Let Me In (The Invisibles #2) Page 4

  Chapter 4

  Grant

  The dread of today already fills my body when my alarm goes off. Of all the days of the year, this is the one I hate the most. I wish I could re-write the calendar and remove it completely. What’s so great about January 25th anyway? It lands in the dead of winter, with nothing but bare bushes and trees that have barely survived the harsh weather.

  Going into the bathroom, I already hear the voices of the guys downstairs getting ready for the day. The Super Bowl is tomorrow and of course, the frat house plans on throwing a huge party. Another day I hate because years ago, the Super Bowl landed on January 25th, a day I’ll remember forever.

  I throw my shirt on the counter and step out of my pajama pants. Turning on the shower, in order to give the warm water time to travel through the old pipes, I go to the sink and grab my toothbrush. I notice my changed self in the mirror. With all the working out at Barbells, I can tell my chest is swollen and bigger than before. I should thank Jessa for me getting in better shape.

  The shower didn’t do anything to help shed my grim mood. There are two things I need to do today before I have to work the evening shift at Barbells, not to mention all the studying I have to complete before Monday. Although I am happy to have work and a heavy course load today, no amount of distractions will keep the memory very far from my mind.

  I climb into the beat-up truck I bought my freshman year with money I received from my high school graduation. To say it was in bad shape would be a severe understatement, but I haven’t had to put a lot of money into the truck and it gets me from place to place. It’ll suffice until I start my career. The back tires slide to the right when I pull out onto the icy road, reminding me I need to buy a bag of kitty litter to throw in the truck bed in order to stop the hunk of junk from slipping all over the road.

  The sign reads “Water Springs” in a nice, calming script on a cement block, centered in what I assume was a bed of flowers. But like everything else in January, there are only bare branches sticking out of large mounds of white ice. The long winding driveway leads me to a wide, one-story building with few cars in the parking lot. I walk in and give my name to the friendly, middle-aged lady behind the desk. This is my first time here so I have to show my ID. She looks at it and then back to me before instructing me to take a seat. The waiting room is small, with only a few grey fabric seats and a handful of magazines on a table. The pamphlets next to me are all directed toward the family members of addicts.

  “Mr. Bishop?” a girl maybe a few years older than me calls out after opening the locked door.

  I stand up to meet her and she smiles over at me. She’s definitely a girl who piques my interest. Usually I fill this day with drinking or girls, often both to make the day go by faster.

  Her long blonde hair is thrown up in a loose pony-tail that sways from side to side as she leads me into another room. “Please have a seat and he’ll be in shortly,” she instructs, and I notice her nametag reads “Tessa”. Well shit. With a name that automatically brings Jessa to mind, there goes any chance I might have had to be with this girl.

  The room has two matching beige sofas across from one another with a large glass coffee table resting between them. A small fridge sits in the corner with a coffee pot on the table beside it. A note says to help yourself, so I grab a Styrofoam cup and pour myself a cup of coffee before sitting down on one of the couches.

  I don’t have one sip down before he enters the room, looking so much better than the last time I saw him. His hair is washed and shorter, his face smooth and shaven. The corduroy pants and plaid button-down have been replaced by a pair of khakis and dark green sweater. He now resembles the man I knew six years ago, before his world got turned upside down because of my father.

  “Grant, it’s so good to see you,” he welcomes me, holding his hand out.

  “Mr. C, you look great.” I place my hand in his and he pulls me into a hug. “You’re an adult now, call me Vince. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “You know I won’t,” I tell him.

  “How is everyone?” He changes the subject, knowing he will always be Mr. C to me.

  “Good, I think. Classes started up this week,” I say, trying to make small talk.

  “Don’t put pressure on yourself, Grant. You need to have fun too,” he says, starting his usual lecture with me. “Enjoy college, it’s not all about work and success.”

  “I know, but it’s my last semester and I need to finish strong in order to get one of the jobs I want.” We both take our seats on opposite couches, facing one another.

  “You need to find a happy medium between work and pleasure if you’re going to enjoy your life,” he advises.

  “Pleasure can come after success.” I cock a smile to him, knowing that we’ll always disagree on this subject.

  “Do you want to talk about today?” he asks, diverting the topic to the real reason I came here.

  I shrug.

  “There was nothing you could do, Grant. It was her time,” he tries to convince me, just like he does every year. But I know that if I would have been there, I could have done something.

  “I know,” I respond, just like I always do, even though he has no idea that today isn’t only the day my mom died. Who would ever guess that two shitty things could happen to someone years apart on the exact same day? As much as Mr. C is a father figure to me, I would never share with him the shame I feel on this day every year.

  “I wish I could be there with you today, but…” He puts his head down, ashamed.

  “Don’t worry about it. I would rather have you here.” Mr. C has met me at my mother’s grave every year since her death. Even as often as he was drunk, he never showed up stumbling or swaying, and he always offered me advice to get me through the day. But I mean what I say; he needs to be in rehab. To get himself better and start living his life like the one he had before my dad destroyed it.

  “I do need to be here. Brady and Sadie came to see me the other day,” he says and the smile on his face brightens the room.

  “Were they able to keep their hands off each other during their brief visit?” I joke.

  “Young love…it’s a breathtaking sight, Grant. You should give it a try.” He sits back and leans into the cushions.

  “It’s overrated. I prefer older, more established love,” I contradict him and he frowns.

  “You do understand that, regardless of age, love can either break your heart or cause you to soar to new heights. It’s a chance you take, no matter if you are a billionaire or if you are on welfare. Heartbreak isn’t prejudiced, Grant.” He leans forward and looks at me as though he just revealed a major secret.

  “I have to imagine though that if you get your heart broken, it’s better if you have money to buy yourself some happiness again.” I’m not immune to the fact that I sound like an asshole, but I don’t want to set myself up for someone to leave me again.

  “One day, son. One day, you’ll find love and it’ll knock you down hard. You won’t remember whatever it is you wanted before it came along.” He shakes his head, smirking at me.

  “As long as I’m thirty-five, and I have three houses and at least a million dollars in the bank, I’ll welcome it,” I say with a laugh, attempting to bring amusement to this serious conversation. Mr. C’s expression tells me that he isn’t finding humor in my words.

  “We’ll see. In the meantime, try to have some fun,” he says, starting to stand up. “Please give your mom my best.” He holds his arms out to give me a hug and I gratefully hug him back.

  “I will. Keep getting better, Mr. C. I’ll be back next week,” I promise with one more pat on the back.

  “Please do me a favor and stick my advice somewhere in the back of that stubborn head of yours,” he says, smacking the back of my head playfully.

  “Will do. I’ll keep it way back there,” I laugh, sidestepping my way out of his second smack.

  “And Grant,” he says and I turn around. “
I love you.”

  I nod toward him, confirming that I heard his words, but I don’t say anything back. I haven’t said those words in five years…to anyone. Even though I love Mr. C as if he was my father, he’ll never hear me say those words. Every time I’ve ever spoken them to someone, they’ve left me.

  Mr. C walks out the door one way, and I head off in the direction of the reception area, shaking my head. You would think someone who has had his heart ripped out and stomped on would have a different perspective on love.

  I know the path through the winding one-way roads like the back of my hand. Before I turned sixteen and got my license, Brady and I would ride our bikes up here. We would always stop by the convenient store and pick up sodas, candy, and a bouquet of flowers. Brady would sit under the large maple tree that rested by the road, and I would go talk to my mom. He knew I wanted the space, but also made sure he was only a few steps away in case I needed him. A twinge of sadness hits me when I think about the first time I came here alone.

  After my dad left, Brady never looked at me the same and I didn’t blame him. That first time, I cried on my mother’s tombstone for half the day, only leaving when the groundskeeper told me that I had to go because they were closing the cemetery. When I grabbed my bike that was resting against the tree, I remember feeling lost and alone with nowhere to go. It was the first time I realized that I had no one. No family, no friends, but most of all, no one to love and no one that loved me.

  The grey tombstone is more noticeable than the others with its large, heart-shaped form. ‘Mindy Sue Bishop’ is engraved on it, along with the words ‘loving wife and mother’. I remember the day my dad picked it out like it was yesterday. I sat in the adjacent room, brewing with hatred for her, as he talked with the funeral director about options and expenses. How could she leave me? Why did this happen to my family? These questions and others, all of which were borne out of grief, traveled through my mind for the entire first year after her death.

  When I found her first letter on my bed the day we buried her, I wept while reading it.

  My Dearest Grant,

  I imagine this was a hard day for you. Please remember, I am with you…always. When you miss me, talk to me. I will be listening, no matter the time of day. I live within you now, son. Put your hand over your heart and you will find that mine now beats with yours.

  I love you, Grant. I lived my life for you, something you will understand someday when you have your own children. You and your dad take care of each other and be thankful that you have one another to love.

  Talk to you soon.

  Love,

  Mom

  XOXO

  I read that letter over and over again that night. By midnight, the anger swept over me again and I ripped it to shreds, tossing the small pieces into the toilet and flushing it before collapsing on the cold tile floor in a panic, desperately trying to get it back. For years I regretted that day, but I was thankful that I had embedded the words into my head.

  I brush off the snow that has accumulated in the crevice of the heart and place the flowers that I picked up from the florist down on the ground.

  “Hi, Mom.” I know I don’t have to come here to talk to her, but this is where I feel the closest to her. “I got your letter at Christmas. Thank you. They’re ending soon, you know. I only have five or so left. I saw Mr. C today and he’s doing better. Oh, and my classes have started off okay.”

  Suddenly, I have the urge to tell her who has been on mind. It couldn’t possibly hurt, I tell myself. “I met someone, Mom. Her name is Jessa Harrison and she’s from Colorado. She’s a senior, too. There’s something about her I can’t shake. Like a part of me wants to save her, but she’s independent, Mom. She doesn’t need my help with anything. She’s tough and strong-willed. I’ve never met anyone like her before. Not that it matters because she’s got a boyfriend. So I guess it’s a moot point. I just wish I could stop thinking about her. She consumes my whole day, either frustrating me to bench press my weight or causing me to wake up smiling from the most amazing dream of her. I think she likes me, too, but she loves her boyfriend. And I refuse to put myself out there, only to get my heart broken, or worse, break hers. Just a few months and I’ll be onto my real life anyways, but she does make me second guess my whole life plan.” I finish speaking and pick up some bare tree branches around the headstone. Kissing my fingers, I place it on the grey stone. “Bye, Mom, talk to you soon.”

  Jessa

  “Come on, it will be fun,” Rob tells me, leading me into the nightclub. I still haven’t figured out why he’s brought us all here. Usually we hang out at the bars rather than hit the dance club scene. Since he somehow swindled us in with only a shared look between him and the overly muscular bouncer, I think it’s safe to assume that he’s been here before. I can’t help but wonder when and why, since he’s always made his dislike of the people that hang out at places like this clear.

  The music blares when we enter. It’s not the usual live music we are used to, but instead is a fast techno beat meant for dancing. I spot the DJ in the back corner with his headphones hanging off one ear, talking to someone down below. It makes me think of my time in Boulder; it seemed like I was always up there requesting something.

  Rob shuttles us over to the bar through the throngs of people. By the time we get there, Rob is the only one who can get the bartender’s attention. After he gives the cute brunette our orders, he points out a circular table top that’s open in the far corner. Trey stays behind with Rob while the rest of us make our way to the now vacant table.

  It’s funny how catchy the music still is to me. My body feels like it could start moving at any moment, but I stay still in my seat. Dex, aka “Hulk”, pulls out the stool for me and I sit down next to Sadie. We all silently check out our surroundings, which for the guys in our group means gawking at all of the barely-dressed girls who are rubbing their asses into guys’ crotches.

  “Let’s go dance,” Rob whispers in my ear.

  “I’d rather not,” I say and he takes my hand and pulls me from the chair.

  “Do it anyway, it’ll be fun,” he tells me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

  He winds me through the groups of people to the large dance floor by the DJ booth. Things between us have continued to be strained and forced recently. I know I haven’t been giving Rob my full attention because I can’t seem to stop these feelings for Grant, even though he has kept his distance from me like he said he would. Even in class he doesn’t sit next to me, but remains a few rows back. As much as I wish things were different, they’re not. Grant has set goals for himself and things he wants to achieve. If my past was to ever come out, it would kill those chances and I won’t do that to him.

  By the time we get to the dance floor, we are packed in like sardines, barely able to move, let alone dance. Rob places his hands on my hips and tugs me to him while placing his leg between mine. This whole dirty dancing thing is throwing me for a loop. What exactly are we doing here and dancing like this? I stare up at him with confusion and he gives me a cat-that-ate-the-canary look before pointing to the corner.

  I stop dancing and turn my body around but Rob grabs me again and brings me against his crotch. Trying to search where he was looking, my eyes scan the crowd but I don’t see anything except a sea of drunken people making out with each other.

  “Right there, Jessa,” he whispers in my ear and I follow his finger. My stomach drops when my eyes find Grant pressing some girl against the wall. He has her cornered while his lips devours her neck and his hands hike up her dress.

  “Wish it was you?” he whispers and chills travel up my back. I automatically attempt to step away from Rob, but he pulls me back. “Not the angel you thought he was, huh?” he laughs. He twists me around to face him and although he’s laughing his comment off, I can’t help but feel like he means it. Panic arises as I wonder if Rob has seen something. God, did he see that kiss on New Year’s?

  Rob keeps me wrappe
d in his arms when a slow song starts, but I can’t get my mind to erase what I just saw. As Rob’s breath tickles my neck while he sways me back and forth, I desperately want to see what Grant’s doing. I knew he wasn’t a monk, but I didn’t think he was the kind of guy who fucked a girl up against a wall in the middle of a club either. After the song ends, I tell Rob that I need to go to the bathroom. He places his hands on either side of my face and starts to kiss me. Thrusting his tongue into my mouth, he doesn’t let up. It starts to feel possessive, as though he’s trying to prove to everyone I’m his. Eventually I push him away and he laughs while I stalk off.

  Standing on my tip-toes, I search for the bathrooms. I notice a long, dark hallway and assume that they must be down there. Side-stepping and gently nudging people out of my way, I finally reach the hallway, but none of the doors are marked. I attempt to push one open but it’s locked. Assuming it’s a storage locker or something, I make my way down to the next door, surprised to find that it’s open. I spot a few stalls and since there isn’t a urinal in sight, I figure it must be the girls’ bathroom.

  It’s unusually clean and I’m wondering why there isn’t a line outside. Every bar and club I’ve ever been to has always had a long line of girls waiting to use the bathroom. Hey, I’m not complaining though. Opening a stall door, I hover over the toilet to do my business when I hear some giggling. Peering under the stall, I find two sets of shoes near the sink. Then I see the heels disappear, and it’s obvious that she’s been placed on the sink countertop. As I laugh to myself, I open the door, thinking I’ll just apologize for interrupting and then make my way out.

  I unlock and open the door to see that the girl’s shirt is opened, revealing her pink lace bra. Her shirt is hiked up by her waist and she’s fiddling with the guy’s pants. I quietly excuse myself, although they don’t say anything. I assume they are too wrapped up in one another to notice me.