by Kay Manis
She leaned back, her eyes searching mine. “Rory, do you love me?”
“Of course I do. You know that.”
“And you’d do anything for me, right?”
“Yes.”
“That’s how I know you’ll be an amazing father.” She smiled as if it were that simple.
“What do you mean?”
“This baby will be half you and half me.”
“What the fuck? Are you pregnant?” I grasped her waist, about to toss her off me.
“No.” She laughed. “I meant in the future tense.” She covered her mouth to stifle her amusement. “I’m sorry.”
I clutched my chest like I’d had a heart attack. “Fuck, Hindley, that wasn’t even funny.” I lifted her from my lap and paced the small room, trying to think of anything other than Hindley being pregnant.
“Hey.” She circled her hands around my waist. “Stop.”
“Stop what?” I asked, covering her hands with mine, my heart beating like a stampede of elephants.
“We’re gonna screw up, Rory, with each other, with our kids, in life. It’s all part of living. It’s how we deal with it that matters.”
I stared down at her. She looked…peaceful, and that steadied my pulse.
She squeezed me hard. “Before I met you, I never allowed myself to need other people, and look where it got me.” She raised her arm to show me the bandage still wrapped tightly around her forearm.
I winced in pain.
“But you know what?” she said. “I wouldn’t change it, any of it, because it’s taught me a better way to deal with my life. It’s taught me to lean on people and ask for help. And it’s forced you to look at some of your demons too.”
I dug my fingers into her hair to hold her steady. I wondered, not for the first time, how in the fuck I’d ever been lucky enough to convince a woman like Hindley Hagen to marry me.
“I’m lucky to have you, too,” she said.
I smiled, realizing she’d read my thoughts. We were joined together, in every way, physically, mentally, emotionally. How could I not give this girl everything she wanted.
“How much longer do we have until my appointment?” she asked, glancing at my watch.
“We need to leave here in about forty-five minutes.”
“I can get dressed in fifteen.” She smirked, lifting her brows. I understood her silent request.
“Oh, Miss Hagen, I believe I can do something with you in thirty minutes.” I scooped her up and traipsed down the hallway toward the bedroom. “Many things.”
“God, I hope so, Mr. Gregor. Otherwise, I might have to return your ring.”
“Never!”
“No, never.” She laughed. “I’m yours. Forever, Skater Boy.”
I leaned down and pressed a kiss against her temple. “Forever, Drunk Girl.”
Epilogue
One Year Later
-HINDLEY-
“Max, Miguel!” I shouted from the front of the classroom. “Shut the computers down, it’s time to go.”
The boys groaned.
I smiled. Knowing these boys wanted to stay at our facility longer was a dream come true.
Six months ago, Rory secured an abandoned warehouse on the Southeast side of Austin, an area known for drugs, violence, and gangs. It was the ideal spot for his passion project. He’d told me of his dream shortly after he’d proposed a year ago.
Rory wanted to open a facility for at-risk youths. A place where they could come after school and during the summer for help with their schoolwork and a chance to play.
He wanted the kids to have the opportunity for productive downtime while keeping them safe from the rough and often seductive streets of their neighborhood.
It’d taken considerable work and planning, but six months after he’d told me about his dream, we broke ground on the facility—thanks to sizable donations from all seven of Rory’s sponsors, as well as other pro extreme sports athletes on the tour.
Thankfully, the warehouse had been donated by the city and Leif had offered his planning services for the indoor skate park attached to the main part of the campus.
The building included four large open-air style classrooms that could be subdivided if more rooms were needed. It also housed three offices, one for the director of the facility, Dora Rodriguez, a long-time educator and high school math teacher. The other two offices were for our part-time counselors and the volunteers.
Rory named the facility Shelly’s Hangout, after his sister. He’d felt that if he and Shelly had had a place like this to hang out at after school, perhaps they could have escaped their troubled youth. And maybe they would have had a safe person with whom they could have shared the stories of their abuse.
“Come on, guys, I’m serious,” I said. “It’s late and you both need your beauty rest.” Plus, I was dog-tired.
They grumbled but powered down the computers.
“Bring your folders up front so I can check your progress report if you want your star stickers.”
We’d come up with a reward system for the kids that seemed to work. For each positive action they performed, they received a sticker. After they’d accumulated enough, they could purchase things from our inhouse ‘store’. Things as simple as extra time on the computer, all the way up to new skateboards donated by River City Skateboards.
We’d even talked some of the pro extreme sports athletes into stopping by from time to time, and we’d sell what we called ‘Star Tickets’. The kids would accumulate their stars and buy a ticket to come watch the athletes perform or maybe even get a one-on-one lesson with the pro. It was something for the kids to strive for, help them to learn better habits than they’d learned on the streets.
Teachers in the community raved about our program, saying not only had their schools seen improved test scores, but student behavior had improved as well. The city was starting to take notice of our program and was talking to us about starting up other facilities around town. For now, we were happy with Shelly’s Hangout.
Miguel set his red folder on my desk, opening it up to his Star Bar as we called it.
“How many so far?” I asked.
“Ninety-four.”
“That’s a lot of stars,” I said. “What are you saving up for?”
His eyes lit up as a huge grin spread across his face.
“Could it possibly be the new board I saw River City deliver last week? The one with the orange and red sunburst, signed by Rory?”
He nodded his head like a child waiting for Christmas morning, which I guess, really, he was.
It broke my heart to know an item as simple as a skateboard, something I’d taken for granted my entire childhood, would be enough to motivate this boy to do better, to be better. It was during moments like these that I was proudest of Rory and his vision.
“Well,” I said, “you know you get five stars if you get your parents to come to the English class on Friday, right?”
He nodded.
We’d discovered over the last few months that children whose first language in the home was something other than English performed lower in the classroom and on standardized tests. With the help of the schools, we’d gone to the homes of the children to talk to their parents and relatives and realized they did, in fact, want to learn English, they just didn’t have the means or the time.
That’s when we developed the Kick Flip to English program, or Kick as we referred to it. It was Rory’s idea to name it Kick Flip, telling everyone that even though it seemed like the easiest trick in skateboarding, the kick flip had been one of the hardest for him to learn as a kid.
The program was in its fourth week and already our numbers were growing. The parents were receptive to the classes and to their own education once they found out how much it motivated their children. Plus, it was fun to watch the parents play around in the adjoining skate park with their kids after their own classes were over in the evenings.
Miguel cast his eyes down to the floor as he k
nocked his feet together, fisting his T-shirt. Something else was going on with him.
“What is it?” I asked.
“My dad says he won’t come.”
“Why?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“What about your mom?” I asked.
“She doesn’t drive.”
The despair in his voice seized my heart with pain. I couldn’t let him lose hope. I understood better than anyone what could happen if you did. You were in danger of losing everything.
“What if someone from the center came to pick her up? Do you think she’d come then?”
His smile was back. “You’d do that?”
My heart hummed with joy. I’d given this boy hope.
“Of course,” I said, barely able to contain my own excitement.
“Maybe,” he said. “I could ask.”
“Okay, stop by Mrs. Rodriguez’s office before you leave and tell her your mom may need a ride. Tell Mrs. R to call me if she has questions. We’ll make sure your mom gets here if she truly wants to, Miguel, don’t worry.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gregor.” He ran around my desk and grasped me in his arms. “Thank you so much.”
Tears burned the back of my eyes. I knew in that moment I was exactly where I was meant be.
Miguel released me and I turned toward Max. “How did you do on your math exam?”
His down-turned face told me the news wasn’t good. I felt so bad. Max had studied so hard for that test. One of our volunteers, a college student who was majoring in math, had even come in to help. But like a lot of kids in the center, Algebra didn’t click with Max. I understood that all too well.
Slowly, he pulled a thick packet from his folder. Good, bad, or anything in between, we encouraged the kids to share their schoolwork with us. We had taught them there was no shame in failing, only in not trying.
He held it out with his long slender fingers.
As I took it from him, I noticed a small smile emerge across his face. I flipped it over. Blazing across the top in bright red ink it read eighty-three and had the words ‘Amazing job Max’ with four exclamation points from his teacher.
“Oh my goodness, Max!” I jumped up. “This is awesome. We have to go put this up on the wall.”
He nodded, his smile growing wider.
Rory had created what he called a ‘Sick Wall’ in the main hall of the facility. Apparently, the word ‘sick’ was a complimentary term in the extreme sports world, meaning something was completely insane and amazing. I wasn’t a big fan of the term, but the kids seemed to understand its significance and that’s all that mattered.
The wall was painted bright purple, Rory’s favorite color, and located between the classrooms and the skate park.
Anyone who entered the building walked by the Sick Wall, which was a way for the kids to acknowledge their accomplishments and learn how to be proud of their hard work. The display was also a lesson in humility, a way for the kids to learn how to be happy for one another, not just themselves. The wall helped ward off jealousy, an emotion that had almost cost me everything.
“Miguel, will you grab a tack from the cabinet over there?” I pointed toward the supply closet then waited patiently for Miguel to join us. I knew displaying Max’s accomplishment would be as much an honor for his best friend as it would be for Max.
“What’s going on?” A familiar deep voice echoed through the classroom. My eyes went to the source of the sound, and my knees went weak just thinking about how much I loved him.
Rory stood in the doorway, beads of perspiration dripping from his face. He’d obviously been skating.
He often helped with tutoring when we were in town, but most of his time was spent with the kids in the skate park, helping them learn their tricks and talking to them about life and their problems. It always blew me away that a man so accomplished would humble himself so kids could learn the greater life lesson—anything was possible, with hard work and perseverance.
“Max made an eighty on his Algebra test,” Miguel shouted.
I was thrilled to see him being so supportive of his best friend.
“Eighty-three,” Max corrected.
Miguel rolled his eyes but I knew there was no animosity.
“All right, Max.” Rory fisted his hand and bumped Max’s knuckles. “Way to go. That calls for a celebration.”
“Mrs. Gregor said I can hang it on the Sick Wall,” Max said.
“Well, get after it then.” Rory motioned toward the front of the facility.
I turned off my own computer and put away my supplies then approached my sweaty, hot husband.
“What’s all the commotion about?” Geneva asked, walking up behind Rory.
Geneva had been charged with drug possession and food tampering last year in Miami. But thanks to her high-profile attorney, the charges against her had been dropped in exchange for her serving a shit ton of community service.
She spent a lot of time working with the Austin Police Department in their D.A.R.E. program, speaking to kids about drug use in schools. But after Shelly’s Hangout opened, she’d logged most of her hours here. She’d completed her mandated volunteer hours months ago, but she enjoyed the kids so much that she’d stayed on to help.
Rory and I were both appreciative of the time she spent here. But more than that, I was happy that we were finally growing closer.
“Oh, um, Max got an eighty-three on his Algebra test,” I said.
“Max, that’s incredible. I’m so proud of you,” she said. “You’ve been working hard with Patrick and Joe. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
He shrugged, staring down at the floor.
I could sense she wanted to hug him, but we’d made a rule that there be limited physical contact with the kids. Some had been sexually abused or assaulted and their lines between appropriate and inappropriate touch were skewed.
“We’re gonna hang it on the wall.” Miguel smiled wide. It was wonderful to see how proud he was of his best friend’s hard work.
“Well, let’s go.” Geneva motioned toward the front with her hand.
“Are you coming with us, Mrs. Gregor?” Max looked back at me.
“We’ll be there in a minute, Max,” Rory said.
He seemed appeased and they continued toward the front of the building without us.
I stared at Rory, his mischievous grin warning me that he was up to something. I smiled just thinking about all the amazing things he’d done for me since I’d met him.
“What are you thinking about, Mrs. Gregor?” He laughed.
“You, Mr. Gregor.”
“Why do you make them call you Mrs. Gregor, instead of Hindley?”
“It’s a sign of courtesy and respect.”
Rory rolled his eyes then grinned.
“What?”
“I just think you like being reminded every day that you’re my wife.” He wrapped one arm around my waist and leaned me back. Supporting my neck with his other hand, he bent down and placed kisses along my neck.
“Rory, stop.”
“Admit it, Mrs. Gregor,” he whispered against my neck.
I forgot where I was, sliding my fingers in his hair and pulling his face toward mine as we locked lips in a passionate kiss that took me to another galaxy. Kissing my husband would never get old.
When we surfaced for air, he planted me on my feet, but my equilibrium was off and I had to grab onto his shoulders for support.
“Whoa.” He steadied me. “You all right?”
“Yeah, just a little woozy.”
“Probably from all my passion.” He chuckled.
“Probably.” It was a half-truth. I needed to share my news with him, but I was terrified about how he would react.
“What’s in the box?” I changed the subject. I wasn’t quite brave enough, not yet.
“This is one of my X Games medals.” He held it up with pride.
I rubbed the scars on my arm, remembering how he’d left the games las
t year to be with me in the hospital after my breakdown.
He lifted my arm to his lips and lightly brushed my scars with kisses. It had become his way of reminding me that he’d always be there for me. Always, he’d say emphatically.
We’d just returned from Los Angeles, where he’d won not one but three gold medals in this year’s games, sweeping the events he’d entered. No one had been prouder than the kids at the center.
“You’re going to hang it up here, on the Sick Wall?” I asked.
“Yeah, I figured the kids would get a kick out of it. It’s as much theirs as it is mine.”
He never ceased to amaze me with his humbleness.
“Why, what’s wrong with that?” he asked.
“Well, I don’t want to sound mean, but I’m afraid someone may take it.”
“I ordered a special case for it,” he said. “It’s here, in the box. I’m going to install it this weekend.”
“Oh,” I sighed. “Was that wrong of me to say?” I felt bad for assuming the worst of the kids.
“Not wrong,” he said. “Realistic. They’re a product of their environment. But we’re working to change that, right?”
I nodded as I stared up into his beautiful blue eyes, watching as the golden flecks danced around his pupils.
“What?” he asked.
“Just admiring my husband.”
“Admire away, Mrs. Gregor.” He wrapped his hand around my neck and pulled me in so his lips were pressed to mine.
What started as a slow kiss soon turned passionate, too passionate for the center, but I was helpless when it came to Rory.
Someone cleared their throat behind us.
Oh, shit.
I pushed Rory away, watching helplessly as he nearly tumbled backward over another box I hadn’t noticed.
“Shit, Hindley, you damn near knocked me on my ass.”
“Rory, language.” I turned, thankful to find it was just Geneva.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Geneva,” I said.
“You two never stop, do you?” She laughed.
“She may be the death of me.” Rory rubbed a spot on his calf that he’d hit on the large box behind us.
“What’s in that thing?” Geneva asked.
