He eyed me curiously. “You want a new nickname?”
I didn’t. I just didn’t want him to call me Bits.
“Hmm…” He looked me up and down, as if searching for something about me that might be worthy of inspiring a name.
I remember thinking he’d find nothing. That there was nothing interesting about me. And I’d been right.
“Okay, kid, I’ll call you B…”
But I was so thrilled to shed my childish nickname—at least to him—that I didn’t even mind that he couldn’t come up with anything other than the first letter of my name. It wasn’t until a few years later, when he happened to write it in a text, that I even knew it wasn’t actually B, but Bea. But I suppose it’s the same difference.
“What’s wrong with Dave?” I asked him.
David smiled. “It’s fine,” he shrugged, “you know, for now. But it doesn’t exactly scream big, powerful man, or look good printed on a book cover, now does it?”
I laughed. Laughed. Considering what sent us into that room, it was pretty extraordinary. “David does,” I reminded him.
He smirked, arching his brow in that way he’d tried and failed to teach me how to do. “You wanna call me David?”
I shrugged. I did. I wanted to call him something no one else did, even if it was just his full name. I wanted to have a piece of him that was just mine.
So I did. From that moment on, I only ever called him David. And I was either Bea, Beth, or kid. He never called me Bits again.
David did keep a cautious eye on my father after that, until his final alcoholic rampage left my mother with a broken nose, and—when Sammy had had enough and finally hit him back—left me without a father for more than five years.
That was the first time I realized that the power of David’s arms went way beyond the physical, and waking up surrounded by them has only reinforced that truth.
No wonder it’s so hard to get out of bed.
But we do, like every morning, and we take turns showering, like every morning.
Depending on our class schedules for the day, I walk to class either with David or Toni, or on one occasion, with Ralph, whom—like the rest of my pledge-bodyguards—I no longer make walk a distance behind me.
I know I should tell David about Brody being back on campus, but after his overreaction to not knowing where I was last week, I don’t exactly expect him to be reasonable about this particular development.
But Brody hasn’t so much as looked my way, and since David basically has me monitored by a not-so-secret service of his own design, anyway, it’s not like his knowing about it would make any practical difference.
Still, I feel guilty, and I know I need to tell him. And I have tried. It just never seems like a good time.
Surely not when his lips are on my neck the moment I walk in the door. Or when I wake up in those magical arms, to his signature smirk and ready hard-on—and, once, to a strange, pensive stare that barely lingered long enough for me to fully open my eyes. I don’t want to bring up freaking Brody of all people when David is touching me, or making me laugh, or even simply comforting me with his presence. And it definitely isn’t a good time after Sammy calls or texts one of us when we’re together, and we spend at least the next hour or so drowning in guilt and not quite meeting each other’s gazes.
But I do have to tell David, and soon. Before one of his pledges notices Brody around campus and recognizes him. I’m lucky it hasn’t happened already.
Today I leave first, and Toni and I make our way to class, chatting excitedly about the new contemporary dance class she talked me into signing up for back when I still believed David would be avoiding me indefinitely. I say good-bye to her and wait to meet Lani outside the student union.
My cell phone buzzes and Sammy’s name flashes across the screen, surprising me. My brother and I text pretty frequently, but he always makes sure to call at least once a week. I think he needs to hear my voice—as if he’d be able to hear it if I’d relapsed into depression or something. And who knows? Maybe he could. But we spoke just yesterday, and I can’t remember the last time he called me two days in a row.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Hey, Bits.” It’s his forced-casual tone and it gets my guard up.
“What’s wrong?” I ask instantly.
I can feel my brother roll his eyes. “Shit, kid. You always go there, don’t you?”
I ignore his patronizing tone. “Is Rory okay?”
Sammy blows out a long-winded sigh. “Yeah, Bits. Everything’s fine—relax.”
