by Chloe Walsh
"Wait, wait, wait –" His arms came around me, pulling my back flush to his chest. "Don't go."
"Get off me," I instructed, chest racking with sobs. "Now, D!"
"I didn't mean it, Dolly." Instead of loosening his hold on me, his arms tightened around me, keeping my body flush to his. "Not one goddamn word of it. I just…" He blew out a pained breath and buried his face in the curve of my neck. "I'm dealing with a lot of pressure right now, and I'm, uh, fuck, I was trying to do the right thing."
"By being unnecessarily cruel back there?" I choked out. "By ghosting me all week?"
"No." He exhaled heavily. "By keeping my distance."
"What?" Furious, I batted his arms away before swinging around to glare at him. "What does that even mean, Daryl?"
"It means…" His words trailed off and he ran a hand through his hair. He opened his mouth and then swiftly snapped it shut, jaw ticking almost violently. "It means I can't tell you."
"Can't tell me what?"
7 Daryl
"Can't tell me what?"
Do it, man.
Tell her.
Fucking get it off your chest.
There were so many things I wanted to say, so many confessions and secrets I yearned to spill from my soul. I wanted it gone, the weight of my conscience, and the godforsaken pain in my heart.
I opened my mouth, but the look of vulnerability – of unbroken innocence – in her brown eyes had me swiftly clamping my mouth shut.
It she finds out, it'll kill her.
Do you want her pain on your conscience?
Do you want to be the one to ruin her?
Her dad's right.
Just walk away, Daryl.
"I can't," I finally choked out, feeling like the worst piece of shit on the planet. "I'm sorry."
"Can't what?" The look in her eyes almost broke my damn heart all over again. "You can't give me an explanation for that epic display of assholeness back there?"
"Molly –"
"If you regret what happened between us, that's fine," she cut me off by saying. "I'm a big girl, D. I can take the truth. I don't need kid gloves to be told you made a mistake."
"What? Molly, no! Fuck, it's not like that," I tried to argue, but my words weren't getting through to her anymore. Her walls were shooting up quicker than I could perform damage control. The look she gave me in return screamed bullshit, and I felt myself die a little more inside. "I don't regret –"
"I understand that you were drunk that night, okay?" she hissed, throwing her hands up in frustration. "I'm not your type. I get it. Big freaking surprise. But I don't deserve the cold shoulder from you. That's not how friends are supposed to treat each other, and if I remember correctly, you were the one begging for another shot at that!"
"Can you stop?" I practically begged. "Just give me a second to get this out…"
"Don't bother, D," she whispered, shaking her head. "I'm done."
I could see the heartache etched on her face and it fucking crippled me.
"Molly…"
"Oh, and just one more thing," she added, voice trembling. "If the only reason you've been skipping school was to avoid drama with me, then consider yourself off the hook. No need to ghost me, Daryl. I'm not that girl."
"Molly!"
"Good luck at your game tonight, QB1."
And then, with a grace that only she could muster, Molly turned around and walked away from me.
8 Molly
Ever since the fire, I couldn't handle the hot baths I once used to enjoy so much. My skin was far too sensitive, therefore, I had to settle for lukewarm soaks in the tub instead.
"Mama, I'm lost." Feeling small and desperately alone, I pulled my knees to my chest and gave in to the feeling of devastation as it washed over me. Wiping my tear stained cheek against my sudsy knee, I exhaled wearily. "Mama, I miss you so much."
M83's Wait hummed softly from the iPod speaker in my adjoining bedroom as I wallowed in self-pity – and my own filth.
I felt like crap.
I looked like hell.
Sniffling, I smacked a cloud of bubbles off my shoulder and sank deeper into the tub, wanting nothing more than the world to wash over my head.
Honing in on the music wafting from my bedroom, I immersed myself in the melancholy. In the pained lyrics and emotional devastation pouring from the voice of the artist that connected with some intricate part of me.
My eyes were red and puffy from the stupid tears I'd cried this evening. Tears I'd shed for him.
He's not the same boy you grew up with.
Let him go.
Sometimes there's too much water under the bridge…
My father was right; moving back to Ocean Bay was a mistake.
A horrible, regrettable mistake that I was two years in to and couldn't take back…
"Wanna play with me, Molly-Dolly…"
"You're my best friend…"
"I'll always protect you…"
"Don't be scared. I've got your back…"
Blinking my childhood memories away, I forced myself to breathe deep and slow. I forced myself to get a handle of my lovesick heart.
"I'm scared, D. I'm gonna die!"
"No, you ain't! I'm gonna get you out."
Pain.
It was everywhere.
Panic clawed at my throat, but I remained rigid in the tub, drowning in the memories I couldn't push back…
"…We match. We fit together, Molly. Like a jigsaw…"
9 Daryl
Fans clapped my shoulders, while a local reporter shoved a microphone in my face. My teammates celebrated wildly under the Friday night lights, while scouts and recruiters circled the stadium like vultures preying on fresh meat.
None of it mattered to me, because my team might have won the game tonight, but I lost the girl.
Desperate to get out of the limelight, to be done with the whole fucking charade, I went through the motions on autopilot mode, performed like the professional athlete I'd been conditioned to be, and then got the fuck out of there before I lost my ever-loving mind on the field.
"You're damn lucky I let you play tonight, son," Coach continued to drill into my ear all the way through the tunnel. "Missing practice? That ain't like you, son."
Like the good little protégé I was, I apologized for my absence at practice and assured him it wouldn't happen again, while letting every word that poured out of his mouth sail clean over my head.
Back in the locker room, I kept myself apart from the rest of the team. Standing under the scalding hot water in the showers, I went through the motions.
Soap, scrub, rinse, repeat.
"Penny for your thoughts," Rourke said, from under the shower head next to mine.
Groaning, I rested my forehead on the wet tiles. "Tell me how to fix this."
"Fix what?"
"Me and Molly."
"Simple. Stop ghosting her."
"I fucked it, man." Sighing heavily, I pressed my hands to my head and repressed the urge to roar. "She probably hates me now."
Rourke chuckled. "Pretty sure Six hates me more than she likes me most days."
"And you keep her how?"
"I wake her up each morning by helicoptering my dick on her face," he shot back. "My baby loves her some red meat for breakfast."
I shook my head. "You are truly disturbed."
He smirked. "Duly noted."
"Rourke," I began, deciding that I needed to speak to someone. Needed to get some of this goddamn pressure off my chest. "Remember that summer when we were kids?"
"You're gonna have to be a bit more specific," he replied. "You're in all of my summers, man."
"Remember the summer I got this scar on my hip?" I blew out a frustrated breath and scrubbed the hell out of my hair. "The summer I lost my mind? Remember that summer?"
He stopped shampooing his hair and turned to look at me. "I remember."
I didn't say anything after that, knowing it was only a matter of time before h
is overly-intelligent brain put the pieces together.
"Molly would have burned to death in that house fire if someone hadn't broken a window and pulled her out," he stated to himself, brain shifting into overdrive. "Was that someone you, Daryl?"
I felt the ground shift beneath me.
A cold sweat broke out across my body.
I didn't have the words to respond so I answered him with a stiff nod.
"Jesus Christ, D, you ran into a burning house when you were nine?"
"She was nine." Shutting off the water, I draped a towel around my waist and headed back to my locker. "I was ten."
"You were still a kid who ran into a burning fucking building," he countered, quickly mirroring my actions and following after me. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Because then I would have had to tell you everything else and I couldn't do that.
"Didn't think you'd care."
"Care?" He gaped at me as we quickly dressed. "Of course I would have cared, asshole – wait!" His eyes widened. "Were you in the house when it started? Do you know how it happened?"
Yes. "No clue."
"Well, hell," he blew out a breath. "Now, I get it."
"Get what?"
"This infatuation with Molly. Your strange connection with her." He stared at me like he was looking at a stranger. "You really love that girl, don't you?"
More than life.
I shrugged. "Doesn't matter anymore. She's just about done with my bullshit."
"I don't know about that," he mused, walking back to his own locker just as the rest of the team spilled into the room. "Any guy who runs into a burning house to get his girl out deserves a second chance in my books."
"Not according to her father," I reminded him.
"Fuck fathers," Rourke called over his shoulder. "Fuck them to hell, bro."
"You'll ruin her."
"Walk away."
"Let her go."
Despite her father's warnings, his demands and pleas, I knew where I was going the minute I left this locker room.
Back to her.
Broken or healed, the beating stump in my chest would always point me back to her.
It was as simple and as complicated as that.
I had always and would always belong to the little girl across the street.
And I was done pretending otherwise.
Now, all I had to do was make her believe me…
"You heading to Reebo's with us, D?" Bear asked, dragging me from my tumultuous thoughts.
"Huh?" I asked, attention flicking to the guys.
"Reebo's," he repeated, brows furrowing. "You coming?"
"Hell yes he's coming," Mason answered for me, squeezing my shoulders. "We played one hell of a game tonight. Celebratory drinks are in order."
"I'll pass."
"You'll pass?" Mase gaped at me like I had just grown three heads in front of him. "The fuck are you talking about, King?"
Shouldering my bag, I moved for the exit. "I'm not feeling it."
"Then what are you feeling?" Waggling his brows, he added, "Or should I say who?"
"I'll tell you what you're gonna be feeling, Mase," Rourke interjected, joining me in the doorway, and having my back like always. "My fist down your goddamn throat if you don't let it go."
"You're not coming either, Owens?" Reebo asked.
"Nah, man," Rourke replied, yanking open the locker room door. "I have plans."
"Plans," Mase chuckled. "Hell, I don't even blame you. If I had a sister that looked like yours on tap at home, I'd be –"
"Step," Bear interjected with a sigh. "Step sister."
"You'd be what?" Rourke pressed, and there was a menacing lilt to his tone. "Choose your words carefully, fucker."
"Tapping that ass."
I shook my head in resignation.
Bear and Reebo both sighed in unison. "You just had to go there."
"Look, all I'm saying is that if Mercy James was under my roof, I'd be taking full advantage of the situation," Mason finished with a shrug. "That's all."
It was no secret that Rourke was the hot-headed member of our crew. His temper was infamous both on the field and off it, therefore it came as no surprise to a single person in the locker room when he lunged for our dumbass friend.
"Here we go again," Reebo said with a weary sigh.
10 Molly
It was a little after eleven that night when the rustling outside of my window started up. At first, it sounded like tiny pebbles crashing against the window pane before eventually progressing into creaking branches and distinctive male grunting.
Pausing the movie that I was watching on Netflix, I sat straight up in bed and set the tub of Ben & Jerry's I'd been attempting to demolish on my nightstand.
"Dad?" I whisper-hissed and then held perfectly still, ears straining for a response.
When it came in the form of a muttered "who the hell keeps their window closed in this humidity," I threw the covers off my body and jumped out of bed.
Heart bucking violently in my chest, and with only the remote control for my TV as a weapon, I padded over to the window and drew back the curtains. "What the hell are you doing?"
"A little help, Molls," Daryl called back, balancing precariously on the limb of the old oak at the side of our house. "Fuck," he grunted, one arm gripping the windowsill and the other clinging to the branch. "Climbing through your window was a helluva lot easier when we were kids."
"That's because I lived in a one-level when we were kids and this is a two-story," I replied flatly before quickly yanking the curtains closed. "Go home."
"Wait, wait, wait – don't go!" he urged. "I need to talk to you."
"No thank you," I called back, climbing back into bed.
"Please?"
"Goodnight, Daryl," I bit out, snuggling under the covers.
"Come on, Molly-Dolly. Don't leave me hanging out here – literally."
Tensing, I kicked my legs under the covers and growled, "I told you not to call me that, doofus!"
"Please?"
I shook my head.
"Please… I think I'm gonna fall here."
"Goddammit!" Deciding not to be a total bitch, I climbed out of bed and stalked back to the window. "Fine." Unhooking the lock, I pushed my window up and leaned out. "You can come in, but only to use the staircase." Narrowing my eyes, I added, "Can't have the Academy's homecoming king break a nail before his big night," before stepping aside for him to enter.
"Whoa," he breathed, climbing through the window. "That was pretty catty."
"Yeah, well, I'm in a pretty catty mood," I shot back, returning to my bed. I didn't bother turning to face him. Instead, I climbed back under the covers, grabbed the remote, and un-paused my movie. "You know where the door is."
Instead of leaving like I had asked, Daryl walked over to my bed and sat down. "You know, I practiced what I was going to say to you all the way over here in my truck." Rolling his shoulders, he smoothed his hand over his jean-clad knee. "It was easier to get the words out when I was talking to the hypothetical version of you."
My chest ached from his words, but I was already bone weary from licking my Daryl King inflicted wounds. "I've got nothing left in me tonight, D."
"Fine. I'll talk. You can listen," he said, reaching over and placing his big hand on mine. "I don't regret what happened that night. You need to know that." He blew out a frustrated breath. "The way I acted earlier? Being a total fucking asshole? Well, it had nothing to do with us having sex –"
"Oh my god, can you please not?" I squeezed out, feeling a wave of humiliation course through me. I yanked my hand away from his, ignoring the jolt of electricity that raced through me from the contact. "It's embarrassing enough knowing that it happened without having this horribly awkward conversation."
He rolled his eyes. "We need to talk about this."
Stiffening, I shook my head. "No. We don't. The time for talking was days ago. Hell, it was this afternoon when I knocked on your door.
Not here. Not now."
"I'm sorry."
"I believe you."
"Then give me another chance."
"Not tonight."
"I fucked up," he admitted with a sigh.
"Yeah," I agreed flatly. "You did."
"Yeah, I did." Grabbing the remote control off the mattress, he clicked the mute button. "But let's not forget that you're the one who ditched me in your bed the morning after. You ran out on me first, Molls."
My mouth fell open. "Because I panicked!"
He glared back at me. "And I didn't?"
"Well, it's not like it was your first time," I countered shakily. "Forgive me for not having any experience in dealing with naked quarterbacks in my bed."
"Yeah? Well, forgive me for not having any experience in dealing with naked girls that I actually care about!" he shot back heatedly. "Forgive me for not having the experience to deal with the only girl I have ever cared about, Molly!"
Trembling, I gaped at him. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that you were dead wrong when you insinuated that I regretted you," he snapped. "Dead fucking wrong."
"Molly-Sue?" A sharp knocking came from the other side of my bedroom door. "Sweetheart, are you alright in there?"
My eyes widened, mirroring the look of horror on Daryl's face. "Shit."
"I'm fine, Dad!" I choked out, scrambling out from beneath the covers only to push Daryl down. "Hide," I mouthed, burying him under the blankets before calling out, "I'm watching a movie."
"A movie?" The handle of my door rattled moments before it flew open and my father stepped inside. "I thought I heard voices."
"Settle down, Sherlock Holmes," I joked, purposefully sprawling on top of my duvet – and Daryl. "It's just Christian and Ana."
My father gave me a puzzled look. "Who?"
Grabbing the remote, I unmuted the television and pointed at the screen. "Fifty Shades Darker movie."
"Ah." Dad nodded in what looked like relief before his brows furrowed. "Fifty Shades you say –"
