Collateral by Ellen Hopkins Read Free Book Online

though it’s not exactly
    California “in,” Darian and I have
    been country fans since we were kids.
    She turns on Lady Antebellum,
    who I much prefer to Lady Gaga.
    â€œNeed You Now” plays softly and
    Darian sings along. And I wonder
    if I ever cross your mind. For me,
    it happens all the time . . .
    Such a sad song, and somehow
    it feels relevant here, where I can’t
    find evidence of Spencer. Cole and
    I don’t even live together, but there
    are pieces of him everywhere
    in my apartment—a favorite shirt,
    still smelling of his deodorant
    and cologne; stuffed animals he won
    for me at carnivals; shells and sand
    dollars we collected on beach walks;
    the dried husks of flowers he gave
    me over the years. I never tossed any.
    There is no trace of Spencer here—
    no flowers, no shells, no shirts.
    Framed photographs grace tables
    and walls. Dar and her mom. Dar
    and her horse. I can see a couple
    of Dar and me. But none with Spence.
    Not even one of their wedding.
    Wonder if there are any in their
    bedroom. I’m tempted to go look.
    And while I’m there, check the closet
    for his clothes. Why am I suddenly
    so certain everything inside there
    belongs to Darian? And why should
    I really care if time and distance
    have jacked them apart? Because
    I do, damn it. It’s just sad to think
    about. There was so much promise
    in the two-as-one of them. I’m not
    sure how to approach the subject,
    other than directly. I take three
    strong swallows of tequila, seeking
    courage. “How are things with Spence?
    Any better?” I’m hoping she’ll say
    yes. But it’s just wishful thinking.
    About the same, I guess. It’s hard
    to know, exactly. E-mail isn’t
    the best way to communicate
    feelings. And it’s definitely not
    the right way to discuss our future.
    If we even have one together, that is.

I’M AFRAID TO ASK
    But I did start this, so here goes.
    â€œYou’re not thinking about leaving
    him, are you?” The divorce rate
    for deployed soldiers is dependably
    high. Something like seventy
    percent. Can’t Darian and Spencer
    be part of the thirty? She shrugs.
    I don’t know. There are reasons
    to stay. And reasons to go.
    I think about Celine—how she and
    and her husband decided to stick
    together, no matter what. “Is it because . . .”
    It’s so good talking to her again,
    I really don’t want to make her mad.
    Still . . . “I heard there are rumors.
    About you and other men. Don’t get
    pissed, okay? I just wondered, um,
    if that’s one of your reasons to go.”
    She sips her Campari. Considers
    what to say. For several seconds,
    she retreats so far away she might
    have visited another time zone.
    Finally, she returns to Pacific
    Standard. What am I supposed
    to do, Ash? I’m only twenty-five.
    Not like I can live without sex,
    and no piece of vibrating plastic
    is going to cut it for me. Yes, I’ve
    slept with a couple of guys. I’m not
    as strong as you, and maybe I lack
    morals. I don’t know. It’s just every
    now and then, I need a warm body
    next to mine. I need someone real
    and strong and caring to pull me
    into him, hold me close, and tell
    me he lo—” She skids to a sudden
    stop, and certain clarity washes
    over me. Why did I start this, again?
    â€œAnd tell you he loves you? Is that
    what you were going to say?” I wait,
    but she doesn’t answer. “Talk to me,
    Dar. Are you in love with someone else?”
    She directs her gaze until it’s level with
    mine. Yes. She gulps down the rest
    of her drink. I do the same with mine.

Rewind
IT TOOK ME
    About two weeks to overtly insert
    the word “love” into the Cole-plus-
    Ashley equation. There were hints
    before I accepted it. Tendrils
    of that elusive emotion, infiltrating
    our togetherness. Especially our
    intimate togetherness. Before Cole,
    I never