Elliot smiled. It filled his heart up to watch Theo as he spoke, to hear the words he said. He realized how far he’d come, from where he was so many weeks ago to now. His life was something wholly different, better, and full.
A life can change in just one night. He believed that now.
“I love you,” Elliot said. But saying it caught him up short. He stared wide-eyed at Theo. The first time. An uttered phrase that, until now, he had never had cause to say other than to his parents and never in this way.
But there was panic. His face flushed, and his stomach rumbled. Was it too soon?
Theo’s lips parted. He smiled, a genuine smile that Elliot searched for any sign he was about to let him down easy, and he could find none. Instead, Theo leaned close until their noses were almost touching. “I love you too,” Theo said.
~ END ~
Fireworks
Devyn Morgan
Chapter One
“Shit.” I turn the key in the ignition. The engine whimpers for a few seconds, then nothing.
I try to start the car again. “No, no, no.”
Yes, yes, yes, the car responds—or rather, doesn’t. It’s not even whimpering anymore.
I reach for my cell. No bars. That’s not surprising this far away from town, but I’m not happy about it. Especially since I didn’t tell anyone where I was going.
I look down. Below, it’s a patchwork quilt of forest and clearcut 40-acre squares before giving way to impenetrable virgin forest. Up here, though, the hills are barren. Jagged tree stumps and dirt road will do nothing to protect me from the sun’s relentless heat. I wasn’t looking forward to the eight-mile hike back to the main road.
Alright, maybe “main road” was being too generous. It was gravel and led to a dead end. Still, there were trees providing shade and some people lived on it, or at least the tire mailboxes and “No Trespassing” signs suggested they did. Hopefully my cell would get service. I had a feeling they were the kind of people who’d shoot if they saw me wandering up their driveway before I got a chance to ask if I could use their phone.
I grab the plastic bag of junk food I’d picked up at the gas station four hours ago and turn off my cell. No use draining the battery. I then slip it into the back pocket of my jeans and open the car door.
Heat billows into the car. I inhale and I swear to God, all the water in my mouth and throat evaporates. It’s not humid like it was back east. This heat is pure, like that dry, sizzling steam that fills a sauna when you pour water over heated rocks.
I get out and hike up the heavily grooved dirt logger road. After ten steps my stomach growls and I realize I should eat my chocolate bar before it melts away.
I fish it out of the bag. It feels gummy and soft, like play dough. Hopefully it doesn’t taste like it, too. I tear open the foil and melted chocolate seeps out.
I eat fast. Yeah, it tastes good, but the entire ordeal is disgusting. I have to dig most of the chocolate out with my fingers and then lick them off. When I’m done coating my chin, hands, and sides of my mouth with the stuff, I wash it down with a gulp of water that tastes like warm plastic. The moisture evaporates in three breaths, but unfortunately the plastic taste remains.
I’m wondering if I should retrieve the candy wrapper and lick it to get the taste out of my mouth when I hear a car approaching accompanied by some god-awful country music.
There’s a sharp turn up ahead so I can’t see it yet. That also means they haven’t seen me yet. I need to make sure they do. I dash to the middle of the road and start waving the shopping bag like a white flag. I don’t give a fuck who it is or why they’re here, they’re either stopping or running me over.
Or at least that’s what I think until the baby blue truck rolls into view.
My heart stops, but the truck doesn’t. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if the truck ran me over.
[{THIS IS INSERTED BELOW}I can’t see the driver behind the dirt-smudged dash. Maybe that’s a good thing, because I don’t think I want to see the look on his face. I don’t think I could survive it.]
I shut my eyes. The plastic bag I’m waving slips through my fingers. I hear a screech of tires digging into loose rocks and dirt and wait for impact. Instead, the groaning engine and muffled country music come to a stop. I take some comfort that a big cloud of dust momentarily hides me from the driver. I don’t think I want to see the look on his face. I don’t think I can survive it. [EXTRACT or place somewhere else:I always made fun of him for listening to such sappy shit, but I secretly liked it. He looked tough, but he never judged or hurt anyone. In so many ways, he was the complete opposite of me.]
Dust clings to my sweat, making my skin feel tight. I lick my lips, tasting chocolate and even more dust. I’m a dirty, disgusting, desperate mess, which isn’t how you want to look when you see your first love again. Especially when you broke his heart, and your heart still breaks whenever you think about it.
The door opens and all six feet, two inches of him gets out. He’s wearing a tan cowboy hat, jeans and black boots. A thin cotton shirt stretches over his chest. If I look closely, I can see the muscle definition beneath.
Not that I’m looking that closely. That would be a pointlessly cruel thing to do to myself.
He tips down his hat. Though I know it’s an automatic gesture he does to everyone he greets, my heart skips a beat.
“Hi Ashton.”
I don’t say anything. My first thought is, His eyes are still blue. My second thought, Well of course they are dumbass, what other color would they be? I don’t realize I’m shifting on my feet until my toe hits the plastic bag, making a crinkling sound.
He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, giving me a good look at the thin scar that runs down the left side of his face. That, and the fact he often forgets to shave, keep him from being too pretty. Though now that he’s older, it probably adds to his allure. Well, until you figure out how he got the scar. A sister pushing you into the counter because you popped the heads off her Barbie dolls isn’t very sexy.
He turns away. “Somethin’ wrong with your car?”
“Y-yeah. There was...a red light flashing on the dash a while back. Maybe two, I don’t know. It won’t start.” The fingers on my left hand twitch. I wonder if I should pick the plastic bag up off the road.
“Well, let’s have a look.” He steps towards me, holding out his hand.
I stare at it.
“Your keys.”
“Oh, right.” I hand them over and he passes me without so much as a glance. I stuff my twitchy fingers into my pockets as he gets to work.
He tries to start it. After a few fruitless attempts, he gets out and pops the hood.
“When did you start seeing the red lights?” he asks.
“I don’t know. An hour ago?”
“And you didn’t stop?”
“Figured I’d do it later.”
He leans over and his shirt rises, giving me a beautiful look at his sculpted lower back. He’s gained muscle since I last saw him, and even then he’d been built. I remember the feeling of his abs tightening as I ran my fingers down his stomach. The dark look in his eyes. How his breath hitched.
I suddenly feel very light headed.
“That wasn’t smart.”
Obviously. Coming here wasn’t smart. Neither was staring. Everything concerning him was like an old scab I couldn’t stop picking because I didn’t want to be without it.
I gulp, throat tight. “You know me. I don’t know anything about cars.”
He glances over his shoulder, deep blue eyes narrowing on me. “Yeah, I know you.”
The way he says that makes me feel like I’ve just been sucker punched. I can’t breathe--can’t do anything but stare forward dumbly. It’s just the heat, I tell myself. It’s getting to your head, making it hard to think. But I knew that wasn’t it. He still hated me, and I still gave him no reason not to.
He returns his attention to the car. “Guess it doesn’t matter. Thi
s isn’t something you can fix. Even I can’t--at least not with I got on hand.”
“Oh.”
He slams the hood. I wince.
“Call Benny tomorrow. Maybe you can get him out here. Or Jason.” He turns and wipes his large, dirty hands on his jeans. “But right now, you need a ride.”
It isn’t a question. It also doesn’t sound like an offer. I wish I could see his eyes--wish I knew what he was thinking--but his head is down and his cowboy hat casts a dark shadow across his broad chest as he makes his way back to his truck.
I watch his retreating form and absently step forward. My toe gets caught in the handle of the plastic bag, so I stop and shake it off before picking it up. When I’m done, the door of Jake’s truck is already closed..
So he wasn’t offering me a ride. Well, why would he? Especially since he already took a look at my car. That was more than he had to do. I mean, hell, I half expected him to run me over earlier.
Just when I think he’s going to turn the key and take off, he rolls down the window, frowning. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
“What?”
He nods at the passenger seat. “Get in.”
I’m suddenly very aware of how clammy my hands are, of the bead of sweat running between my shoulder blades. “Are you sure?”
He looks down. “I’m not really asking, Ashton. Get in.”
My heart pounds in my ears. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“You want to spend the night out here?”
“No. I can get back to the main road and make a call. You don’t have to do this.”
“I know I don’t, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t turn this into a thing.”
My cheeks burn, and not just from the sun. He often accused me of “making things a thing” when we were together, though he used to smile as he did it. I think he liked how obsessive I got over details he’d always considered insignificant--like taking shoes off before entering the bedroom, or waiting for the tea to steep before adding milk. It doesn’t sound like he still finds it charming.
“Well?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m coming.” As soon as I say it, he starts up the truck.
I adjust my grip on the shopping bag and stop when I get to the passenger door. The dent’s still there, covered covered in white paint. He really should’ve fixed it after all this time. I don’t know why he hasn’t. And I don’t know why seeing it makes me feel so much after all this time when it really shouldn’t.
But memories have a life of their own, don’t they? And they contain not only all the things that happened, but all the things you felt.
I stole his truck the first time we kissed. I can’t think of a clearer sign that I wasn’t ready for the things I wanted. Jake knew it, too, but he was always so patient and understanding.
The sun was already rising. Everyone had either passed out or left the party. After spending two hours alone with Madame Bovary--Eric’s parents stocked their library with those classics few people actually ever read but everyone seems to keep on their shelf--I decided I didn’t want to wait any longer to go home.
I knew he was in the pool house, but I didn’t expect him to be alone. Ashley had pulled him outside, giggling, while Steph took his cowboy hat and sauntered after them. It was at that moment that I’d decided to give Madame Bovary a second try. They’d assigned it Sophomore year, but I’d only glanced at the ending. I skimmed the last chapter to refresh my memory, then started at the beginning. It wasn’t that bad, though I’d found it difficult to pay attention. The library had a pretty good view of the pool house, and for some sick reason I kept glancing at its impenetrably dark windows.
Around 3am, I grabbed Jake’s keys from his coat and made my way past the rows of orange poppies and rippling aqua water to the pool house. When I reached the evergreen door, I cleared my throat and knocked twice.
There was no answer.
I opened the door. “Jake?”
Still nothing.
I inched forward, careful to keep my eyes on the ground. The floor was sticky. It smelled like they’d spilled beer all over the place and tried to mop it up with towels. I suddenly wondered why the hell I was doing this. I didn’t want to see them all together, especially if they were naked.
Alright, this was creepy. I decided to wander forward with my eyes closed, but I still felt like a perv. I should’ve stayed in the library until I he woke up. I should’ve gone home with someone else. I was thinking of every ride I’d stupidly turned down with the even stupider excuse I was “just so into Madame Bovary” when I stumbled over something.
I yelped, catching my balance, as the “something” I stumbled over groaned.
I glanced down.
Shit! What the hell was Jake doing on the floor?
I knelt and put my hand on his shoulder. “Jake?”
He groaned, swatting my hand away and rolling onto his back at the same time.
“I can’t believe you just slept through that,” I whispered.
No response.
“At least the girls aren’t here. At least you’re not naked.” My stomach muscles clenched as I tried, very hard, to keep my eyes on his face. What he was wearing wasn’t particularly sexy--just a pair of jeans and an old Neil Young T-shirt--but I didn’t want my mind to start going to the place it was already going.
My hand found its way back to his shoulder, and then to his cheek. I brushed away his long, dark hair. His mother kept nagging him to cut it. I should start bringing it up, too. Maybe if it wasn’t so long I wouldn’t be so tempted to touch it.
“I wish you’d wake up, Jake.”
He didn’t. I leaned in, telling myself that I was just going to whisper something in his ear even though I knew I wasn’t.
I’d wanted him for so long. It was stupid. I knew this. He’d be disgusted if he knew. I had no right to be jealous. No right to anything concerning him. Especially when my lips were so close to his skin and I knew, if he were awake, he would push me away.
My grip on his shoulder tightened as I struggled to hold myself up. I was too close. It would be so easy to lose my balance--to pretend it was a mistake.
He swallowed. Holding my breath, I watched his Adam’s apple bob.
Is it really so wrong to want you like this? I wondered.
The answer came quickly. Yes. It was wrong to take something like this from him. I shut my eyes and started to push myself up when I felt a grip on my wrist and an all-too familiar voice ask, “What are you doing?”
Oh my God.
I couldn’t look at him. He’d know the second I did. I wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore. I tried to push myself up but he stopped me.
“Ash?”
I gulped. “I’m sorry.”
He frowned and propped himself up on his elbows. For a second, our lips almost touch. I was close enough to smell the beer on his breath and I couldn’t help myself. I sucked in a trembling breath and felt my eyelids flutter.
He slid back. Away from me. His thin, cotton shirt slipped through my fingers, but he still didn’t stop retreating until he hit the wall.
I clenched my empty hands into fists. He knows.
“Ash.”
I stood. Took two steps back. “It’s nothing.”
There’s a moment of silence in which I didn’t not move. Then, he said, “It’s not nothing, is it?”
What could I say to that?
I crept up on you while you were sleeping. I wanted to kiss you without your consent or knowledge. I didn’t do it but I wanted to, because I knew you’d never let me.
I put my shaking hand over my mouth and searched my mind for the easy lie that would turn everything back to how it was. I couldn’t find it. There was no easy lie for this. I’d almost violated my best friend and for what? Because I desired him? There’s no excuse for that--there’s never an excuse for that
So I ran.
I went around the house, not through it. Jake had parked his truck way down the d
riveway beneath a few oak trees and the ivy-covered stone wall. The rain last night made everything slippery, so each step left a deep groove in the lawn. By the time I reached the truck, my lungs were on fire and mud caked my ankles.
I swung open the door and jumped in, stabbing the keys into the ignition.
Then, I heard my name.
Shit. He was too close. I have to get out of there, I thought, gunning it.
It’s not smart to “gun it” in a such a small space, especially when freshly rained-upon leaves coat the ground. I turned too sharply in an attempt to avoid the wall in front of me and lost control.
I slammed the breaks, but the truck was moving on its own. The truck bed whipped around as I twisted the wheel with everything I had. Everything I had was, unfortunately, not much, but it was just enough to keep it from ramming the tree. Instead, a sharp knot on the trunk scraped the passenger door.
I stared at the dash, breathing faster and harder than I ever had in my life.
“Ash!” The door flies open. “Are you okay?”
My hands started to shake. My eyes widened.
“We got to get you to the hospital.”
That snapped me out of it. “No, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” he said, climbing up next to me, leaning over me.
“D-don’t do that,” I whispered, pushing myself off his chest so hard I would’ve fallen off the front seat if I wasn’t strapped in.
“Something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
He sighed. “Ash, tell me. Did someone say something to you last night?”
“No one said anything. After...those girls pulled you to the pool house...I read Madame Bovary.”
His nose scrunched up. “What?”
“It’s this book about a girl who’s bored with her life so she cheats on her husband with a bunch of guys--”
You May Have Met Him Page 17
