Page 67 of My Rose

I chuckled weakly. “Yeah. You would point that out.” I’d texted her about August’s guitar meeting the tire of his car. To say she was thrilled would be an understatement.

“Umm…of course I would. But like, how was it? You sounded like a robot about being nearly railed in a shower and a private movie theaterandthen again in a billiards room.”

“I wasn’t…I didn’t—” I sighed again. “That’s not what I said happened.”

“No, that wasme being hopeful. I believe all you said was, ‘We kind of did things,’and then proceeded to list rooms like a checklist.Whatthingsdid you do, Rose?”

I let the silence stretch on for too long, and Jasmine started singing a song I’d only heard at August’s house before. I scrunched my nose up at the reminder of him. “It didn’t quite go like that.” She started singing louder, drawing out the more obscene parts. “Alright! After the…shower, he lent me his shirt, but I didn’t have any underwear, and he told me not to wear them, and then—” I smiled at a woman standing outside her house with her dog, both looking at me like the whore Briggs’ father believed I was. I walked faster and started whispering, “And then I wanted to do something for him, which he made kind of difficult, and then he ended up pulling me into his lap and directed me to, like, dothings, you know…”

Jasmine started making garbled noises like she was choking on her laughter. “Okay. I think I get it, Rose. Try breathing for a minute, you still sound wound up about it. I mean, I’m all for female empowerment and sharing sex stories, but you might need some practice in that department.”

My face heated as I turned down another street. “I do not.” I did. I totally did. I still couldn’t saycockwithout cringing and my cheeks becoming too red unless I was in the moment with him, which wasn’t happening ever again. But hey, at least I could think the words without feeling like an imbecile.

“It’s okay. Really. I’m sure it’s a turn-on for some guys. You know…teaching.” She burst into more laughter and I scowled as I pulled the phone from myear.

“Well, even if it is for him, he’s not my teacher anymore.” My house came into view, the porch light on and waiting. “I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, sounding as helpless as I felt.

“Damn. Well, have you tried calling him, or has he reached out?” I let my silence answer for me as I approached the door. “That would be step one, Rose. I know you aren’t bad at communicating how you feel unless the other person isn’t trying to listen and it kind of sounds like communication wasn’t an issue between you and Briggs.” I knew she was intentionally leaving out sayinglike August, but she continued past it. “So, why now?”

Why now?

Why now?

Good question. “I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I really don’t fucking know.”

Now it was her turn to sigh deeply. “I think youdoknow. You aren’t scared of him, like to talk to him, are you?”

“Hell no.” The words came out so fast Jasmine released a low whistle through the phone. “He doesn’t scare me.”

“I mean…he is kind of intimidating,” Jasmine replied. I giggled as I pictured him, the way he smiled and laughed and let loose around me. He wasn’t a bad person, but his father? What he had to do for him? How could I work through that? I flopped down on my bed, my mouth buried in the sheets as I groaned. “The tattoos are one thing, but the faces he makes are almost like…like he could kill you and not think twice about it. I mean, Dean makes similar faces, but the guy is a giant teddy bear. Around me, at least. I can’t pictureBriggs being soft in any way. Sorry, but he gives off harder vibes than rocks do.”

Briggs’ words circled my thoughts.I’ve never killed anyone.But what if he lied about that, too?

I groaned again into the sheets before I turned my head to the side to answer her, choosing to believe what he’d told me before because I stupidly still believed in the way his eyes didn’t lie as he stared back at me and told me those very words. “He’s not really like that. He’s actually kind of funny and incredibly thoughtful and sweet. He even has a cute dimple that creases at the edge of his lips and cheek, and he reads poetry—like, ancient poetry, Min. But he hides it like it could ruin him if people saw the real him. It’s almost as if he was turned into someone he didn’t want to be, and now he just has to live like that. He also seemed relieved when I could stay longer during the storm. I think I…I think I’ve seen some parts of him that—” I stopped myself before saying anything I’d regret later. I’d seen the real him and the facade, and somehow, all sides were beautiful. “I don’t know.”

“Wow, girl.”

“What?” I pushed off my bed, suddenly feeling jittery. I started shrugging out of my winter coat, then pulled on Briggs’ jacket. The weight of it alone made my fingers stop twitching against the phone as I settled back down on the floor at the edge of the rug.

“Nothing.” I could almost hear her smiling through the phone while my fingers traced those two letters on the floor. “Maybe sit on what you just said, run it through that big brain of yours a few times. Then call me when it occurs to you.”

“When what—”

A man’s voice murmured something indecipherably in the background. “Listen…I’ve gotta go. But, hey, I’m here for you.” I heard sounds that made my stomach sink—Dean, and she sounded happy with whatever he’d just said to her. “If you want me to call later or tomorrow, whenever, I’ll make time for you. Always.”

A knock came at my door a few minutes after Minnie said bye. “Heya Rose, think you could lend your old man a hand?”

I opened the door and my grandfather smiled down at me. Relief flooded through me. “Yeah, what are we fixing? Did the van’s hose snap off again?”

His grey brow raised as he smiled. “No, thank the heavens.” He spread his arm wide, gesturing for me to walk through the door and follow him to the garage. “But, uh…we replaced the van. Didn’t you notice?”

My brows shot up. “You did? When?” They didn’t have the means to afford a new van, and had been running with the same one for over a decade.

“Was it a week ago now? Something like that. Your grandmother finally won one of those giveaways or sweepstakes she’s always entering.” He opened the garage door before I could and my jaw fell to the floor.

“You won…that?” I walked forward quickly and tapped on the hood of the way-too-expensive black Bentley with my knuckle. “People don’t just give these away, do they?” My grandfather rubbed at the slight smudge my knuckle left as I mouthed an apology. He remained silent. “This car...is really expensive. Did someone famous die and give away all their stuff?”

“I tried telling your grandmother they are pricey and told her it was a scam when someone called telling us we’d won, but the next day, the car showed up. Was kind of hard to argue with her after that.” He unlocked the doors with the fob in his hand as I moved to pull the handle. The leather was a pristine white color—too clean to feel like I could sit in it after working all day.

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