Page 124 of Wanting What's Wrong

“My lady.” I sweep my hand in an arc as she curtsies and slides into the passenger seat. “This is so ’80’s vibes! I love it! Where the heck are we going dressed like this?”

I close the door of the vintage Rolls and slide behind the wheel, top down, and ease the behemoth of a car into the road with Mom waiving us on from the porch.

“You’ll see. Hold my hand.” I reach over and grab her fingers as we make the short drive back to Beech Street.

“This is just like your favorite car. The first classic car you bought and restored all on your own after your dad passed away.”

“Yep.” I nod.

As soon as we turn the corner, the lights on the front of the high school twinkle. The candles inside the dark building flicker and welcome us along with the sound of Duran Duran.

“Are you freaking kidding me right now?” Her laughter lights up my heart as she bounces in her seat. I park the car and slide over the hood to open her door.

“It’s prom night, baby. You and me and the prom we never had.” As I take her hand, I open the glove box, pull out the most awful carnation and baby’s breath corsage, and pin it on the pink fabric.

“This is not even real.”

I walk hand in hand with her to the open doors. I dropped some huge money to pay off whoever was necessary to give us access to the closed school, then another six figures to have it decorated and set up just like the movie in record time. But it’s all worth it.

Inside, lights hang from the ceiling of the old gymnasium, the scent of roses and every flower I could get delivered in time fills what was a musty old-school gym just a few hours ago.

Right on cue, the music changes, and “I Want to Know What Love Is” comes on as I twirl her onto the center of the dance floor and dip her low, taking a quick bite of her neck before hugging her tight and doing my best 80’s slow dance sway.

We laugh, dance, drink the spiked punch, and eat dry sugar cookies for the next two hours.

I bend her over in the corner of the gym, flip that pink nightmare of a dress up over her head and deep dick her to some Lionel Richie and Spandau Ballet until she’s singing, screaming, laughing, and loving every second of it. I never want this night to end.

“You’re mine, baby. Forever. You know that, right? You’re never getting away.”

“I don’t want to get away. I just don’t want you to ever—”

She tucks her chin, tapping her fingers which—in Lennie-language, means something is hurting her.

“What? Don’t want me to what?”

“I don’t know. You to figure out I’m not everything you want and leave. My dad didn’t want me. My mom sort of didn’t want me for a long time, then when she did, she left anyway. And you? What if—”

I kiss away the question. Dancing with my lips on hers to Stairway to Heaven until there’s no more doubt in her little, sweet head.

“I’m never leaving you, baby. There’s nothing you could ever do that would make that happen.”

She leans into my chest, the last of the music fading into the night as she whispers, “I hope that’s true, Daddy. I really do.”

Nine

Cade

“Tell her.” Mom stares at me over the top of her glasses.

“Mom—” I struggle with the thousand-year-old coffee maker making the second pot of the morning. Lennie is still asleep and it’s nearing ten AM but I’ve never been able to sleep more than a few hours a night. So, even though I fucked her unconscious after our prom night, I was still up at the crack ass of dawn.

Mom points a finger. “Tell. Her.”

I don’t even bother trying to deny what I feel for Lennie. What’s the point? Mom knows me too well. “It’s not that easy. She knows, but I made promises. I should be her protector, not—”

“Not Lennie,” she says, shaking her head like she’s explaining to a child. “Lilith. Tell her what’s going on. Lay it all out on the table. You’ll feel better for it.”

I stare at her, narrowing my eyes, confusion whippingaround in my head. I open my mouth to say something, but I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about.

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