Sunglasses 12: Overbearing Ángel

I resolved to tell Mel everything the moment I got back to the roadster.

At first, I told myself it was because I was eager to brag about tricking Ángel. But that self-deception flaked off quick. The real answer was fear. I was scared Mel wouldn’t tell me about Ángel if I didn't bring him up first. The idea that she might not trust me that far made my guts ache. It wasn't like she didn't have reasons to keep being secretive, but hiding something that big…I didn’t want to take the chance. Was I a coward? Maybe.

Halfway across the oil-stained cement I caught sight of her, and my mood lifted despite my troubling thoughts. She was standing beside the Rally GT’s rear bumper. Her back was to me and her shoulders were tight with tension. She stared into the dark, vaguely in the direction Ángel had fled.

I walked faster. The need to speak before finding out whether she would tell me became overwhelming.

“Mel, I—”

“Cal!”

Mel spun faster than ordinary eyes could follow and closed the gap in a blur. 

Her arms came around me so fast that I couldn’t tell whether my stunned exhale was from surprise or how tight she was squeezing. She laid her head against my chest as if trying to get as close to my skin as possible. I stood there awkwardly, shocked and gratified.

Finally, she looked up. I could just make out the movement of her eyes behind her aviators as they studied my face. “Where did you go?”

“I was, uh, inside. I saw—huoof.”

Another tight squeeze left me breathless in more ways than one. Feeling happily dazed, I brought my least-burdened arm around her slight frame, trying not to let the cold drink touch her. She rested her cheek back against my shirt, and I felt the huskiness in her voice through my breastbone. “Goddess…I thought something had happened.”

“I’m okay.”

“Ángel was here. Bastard followed me from Hoisington.” Her fingers twitched protectively against my back. “I was worried his pack might have tried something while he was distracting me.”

A wave of happiness spread out from the vibration of her words—along with an aftershock of guilt. I’d been twisted up about Mel’s trust, but I should have checked my own.

Suddenly, I was desperate to hug her as hard as she was hugging me…but with a drink in one hand and an overloaded bag in the other, it felt like a set-up for a classic sitcom disaster. For now, I tried to be satisfied with one forearm across a delicate shoulder blade. I vowed to make up for it later.

“He was alone,” I told her. “I saw him. His posse—pack—wasn't here.”

Mel straightened, relinquishing her grip with reluctance. I felt the loss as I lifted my arm to allow her to step back. She eyed me, canting her head.

“You saw Ángel?”

Unable to suppress a satisfied smile, I launched into the full story, flinging droplets of water from the cup as I gestured with barely contained glee. By the time I got to my “intervention,” her mouth had fallen open.

“That was you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, using the grumbly manager voice. In my own I added, “See how useful I can be? I’m a master of gas station tech.”

Mel stared a moment longer. Then her lips trembled…and she laughed. It traveled through her like a wave, making her whole body loosen. “So there’s no sheriff?” When I shook my head, she laughed harder. “Oh my God, Cal…that’s fucking beautiful. I love it! And it explains the hat.”

Oops. The Mammoth Mart hat. I’d been so eager to escape that I hadn’t noticed it was still askew on my head—and neither had the kid working the counter.

“Should I run it back?”

Her lips quirked. “Call it a well-earned souvenir from a night to remember.” She reached up and tapped the brim. I smiled. Mel’s expression changed, turning wistful. “You have such a nice smile.”

“Oh…um, thanks.”

She moved her hand off of the brim, hesitated, and then touched two fingers to my lips, so light that I barely felt them. Every hair on my scalp tried to stand up under the hat.

Mel rose onto her toes. Leaning in, she brushed her soft warm lips against mine. It was only for an instant, but my heart rattled into my ribs. Her breath caught. She sank back down slowly, and turned away.

“We should get going.” Her voice sounded rougher. “Still have three hours before we can stop for some Z’s.”

“Right.” I said. “Right.” It took a few more seconds before I was able to pull my focus from the pleasant tingle lingering on my lips. “Right.”

We piled into the roadster. The engine rumbled to life as I tossed my hat behind the seat. The moment my belt clicked home, Mel floored it. Either I was getting used to her driving, or I was already in orbit from our kiss. Whatever the case, mere acceleration wasn’t going to make my head spin any faster.

We were soon back on Highway 183, with the sleeping streets of Ansley flowing past on our left. Mel reached up in an almost timid motion…and pulled off her glasses. She hooked them around the base of the shifter and resumed staring straight ahead, the line of her shoulders slightly hunched.

“There she is,” I said with approval, then risked a little flirting. “Now I can tell when you wink at me.”

Mel scoffed. “Shut up.” But she smiled, and her whole body eased back into its usual poise. “You gonna share that drink or what?”

“Here.” I handed it over. “Oh, and…” I hesitated. “I hope you don’t think I was eavesdropping. Back there at Mammoth Mart. I only wanted Ángel gone.”

“Hmm…I detect a ‘but,’ ” Mel said, guessing correctly. She passed the soda back and I took a sip, secretly thrilled to be sharing a straw.

“But…I’m curious what happened in Hoisington,” I admitted quietly.

A minute passed. We exchanged the drink back-and-forth twice more.

“It wasn’t some huge confrontation or anything,” she finally said. “It was just Ángel doing what he wanted and assuming everyone—including me—would go along with him. Typical.” She shook her head. “Though he’s been worse than usual, lately.”

“What’s usual?”

“I would need sugar before wading into that subject.” Her nose wrinkled. “Forget wading. I'm going ankle-deep at most. But I still need sugar.”

The snack bag was on the floorboard between my feet, and I began sifting through our stash. “Hope you like peanut butter.”

“Literally my favorite flavor.” Pause. “Did I already tell you that?”

“I don't…no? It was a guess.” I went still. Had she told me? My feelings about it were weirdly muddled. Strange as that was, I wouldn't let it sidetrack me from hearing about Ángel—I only hoped the explanation didn't involve the words, “my ex.” 

“Woah. A Mighty Peanut?” Mel split her attention between the road and the massive “share-size” bar I'd pulled out. Her eyes were currently human, but there was predatory hunger in them as she stared at the iconic yellow packaging. I tore open the end. “I can break off a piece or give you the—”

Mel’s hand adroitly yoinked the bar out of my startled grip. She took a massive bite as I watched.

“…whole thing.” I finished, reluctantly awed.

“Shorry,” she said around the bite, then swallowed. “Sorry,” she repeated. “God, I can be so rude…but I swear I’m always starving this time of year. This is so good, Cal. Thank you.”

Her honest gratitude smoothed over my surprise. I chuckled. “No problem.” 

I eagerly opened a package of a Twizzlers knock-off called Red Thread. This was my guilty pleasure during late nights at the Gas N Snack, and I expertly peeled off a strand to eat like a piece of strawberry spaghetti.

Cocooned in road noise and the thrum of the engine, we savored our food. It still amazed me how easy it was to fall into a comfortable silence around Mel. I ate, drank, and watched the faded white dashes of the road pass by at a steady clip. The radio had given way to static, and the new station Mel found had a lot more twang. She kept the volume low.

“Here,” she said. “Finish it.”

Passing me what was left of the Fayt Spiced, Mel washed down the last bite of her candy with a drink from one of the water bottles. She set it between her legs to recap it, and the subtle motion of her thighs conjured up that erotic image from before: Mel in the seat, those same thighs spread shamelessly. My guilty imagination made her more…pantsless this time.

I busied myself draining the last of the soda. The straw gurgled while the tips of my ears grew hot enough to ignite like candles. The distraction was useless. Now the Mel in my head was lifting her shirt, and my growing arousal began to whisper very bad suggestions about things I could say to the real Mel.

Things have been great with your glasses off. Let's try our shirts next!

Fuck, I had to get my mind off of this dumb fantasy now.

Sucking in a frantic breath, a trace of soda shot into my windpipe. I made a very undignified sound—probably the noise a cat makes before it throws up—and began to cough loudly.

“Woah, you okay?” Mel asked.

I nodded, hacking and wheezing…and then hacking and wheezing some more. At least my latest gaffe succeeded in halting the lewd drift of my thoughts. Thanks, lung soda!

“We were—“ I coughed again. “I think we were about to discuss what happened in Hoisington?”

Her shoulder blades tightened, shifting her higher in the seat. “Yeah,” she said after a second. 

“Ankle-deep only,” I reminded her hoarsely, reaching for my own water bottle.

Mel nodded several times, psyching herself up. “There’s a little background you’ll need. Let me just…figure out how to do this.”

I was sure she was deciding how to talk around certain subjects, the things Ángel had hinted at during their showdown. Increasingly, I felt like I was perched on top of a giant-ass iceberg with no understanding of what was happening below me. I could live with that—anything was better than being shut-out completely. So I waited. I trusted her.

“I met Ángel after I ran away from home,” she said abruptly. Her brow bunched. “Have I told you I ran away from home?”

My heart twinged at the matter-of-fact way she reported it. “You just did.”

“Oh. Well…I did, yeah. A couple years after I inherited the VAM Rally, things got…bad between me and the rest of my family. I guess I started looking for an escape.” She swallowed, and I could sense strong, probably unresolved emotions; I knew all about those. “Once I got my license, it was like a timer counting down. After the next really ugly argument, I hit the road.”

“That's how you met Ángel?” I pictured a different road trip, this time with Ángel sitting where I was. Had he bought Mel snacks and made her laugh?Jealousy twined into my guts like a corkscrew.

“Not exactly.” She shook her head. “I sort of, um…” She fell silent, picking her words. “I ended up…reconnecting with my dad’s side of the family.” A few tendons on the backs of her hands moved under her skin as she squeezed the wheel hard. Like her emotions about that were even more raw than the ones about her mom.

“Sounds like…useful timing,” I said uncertainly.

“They took me in when I didn't have a place to live. I guess.” She blew out a breath. “So I moved down to Mexico. Learned Spanish.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I mean, I say I learned Spanish. My friends might disagree.”

“Friends?” I was excited for any insight about her social life. “You have friends in Mexico?”

She shifted uneasily. “I met them in Mexico, but they’re from all over.”

From all over. It was late, and my brain was having trouble putting together Mel’s cautious answers. Slowly, two separate pieces connected. I needed to confirm something, but I had to be very careful how I asked—she would shut down if I pushed too hard.

“Are you and these friends all…related?” 

She didn’t answer for a long time. “Sort of,” she finally admitted. I let out a pent-up breath. “They’re like my cousins. But they—my father’s side of the family—really celebrate every connection. So I met new people all the time while I was staying with them.”

Without Mel saying it, I gathered that asking where she’d lived in Mexico would be a conversation-ender. I kept my mouth shut despite intense curiosity.

“Anyway, that’s where I met Ángel. Both of us were going through a pretty tough time, and we became friends.”

My stomach tightened with a fresh pin-prick of jealousy even as my heart went out to that younger Mel. She must have felt lost at that point in her life.

“He wasn’t that bad back then,” she continued, as if pleading his case. The needle of jealousy became more of an icepick, but I did my best to set it aside. “I mean, he was always kind of entitled, and every male in his family is soaked in machismo until they’re dripping…but for a while we helped each other. Kept our heads above water.”

I tried to hold it back, but the question shot out of me like acid boiling up from my insides. “Were you dating?”

She glanced at me, her eyes keen with appraisal. “No.” 

“Oh,” I said. My stomach lost two of its knots. “That’s good.” I hadn't meant to add that, but I didn't regret that it slipped out.

Mel kept studying me. She raised an eyebrow before turning back to the road. “You seem happy about that.”

“Very happy,” I agreed. Why bother denying the truth?

Instead of replying, she flashed a secretive smile that did funny things to my insides. “It was never like that, Cal. I mean, he used to joke that we were ‘meant to be,’ but that was because of shit his family used to say and…other reasons I don’t want to go into.”

It would have been safer to keep quiet, but it was late and I was still riding high on the news that they hadn't dated. “What is the chance that you thought the two of you were joking, but Ángel took it seriously?”

A sigh drifted out of her. “After tonight? A hundred percent.” She grimaced. “Fuck. I should have shut him down years ago, but I really believed it was a running gag. Every season our crew meets up to storm chase, and that’s one of the jokes we all used to make. I never thought he believed it.”

“Until tonight.”

“Until tonight,” she repeated grimly. There came another pause as she gathered her thoughts. “Earlier today, do you remember Ángel telling me that Lori had gotten motel rooms for everyone?”

“Yeah, though I don’t know who that is.”

“You’ll meet her and her brother tomorrow. It doesn’t matter right now, because Lori didn’t set-up motel rooms. Ángel did.” Disquiet ran across the back of my neck, justified by her next words. “Turns out he didn’t get me a motel room. He got us a motel room. And I found out when he followed me in and made a grand show of setting his duffel bag down on the single bed.”

Mel arrogantly threw back her shoulders and pretended to toss nonexistent feathered hair—it was a pretty good Ángel impression.

“I thought it was time to make things official, pequeña madreselva,” she cooed, her normal feminine huskiness dipping comically low. Dropping the act, she added, “Dick.”

“Okay, what the hell does ‘peh-kenya madtree-sellva’ even mean? Sorry for mangling that, by the way.”

She snickered. “It’s sweet that you try. ‘Pequeña madreselva’ means ‘little honeysuckle.’ ”

My nose wrinkled. “Is that as patronizing as it sounds, or am I projecting?”

“The way Ángel says it, it’s as bad as it sounds. I thought it was sweet when I was seventeen, but that was eight years ago. Now I pretty much hate it.”

“So what happened after he sprang the shared room on you?” I didn’t want to hear more, but I had to know the same way you sometimes opened a closet to check for monsters.

“He launched into a spiel about how it was time to get serious now that we’d both ‘lived free and taken lovers.’ He actually used that phrase.” Mel’s expression reflected her disgust. “He thought there had been an ‘understanding’ between us all this time. Jesus.”

“What a dick move.”

“Yup.” She pushed back her hair. “Do you know what’s really sad? I’m not even his type. I’ve sat on the other side of a campfire from Ángel more than once. I've had multiple chances to see him ‘living free and taking lovers.’ He likes blonds with big tits, not brunettes with mosquito bites.”

It was my turn to scoff. “I bet your breasts are incredible.” It slipped past my internal censor like a master escape artist, leaving me quietly horrified.

Mel laughed, shocked. “Uh, that’s not the focal point of the discussion.” Did she sound a little exhilarated, or was my mortified brain just adding that?

“Sorry,” I apologized, resisting the urge to smack myself upside the head.

A mile marker flew past as the seconds piled on. Just when I thought I’d really screwed up and made her uncomfortable, she cleared her throat.

“Cal, I don’t want you to think this is, like, a roadmap to the future…but I’d better get ahead of any expectations and just state that there's nothing hiding in my shirt.”

“Hiding?” My confusion was obvious.

“I mean I don't have two cantaloupes strapped down under here. What you see—or don’t—is what you get.” Her face tightened into a pained wince. “Not that you’ll be seeing. Oh God, or getting. Not yet. Shit! I only mean that if you get—” 

“You can stop,” I blurted. My heart couldn't take any more acceleration after all that Fayt Spiced.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Even in the dim interior I could tell her face had gone into a total blush. I tried to think of a way to let her know that it was fine. But it was tough to think clearly; Mel’s nipples were suddenly hogging a lot of my neural bandwidth.

“I still bet they’re incredible,” I offered at last.

Wow, brain. Fucking thanks for that. My ears and cheeks helpfully informed me that Blushtown now had a flourishing population of two.

“Ah…thank you,” Mel repeated with surprising restraint. Her face took on a different cast, but it wasn't anger. It was almost…thoughtful. A hint of reflected purple below her brows revealed that her primal eyes had taken change.

“At least now I know why Ángel warned me off,” I said, trying valiantly to get us back to the original subject.

“What?” Her head whipped over. “He threatened you?”

“The words he used were ‘stay away from her.’ ” I frowned. “Guy isn't very original, is he?”

“He actually said that.” Mel’s voice was strangely flat. “Fuck. Fuck. Now I regret leaving the way I did.” Her words sent an irrational worry through me until she clarified: “I should have punted his balls, then stormed out.”

Without warning, her hand moved to my thigh. In juxtaposition to her angry words, the gesture was perfectly controlled. I loved the way Mel moved, but it was hard to concentrate on the gracefulness of it when her touch was shooting bolts of pure lust toward my groin.

“I’m sorry Ángel threatened you,” Mel said quietly. “But I’m even happier it didn't work, because you're here.” She squeezed my leg with slow deliberation. “And I…want you here.” Pause. “Please don't be weirded out, but I need to keep touching you. I have to…to reassure my primal self for a minute.”

I was not feeling weirded out. Unless “goofy bliss” was the alternate definition.

“You have to reassure her that I’m actually here?” My voice was low as my nerves danced under her fingers.

“Basically. Yeah. Yes.” Her voice roughened on each word until the last one sounded feral. Possessive. For some reason my heart really liked that. It may have begun thudding morse code for, “I beat for you.”

God…it was almost frightening how easy it was to fall for Mel Wade.

Gathering my courage, I covered her hand with my palm. “I’m here,” I said.

She turned her hand up so our fingers could intertwine. We sat like that for minutes, holding hands and enjoying that barely-there energy that seemed to flow between our palms.

Eventually, she had to separate to change lanes. A moment of uncertainty followed. The pause invited us to dwell on hidden meanings and fret over second guesses. To dream of wanting in ways that were physical and so much more.

Mel propelled us past it with a self-conscious laugh. “Tell me stuff about Dallas,” she said.

With both of us needing a breather to settle raw nerves, I was happy to oblige. And like everything else between us, we fell into a natural rhythm.

For the next three hours, Mel drove north and we talked. Not about anything heavy—we were too drained—but about things we enjoyed. She told me about trash reality TV I’d never heard of, and I told her about my favorite vintage shows. Her frequent laughs made it clear she was having as much fun as I was. And whenever she turned to me to relate some treasured detail or ask an insightful question, I was rewarded with her eyes. Sometimes they were brown, and sometimes they were otherworldly pink-purple, but they were always hers, which made them beautiful.

I'm standing here now, thinking about that first night on the road. I still recall the excitement of it. Not just the intoxicating moments with Mel, but my first real taste of life outside Drywell. Before that chase season I’d barely traveled anywhere. And now I’m camping on a mountain in a desert and looking at the biggest and brightest city I’ve ever seen. And the storms! The storm.

You’ll see. 

A little after 4 a.m., with my eyes burning and my thoughts blurry, the wheels of the roadster crunched into a large gravel lot. I glimpsed two sets of low bleachers in front of a tall expanse of chainlink before Mel shut off the engine, plunging us into the dark. 

“Where are we?” 

“Colome, South Dakota.” Fatigue made Mel’s smokey voice more inviting—it turned mine into a haunted house’s front door.

“A baseball field?” I creaked. 

“Belongs to the local high school. Since it’s on the edge of town, it’s a good out-of-the-way spot. And they have open bathrooms that aren’t too gross.”

“Good find.”

After we both visited the reasonably clean, slightly musty cinderblock building that housed the bathrooms—I put my foot down about not wearing my jacket for that—we climbed back into the roadster and lowered the seats.

“We’re getting on the road around eight,” Mel informed me in the dark.

“Sounds like a plan,” I mumbled, my mind already falling through the outer layers of sleep. 

“Good night, Cal,” Mel whispered.

“Good morning, Mel,” I slurred.

“Hey, Cal?”

“Mmm.”

“If there wasn't a custom…if there weren’t…obstacles…I’d show you my other half. I want you to see me.” She breathed a sigh. “I wish you could.”

In the dark, my lips curved up. “Thank you.”

At some point during the next four hours, while we both lay in dreamless oblivion, our hands found each other again. I was sluggishly aware of my knuckles brushing the cold metal of the gear shift as Mel’s warm fingers interlaced with mine. Sleepy and happy, I returned her snug grip. Then consciousness gently fell away, and we slept on.