my mom dying—something I haven’t told anyone other than the paramedics and cops. It’s strange how comfortable I am with Daren. Telling him actually made me feel… lighter, in a way. Like talking about my mom unloaded a burden I didn’t know I was carrying. Between working and taking care of my mom, I haven’t had much time to maintain my other relationships. So I didn’t really have anyone I could talk to about my parents passing away. But Daren makes it easy.

And it doesn’t hurt that he knew my dad—and cared a great deal for him. I glance at him as we finish our breakfast cookies and my heart dips a little as I realize that I’m going to miss him when this is all over. When the handcuffs come off, will I ever see him again? Will he ever want to see me again?

Scanning his face, I try to read his eyes but there’s nothing familiar in their brown depths. He’s been like this all morning. Pensive. Anxious. I know we’re going to meet Eddie and his dad, but I don’t understand why that has him acting so nervous. The handsome happiness he almost always has on is locked away, somewhere behind the shadows passing his face, making me wish I knew how to take them away.

“So where am I going again?” I ask as we pull out of the driveway.

“The courthouse,” he says. “It’s on the north side of town. Just take the main road until you reach the turnoff by Wilcox Farm.”

We drive in silence. Every few minutes, I catch him staring at me. Sometimes his gives me a small smile and other times he quickly glances away.

Being with Daren last night was amazing. The way he touched me and moved against my body. I didn’t feel like a piece of meat in his arms. I felt like myself. I felt important. But now, even chained to his side, I feel a hundred miles away from him.

Daren clears his throat. “So about my dad…” he begins. “He’s uh… he’s not the most pleasant guy, so don’t let him bother you or freak out when we get there, okay?”

Now I’m nervous. “Why would I freak out?”

“I don’t know. I just… I haven’t seen my dad in almost a year. We weren’t on speaking terms when he went to jail, so I’m just not sure how he’ll react to me today.”

I nod. “Okay.”

This is obviously a big deal for Daren and the only reason I get to peek into this very personal part of his life is because of these stupid handcuffs. Shame sweeps over me as we drive. My desire for this inheritance has inadvertently made me intrude on his life.

From the corner of my eye, I see him stretch his neck and crack his knuckles. Anxiety rolls off him, filling my tiny car with a thick tension. I glance at our cuffed wrists. If there was no inheritance, I would be fine. I don’t need a lump of money to get my life in order. I’m smart and capable. Do I really want to force Daren to show me a part of his life that has him squirming? Am I that financially desperate?

I look at his profile and think about how he likes to cook and is working so hard to pay off a stranger’s medical bills. For all the beauty of his face and body, his heart is the most stunning thing about him. And here I am, using him to get money.

“Maybe we should swing by the hardware store and find some bolt cutters to snap these things off,” I suggest, lifting our joined wrists. “That way you can have some privacy with your dad.”

He looks taken aback. “But then we’d forfeit and you wouldn’t get any money.”

I shrug. “So what? It’s just money. I’ll make do.”

He stares at me for a long moment before shaking his head. “No. I can’t ask you to do that. Besides, it’ll be fine today. With my dad.” He gives me a lopsided smile that looks more strained than sincere. In fact, everything about him looks strained. His shoulders are rigid, his jaw is flexed, and his eyes are hard and distant. No smile in the world could mask the turmoil in his expression.

Stressed. Angry. Nervous. Afraid. His eyes flip from one emotion to the next, never settling.

My stomach twists in anguish, not for myself, but for him as he stares out the window and murmurs, “It will be fine.” A sure sign that it will be anything but.