She ignores his smile, oblivious to the joke. I don’t like the way her voice is changing, like she’s sucking in more air with each syllable. “I see. And do your parents like it here? Do they talk about the area?”
“Not really. They’re not sentimental. It’s all business.”
“Except with you kids, I suspect? You and Preston?”
It’s the first time Gage breaks eye contact as he separates a green bean from the rest of the casserole heap on his plate. “Not really. Preston, maybe, since he’s helping out with the company. My parents and I have never been close.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Mama’s eyes well up with tears. She’s not lying or evading for once. She truly looks sorry. Verging on heartbroken, actually. It’s weird, even for her, and that’s saying a lot.
Suddenly, she scoots back her chair and tosses her napkin on the table beside her still-full plate. The panic slithers into our meal like a snake scoping out its prey. Her voice trembles, breathy and uneven. “I… I’m not feeling so well. Need to lie down.” She disappears upstairs, leaving the three of us staring after her.
Her bedroom door is cracked, a thin beam of light edging out onto the hallway carpet. I press my cheek into the molding enough to peek into the room. Mama’s in the corner chair, book laid in her lap, solemn. The only light in the room comes from the antique brass lamp on the dresser beside her.
I fling open the door, so hard it bumps against the wall behind it with a loud thwack. “Really, Mama?” My tone is harsh, more so than our normal scuffles, but I don’t care. She swore she’d try, but it was a lie. Like always.
“What?” Her innocent stare kicks the rage up a notch.
“You bombard Gage with a slew of weird questions, then spaz out and run up here? You promised you’d…”
“Give him a chance? I did. I was perfectly pleasant downstairs. I just… don’t… feel well…” Very matter-of-fact. Very cold. She pushes her nose back into the book.
I snatch it from her lap, snap it closed, and toss it on the comforter. It’s the first time I’ve done anything this forward, and a piece of me is fully expecting her to slap me. “You’re feeling just fine!”
“As an adult, I think I know when I’m under the weather.” She plucks a tissue from the box on the table and blows her nose as if that somehow should convince me. It doesn’t.
“And as your daughter for almost eighteen years, I think I know when you’re lying!” The anger spills out. This time the floodgates are down, and I can’t stuff it all back in and pretend nothing’s wrong.
Mama pokes her finger in my direction, fire and brimstone ripe on her tongue. “You weren’t raised to speak to adults that way. The Bible says…”
“Don’t Bible-whip me, Mama.” I corner her in the chair, my hands planted firmly on each arm rest and lean in close to her face. “I’ve spent my life ‘honoring my father and mother’ and every other God-forsaken old biddy in this town. Groomed to do just what a good little Southern girl’s supposed to—sit down, shut up, don’t question, don’t cross any lines. It almost cost me Gage.” I push off with my arms, turning my back to her. “Hell, it’s almost cost you your sanity.”
Okay, that might’ve gone a little too far. She sniffles. I turn back. The stubbornness leaves her face, only a residue of shame remaining.
“I’m perfectly sane, despite what you or this town thinks. I worry about you… your choices… your future. Does that make me certifiable?” Her eyes are sharp as laser beams, cutting straight to the heart of our conversation. Is it a rhetorical question? Because if not, I still don’t know the honest answer.
I sigh and drop down to sitting on my shins in front of her, the way I used to when she’d brush my hair into pigtails. “I don’t know. Does it?”
“I just want you to be careful. Don’t make mistakes, have regrets, like me.” A warning dances in her eyes, side-by-side with the golden flecks of color that’d lost their shine long ago.
“Is your life really so bad, Mama? You’ve had Daddy since ninth grade, and y’all still look at each other like it’s all-consuming.” I grab her hands and fold them into mine. “It’s the same way Gage looks at me.”
“I know. That’s what worries me.” Her lips stretch into a thin line. She talks in riddles, in shards of truth-bits that never add up to anything substantial and usually just end up confusing me.
“Why do you hate him?”
“I don’t hate him. It’s just…” She pauses and blows out a deep breath. “When you’re young, you think it’s all a fairytale. Life’s hard. Love’s harder.”
No, she’s wrong. The feelings come easy. Too easy. It’s everything else that gets in the way and makes it hard. “Is it love that’s hard, or just people screwing everything up?”
Finally, a genuine smile breaks through her hardened mask. She chuckles. “Well, there ya go. The key to all the world’s heartache. To err is human…”
I squeeze her hands, clammy and trembling in mine. “All I’m asking for is a chance, Mama. Please.” Her eyes bore into me, smile faded. She looks through me, into my future, as if discerning and absorbing any and all heartaches ahead. She shuts her eyes and nods.
I spring up on my knees and hug her, my arms wrapping around so far my fingers touch the opposite elbows. My God, she’s lost weight. Like twenty pounds down. When did that happen? I pull back, and her t-shirt wafts out, baggy at her sides. “Mama? You’ve lost weight.”
She grins and strokes my hair. “Anxiety’s a bitch on the human body.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Let’s change that. New Year, new start, right?”
“That’s what we said.”
I get up and walk over to the bedroom door. The sound of Gage and Daddy downstairs talking football and yelling at refs floats in. I smile back at her, extending my hand in her direction. “What d’ya say we go make them turn off sports and watch a Lifetime movie?”
Chapter 30
Gage
D
amn, it’s cold. I’m not exactly sure when the Arctic Circle relocated to South Carolina, but it’s time to head back North. I reach in the backseat and grab my coat, the thick winter one I’ve used all of four times in the past two years and shrug it on before getting out of the Scout.
This isn’t the weather I ordered for our first Valentine’s Day together, but then again, maybe someone’s throwing me a bone here. Rayne’s not a fan of being cold, which means she’ll put up little resistance when I pat the bench seat beside me with a wink. Every time I’ve tried it before, she’s rolled her eyes and firmly declined.
Why? Too redneck, she says. Looks like we can’t keep our hands off each other for two seconds.
That’s when I smile over at her, the truth written across my face. We can’t keep our hands off each other. Then she clicks her seatbelt in place, defiance personified, and tells me to shut up.
But not tonight. Tonight’s Valentine’s, the most romantic time of the year, and I’ve been planning my little surprise for over a month, down to the last detail. I jog up to the front door and push the bell. The door opens before the tone even fades away. She’s wearing the same jeans and blue blouse she did that night. Perfect.
“So, are you gonna tell me what this is about?” she asks, twitching her finger between our two outfits.
“I could, but what fun would that be?”
She steps back and I walk into the foyer. Mrs. Davidson’s in the living room, sitting in an armchair by the lamp, studying a stack of papers clutched in her hand. She doesn’t look up. Surprising, considering today, of all days, I figured we’d be getting the extra-tough “retaining the virtue” talk. But nope. Nothing. It’s as if she doesn’t even notice we’re leaving.
“Bye, Mama,” Rayne calls from the door.
Mrs. Davidson glances up for only a second, her expression flat. “Have fun. Be careful.”
The door slams behind us, and I hold out Rayne’s coat as she folds her
self into it.
“What was that about?” I whisper. Even though we’re outside, a small part of me still fears Mrs. Davidson has the place bugged.
Rayne shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’m not questioning it. Nice not to have the third degree for a change.”
I open the passenger door and she slides in. By the time I jog around and get behind the wheel, she’s already rubbing her arms up and down, teeth chattering.
“Does this thing have a heater?”
“It’s on. High.”
“It’s 32 degrees outside and 35 in here!”
“Pretty much. Of course, there are other ways to get warm.” I wink at her and pat the bench seat beside me. “They say body heat is the best kind of heat.”
She deadpans then shrugs, defeated. “What the hell. It’s Valentine’s Day.” She scoots across the vinyl, straddling the gear shifter and clicks her seatbelt in place. “Happy now?”
“Very.”
Twenty minutes and a trip through the Chick-Fil-A drive-through later, I pull into the first parking spot by the river at Cedar Falls Park. The same exact place we spent Homecoming night.
“So this is a re-creation?” Rayne asks, gathering the pile of blankets I stashed in the backseat.
I walk around and open her door, and she jumps to the ground, her breath swirling out in white hazy spirals in the night air.
“More like a re-imagination. Homecoming night—like it was but better. The way it should’ve been.”
I grab a blanket and unfurl it on the grassy patch in front of the Scout then pull her down to sitting beside me. The night is pitch, no artificial lights, no moon. Only a trillion stars, distinct and brighter than ever, thanks to the cold, clear air.
She shivers and scoots closer to me, turning to run her fingers through a few strands of hair that have fallen against my brow. The close proximity is too much. The fires inside rage, and in one quick move, I scoop her into my arms, pulling her into my lap. She straddles me, our faces close, and bodies closer. So close I’m sure she feels my excitement when her kisses accelerate, scattering icy droplets over my skin. Her lips are flames that cut through the bitter cold. My breathing is ragged and uneven, sometimes feeling as if I’m being strangled, sometimes as if there’s too much air in my lungs.
Her body responds to mine, arching in as if the elemental core of her being craves mine with the same insatiable appetite. I slip my hand under her blouse, dipping my fingers into the cup of her bra and wishing the damn thing was Velcro that I could easily tear away. Her hand wanders down, down, down and finds me through my jeans, the sensation like rockets blasting off inside. Everything speeds up. Her hands, my hands. Her lips, my lips. Her tongue, my tongue.
She rips her lips from mine, throwing her hands onto my chest and pushing us apart. Her words lope out in uneven breaths. “We need to talk about this. There are things I need to tell you first…”
Talk about cold water. The flames turn to faint embers within seconds. “Should I be worried?”
She bites her lip and looks at the ground. “Preston and I… we never…”
My stomach sours at the mention of his name, and I twist away, the muscle above my jawline flexing in and out. Talking about him is definitely not on tonight’s agenda. “I know. He would’ve told me.”
“I just couldn’t… I…”
I sigh and turn back. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated into large black pools. “You weren’t ready…”
“No. It was more than that.” She palms my cheek, her fingertips pressing gently into my skin. “I couldn’t do that with Preston, not when I was thinking of you. And I was always thinking of you.”
I swallow hard and shut my eyes, the memories returning to me like knives. “It killed me every single time he took you to his room. Preston has a reputation with girls. You challenged him, but he can be… persuasive.”
“He can be, but there’s one thing you didn’t count on.”
“What’s that?”
“He’s not you, Gage. I was always in love with you. Not him.”
A warmth floods over me, and the hard expression on my face naturally softens. I tug her closer, chest-to-chest, arms tangled around each other’s bodies. The flames renewed, a moan escapes my lips as I kiss her then pull back, whispering into her hair, “I want you so bad.”
Her breath is hot on my neck where her lips touch skin, and suddenly I’m hoping she’s changed her mind. That tonight will be the night. The need rips and claws in my body, the same way it did on Homecoming, now a million times stronger.
“I want you, too… so bad… but I can’t.”
My lips freeze in place, and I pull back and clamp my hands to the blanket. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you.”
She grabs my cheeks between both hands and pulls me to her face. “You’re not. We’re feeling the exact same things, but I promised myself a long time ago that I’d wait until I was 18. Sex is an adult decision, and I want to officially be an adult when it happens. I never want to look back and regret breaking that promise to myself.”
I slide my fingers along her jaw, stopping at her chin to angle her eyes squarely on mine. “I never want you to regret me.”
“I regret trusting Jaycee. I regret hurting Preston. But I will never, ever, regret my feelings for you.”
Dear God, I love this girl.
“For you, I’ll wait.” I grab my phone and thumb down the screen to the calendar app. “What, like six more weeks?”
She laughs, one of those half-breathy, half-snorty ones, and taps her finger to her chin. “Forty days, four hours, 23 minutes. But who’s counting?”
Me. I’m counting every second. Because being with her is the stuff of my fantasies. My every wish fulfilled.
“We have one last re-do.” I get up and run to the Scout, turning the radio up, then grab a huge plaid blanket and wrap it around my shoulders, each arm out wide. “Join me in a dance?”
I lead her to the rock where I snuggle her into me, the blanket engulfing us in its warmth. I lean down to her ear and whisper, “Put your hands in my back pockets.”
She gasps, red swirls coloring her cheeks. “You remember that?”
How the hell could I forget it?
“Remember how I pulled you in like this?” I squeeze her tighter, my own excitement pressing into her stomach. “And then I tried to kiss you, but…”
“No time like the present to correct that, and—” she starts.
My lips are on hers before she can even finish the sentence. She completely underestimates the magnetism her body has over mine. Loving her is easy. So damn easy. “You sure we can’t consider you 18 already? You’re so close. We can always round up.”
She shoots me a lopsided grin. “The anticipation will make it even better.”
I crush my lips to hers, and from the ripples of excitement that course through me, I know she’s right. The anticipation that’s built since our first time on this rock explodes within me like a gazillion fireworks. Just a few short weeks from now, it will only be better.
Chapter 31
Rayne
I
float through the door, the spicy scent of his cologne still enveloping me, his soft caresses rippling over my skin. I toss my coat on the couch. The living room’s dark, but as I start up the stairs to bed, muffled voices come from the kitchen. I sneak across the den floor and stop short at the kitchen doorway, leaning out just enough to peer around the corner. Mama sits at the kitchen table, elbows propped on the top and her head buried in her hands. Daddy’s beside her, his chair scooted up to hers, arms around her shoulders. They’re both crying. Why?
“Mama? Daddy?” I creep around the corner. Daddy immediately stands up and Mama swivels in her chair, wiping away the evidence. “What’s wrong?” My heart sinks to my toes.
No one speaks. Mama turns to Daddy in silent communication.
“What? What is it? Tell me!” My breath stagge
rs short and fast as I look between them, nightmare scenarios flashing forward in my brain—somebody died, Daddy lost his job, they’re forbidding me from seeing Gage.
“Sit at the table with your mama and me.” Daddy pulls out a chair directly across from Mama before retaking his place beside her. I crane my neck to catch her eyes, but she evades mine, and that’s the scariest thing of all. This is bad.
“Let me, hun,” she says to Daddy, placing her hand atop his. He nods a go-ahead as the tears puddle in his eyes. They’re in Mama’s as well.
“Rayne…” she says, her voice clear and deliberate, “I’m sick.” She pauses a moment. Daddy squeezes her hand. “I’ve felt poorly for a while now, chalking it up to old age and stress. The usual. But you said something to me on New Year’s Eve that got me thinking.”
I scan the memories in my head, recalling the moment in question. It was in her room when I mentioned her weight loss. “I remember, Mama.”
“I figured if you noticed something was off, then I better make a doctor’s appointment. I expected he’d prescribe me iron supplements or maybe a new anti-depressant and all’d be well.”
“Did he help you?” I nod as if my positive body language will ensure the best possible news, but I know very well it can’t be all good or else we wouldn’t be having this conversation. And there wouldn’t be tears.
“No, baby.” Her voice cracks as the tears streak her cheeks.
“What is it?” I lean forward in my seat, trembling. Part of my brain is screaming for her not to tell me. To let me ostrich my head in the sand.
“Cancer.” She looks down at the table.
The world stands still. It stops cold in mid-rotation for a few seconds as the word soaks in. It’s like one of those carnival tricks where the magician rips the tablecloth from underneath a stack of dishes. Somehow, I’ve got to keep standing.
“Cancer?” I choke out and inhale deeply. “Okay, we’ve got this. We’ll beat it.”
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