by McKayla Box
He rests his forehead against mine. “I was hoping it might be a staying home present. Maybe you would decide to stick around since I won't be wearing an orange jumpsuit anytime soon.”
I look at him.
“I'm kidding,” he says, smiling. “Mostly.”
I kiss him again.
He tastes like the ocean.
He always has.
“Not gonna lie,” he says. “I'm not thrilled you're leaving. But that's about me. I'm happy for you.”
I love that he won't ask me to stay.
Because I'm not sure I could say no.
“You know we'll be okay, right?” I say.
He nods. “Yeah. I hope so.”
I put my hand on his chin and turn him toward me. “Not hope. We are okay.”
He hesitates, then nods. “I know. Just hard, Pres. I want you to go. But I don't.”
“It's the same for me,” I tell him. “I wanna go. I'm excited for school. But I'm terrified at the thought of not being with you every day.”
“Well, looks like I'm going to have plenty of free time now,” he says. “I could probably come up and visit. If you aren't too busy.”
I punch him lightly in the ribs.
He laughs. “Well, I don't know!”
“I will never be too busy for you,” I tell him. “I want you to come up. Or I'll come home. I don't care.”
He looks at the water. “And I need to make some decisions. We deferred all of my admissions stuff with everything that was hanging over my head.”
“I didn't even know you'd done any applying,” I say.
He nods. “Yeah. My dad made me. Which was probably a good thing. But now I need to figure out if I want to try and start in the spring or take the full year off.”
“Where?”
“Gotta decide that, too,” he says. “I got into UCLA and that's where my dad really wants me to go. Great economics school, apparently.”
“Where do you want to go?” I ask. “You?”
He digs his toes into the sand. “I got into one other school. It has a pretty cool art design major. They have econ, too, so maybe I could play both sides of the fence.”
“Where? USC?”
He shakes his head and looks at me. “No. Santa Barbara.”
My heart leaps. “You got into Santa Barbara?”
He nods.
I hug him again. “I love you, but you are an absolute asshole for not telling me.”
He laughs. “I haven't decided anything. I didn't want you to feel weird about it.”
“Why would I feel weird?”
He shrugs. “I don't know. I just didn't want you to...I don't know. It felt like yours and I didn't want to take that away from you.”
I kiss him. “If you're asking my opinion, I want you to come to Santa Barbara and go to school with me and surf with me and eat burritos with me.” I brush my lips against his, lay my hand against his bare chest. “And do other things with me.”
He puts his hand on my cheek, rubs his nose against mine. “Yeah. Other things.”
We sit there for awhile as the sun sinks. I can't believe I'm sitting with the guy who first came up to me on the beach that day a year ago. All arrogance and asshole. I never would've pictured this. He's changed.
We both have.
Both for the better.
I stand up and hold up my hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” he asks.
“Just get up,” I say, wiggling my hand. “You'll see.”
He grabs my hand and I use all of my weight to pull him up off the towel. I grab him by the wrist and pull him toward the pier.
The pier has always been this symbol of our relationship for me. A little rickety, a little shaky, but ultimately, pretty solid. The waves keep crashing into it, but it stays upright, above it all.
That's how I see us.
Or something like that.
The wood is rough beneath my feet as we walk out. The breeze has picked up and there's just a sliver of sunlight left on the horizon.
I remember when he first brought me up here. I was terrified. And angry. And then I just looked in his eyes.
And I knew I'd be okay.
It's where I learned to trust him.
I lead him to the end of the pier, high out over the Pacific. A single seagull squawks at his from above. I stop when we reach the end. I turn and look at him.
“I want one more thing before I leave,” I say.
He laughs. “Okay.”
“I wanna do the pier again,” I say. “One more time.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You sure? The last time we were up here--”
“The last time we were up here, you were an asshole and I was scared out of my mind,” I say. “Things are different now. We're different now.” I pause. “But I swear to god. I fell in love with you in mid-air. That night. I wanna do it again.”
He leans down and kisses me for a long time. Finally, his lips drift from mine.
“Okay,” he says, smiling. “Let's do it.”
The butterflies invade my stomach, but more from excitement than fear. He holds my hand as I climb up onto the railing, then follows me up once I'm stable.
The ocean looks bigger from up here. Endless. The last sliver of sunlight is nothing more than a thread now, laying on top of the edge of the ocean.
The breeze blows into my face and I take a long, deep breath.
I take it all in.
I look at Trevor.
I love him.
I know this like I know my own name.
I don't know what the future holds for us, but I love him. Whatever happens, he and I are going to be okay. I believe that with my whole heart.
He turns and looks at me. His blond hair is blowing in the breeze. His blue eyes stand out even in he dark.
Those fucking eyes.
The corner of his mouth turns upward just a fraction.
I know it's coming.
He winks at me. “You ready, New Girl?”
I can't help but laugh.
He laughs, too.
I reach out for his hand.
He takes it. “Hey, Pres.”
“Hey, Trev.”
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you,” I tell him.
“I'm gonna count to two and then we go,” he says.
“I remember,” I tell him. “Okay.”
He squeezes my hand.
I squeeze his hand.
“One. Two. Go!”
And we jump.
Together.
THE END
Hey Awesome Reader!
If you've read this far, I'm going to guess that you've read all four books in the series. So – THANK YOU! I'm really going to miss Presley and Trevor. What a ride. It might be fun to revisit them somewhere down the road, but for now, I think this is the right ending point for their story. (They deserve a break and to be happy for awhile!) But don't despair - I've got more books in the works. Come find me on Facebook or shoot me an email (mckaylabox at gmail dot com) so you can stay updated on what I'm doing.
And, again – THANK YOU!
MB
