by RH Tucker
I let my eyes roam over his face, dark blond stubble covering his chin. He has one arm wrapped around me and part of me wants to move away slowly. But another part wants to stay right where I am, where I feel warm. Where I feel safe.
I draw up my hand, sliding it over his chest. He’s not bulky, like his football playing brother, but he’s definitely toned. My hand slides over his chest then lower, traveling over his stomach, feeling his abs. I quickly pull my hand back before I do something I probably shouldn’t. One, it’s probably morally wrong to try and feel up a guy in his sleep, though I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. And two, it’s Lucas. The guy that broke my heart. As I pull my hand back I see the tattoo on my wrist.
I’ll never open it again.
My words play over in my mind, remembering them from last night.
It’s true. As far as I’m concerned, my heart’s locked away and there is no key to open it. Because everyone who should have ever cherished it, treated me like garbage. And that includes Lucas.
He was just a boy.
A lump forms in my throat as my thoughts betray me again. I don’t care about the circumstances, he did what he did, and it hurt. No, more than hurt. It seared. It destroyed me. After my mom left, that should’ve been it. I should’ve known I can’t count on anyone. But I did, I counted on Lucas. I trusted him and look what that got me. Nothing but heartbreak I’ve been carrying with me for years.
Slowly, I unwrap his arm from me and crawl out of bed. I grab my bra off the ground and then my shirt. I’m about to change back in to it, when I smell it and it reeks. Peering down at Lucas’s shirt on me, I decide I’ll leave it on his front porch later, after I change out of it.
Tiptoeing toward his door, I reach for the handle when I hear him cough. Not a sleepy cough, but a noise that tells me he’s awake.
“So,” his voice scratches out, “that’s what the walk of shame looks like.”
I turn around to find him smiling, his eyes still sleepy.
“Technically, it’s not a walk a shame.”
“No?”
“Not unless we did something that I don’t remember.”
He smirks, sitting up in the bed, and I can’t keep my eyes from roaming over his bare chest again. “Well, you are wearing my shirt. And is that your bra in your hand?”
“Very funny.” I want to keep an attitude. The same attitude I’ve given him for the last four years. But I can’t. Instead, I fight back a smirk. “If I remember correctly, last night involved some vomit, so I highly doubt there was any action after that.”
“This is true. But I could’ve made an exception.”
“Oh,” I laugh. “Is puke a fetish you have? Because if so, that’s disgusting.”
“No.” He bites back a laugh. “Just pretty girls. Especially ones that get stuck in their own shirt, looking all cute.”
His remark catches me off guard and I have to look away. He’s never flirted with me. I mean, I guess in the last few years there wasn’t much opportunity for him to, but still. I want to turn it on, the anger. The annoyance. I want to remember how I felt that day and remember why I never want to trust anyone with my heart ever again.
“Lucas—”
“I do have a question.”
Fine, I’ll indulge him. “Okay, you get one question, then I’m leaving. My aunt’s going to kill me for not calling her and telling her where I’m at.”
“Rich called her.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” he says, grabbing his phone off his nightstand and opening his text messages. “He sent this to me last night, before I fell asleep.” He reads it, “‘Called Nancy to let her know about Jen. Said she’s fine, and she’s sleeping over at the house. Didn’t sound too thrilled but thanked me for watching out for her.’”
Now I really am blushing because of embarrassment. “Tell Rich thanks for me.”
“Sure. Now, about my question.” I take a deep breath, unsure what he’s going to ask. “Did you really mean what you said about your tattoo?”
I know exactly what I said, and I meant it, so I nod.
“But why?”
“You only get one question.” I give him a smile.
“Come on, Jen.”
“Just let it go, Lucas.” I should leave. I should ignore him and walk out the door. But I don’t.
“No. Why are you locking your heart up?”
“Because …” I stop and don’t finish, mostly because I don’t want to say it out loud.
“Jen.”
“Just drop it.”
“No, I want to know.”
“Why?”
“Because I do. Is it about a guy?”
“Lucas—”
“Is it about your parents?”
“I said to drop it, okay?” I’m getting louder, and annoyed.
“You can’t live life like that.”
“Yes, I can. And I will.”
“But why?”
“Because! It’s been broken too many times, okay?” He stares at me and I feel my eyes burn, tears threatening to fall.
“By who?” he whispers.
“Who?” I shake my head, letting out an exasperated laugh. “Who? Gee, let me think … everyone!”
“Wha—”
“My dad. My mom. You.”
“Me?”
I take a deep breath before glancing back over at him. He’s staring at me with those jade eyes that I used to get lost in, looking confused and hurt. My head is still throbbing, and I really don’t want to get into whatever argument will inevitably come from this.
“Just forget it, Luc.”
“Jen, please tell me—”
“Tell you what?” I scream at him, and he flinches. “Why I’ll never know why my mom left? Why my dad has never even bothered to try and find me? Why you broke my—” I cut myself off, looking down at the ground. “There are some things I’ll never have the answers to and I’m done with it. I’m so done.”
This argument isn’t going to do either one of us any good. And honestly, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll always choose to keep my heart locked up, because even if I could choose to trust someone again, even if I could trust him again, it doesn’t take away the chance of me getting hurt. And I won’t be hurt anymore.
“I have to go.” I open his door to leave, but as I take a step through the threshold, I remember a thought last night before falling asleep.
I acted stupid and said stupid things and I could blame it on being drunk, but I wasn’t. I mean, sure, I was tipsy, but I let that be an excuse. I do remember having his arm around me and feeling safe. I remember thinking I wish it could be real but knew, even as I was falling asleep, that it won’t ever be.
“Lucas?” I whisper to him without turning around.
He’s quiet for so long, I don’t know if he heard me. Then he speaks. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for taking care of me last night.”
Chapter 9
Lucas
Anytime.
Yeah, that would’ve been a good response.
You’re welcome.
Another one, easy but to the point.
I’ll always take care of you.
That’s what I wanted to say. But no, I didn’t say a damn thing after she thanked me. I just stared at her, willing her to turn around, but she didn’t. She waited one more second and then left my room.
I want to think about that first feeling I had this morning. Waking up to her running her hand over my chest. My eyes flicked open, unsure what was happening at first, but I could see her laying still and it felt amazing. Not just her touching me, her skin on mine, but that comfortableness that we hadn’t had in forever. It felt natural. Like she was right where she was supposed to be. I want to hold on to that feeling, but I can’t.
I’m still in shock. I broke her heart? I figured she was pissed off and holding a grudge for all these years, but did what happen to us really affect her that much? How could it? But she lumped me in with her parents, wh
o I know she resents for leaving her. Does she resent me, too?
After laying in my bed for another thirty minutes, unable to go back to sleep, I analyze everything she said and try to remember everything about last night. She definitely had too much to drink, but I’m almost glad that she did. She was herself last night. More open, friendly, even a little flirty. That’s the Jen I wished I’d gotten to know throughout school. That’s the Jen I always knew growing up and the one I fell in love with.
My phone dings with a text message.
Jackson: Hye wat hapend to u lsat nite?
Me: Sorry, I had to take a friend home.
No need to go in to details. I think Jackson knows Jen from school, but only in passing.
Jackson: K. Geus wat?
Me: What?
I get out of bed, throwing off my pants that I slept in, and grab a clean pair of boxers. I’m about to head to the shower when my phone rings.
Seeing it’s Jackson, I let out a chuckle at the photo that pops up as his contact picture. Jackson took my phone and took a selfie of himself at graduation, flipping his middle finger and sticking out his tongue.
“What’s up?”
“What are you doing later?” he asks, excitement in his voice.
“Um, I don’t think anything.”
“Luc!” Rich screams at me as he swings my door open.
“Yeah?” I look at him, confused, motioning to my phone.
He scowls at me. “You’re cleaning that shit up.”
“What shit?”
“The puke your girlfriend left in my truck, that shit!”
“Oh, yeah,” I mumble, looking down at the ground, embarrassed. I don’t bother to correct Rich about Jen, because ever since I was little he’s always teased me about her. Now he just does it out of spite.
He storms out of my room and I hear Jackson laughing on the other end of the phone.
“Okay.” He stifles his laugh. “What are you doing after you clean up your girlfriend’s puke? And who’s your girlfriend, anyways? I didn’t even know you had one.”
I let out an annoyed grunt. “I don’t. Rich just calls her that ’cause I’ve known her since I was five.”
“Wait, she’s not your girlfriend and you’re still gonna clean up her puke?”
I groan, squeezing my eyes shut. “Jackson, there is way too much talk about puke going on right now. Why are you asking about later today?”
“Oh, yeah,” he replies, excited again. “My parents surprised me this morning. Two tickets to the West Coast Country Jam.”
“Oh.”
That’s a really cool gift. The WCC is a huge country music festival like Stagecoach or Country Fest. “That’s awesome, man.”
“I know, right?”
“So …” I say after he lingers on the phone, not saying anything. “Did you just call to rub it in my face or something?”
“No, dummy! I want you to go.”
“What?”
“Yeah.” He still sounds excited, but there’s a hint of doubt in his voice. “I mean, if you want to. It’s headlined this year by Florida Georgia Line, Thomas Rhett, and Cole Swindle.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep. I mean, there are some other artist, too, but―”
“No, I mean, you seriously want me to go?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a pause as he waits for me to answer.
“Sure, that’d be awesome, dude.”
“Sweet!” His excitement returns. “I’ll pick you up in a couple hours. Text me your address.”
“All right, cool.”
“Oh, and, Lucas?”
“What?”
“Take a shower. I seriously don’t want to be smelling puke all day.”
He laughs as I roll my eyes. “Ha ha, you’re hilarious.”
The music festival is in Costa Mesa, just a city over from Irvine, where we live, but with traffic and parking it takes over two hours to get in. Jackson’s tickets don’t cover any parking passes, so I offer to pay for parking and we make our way into the concert.
It’s a little warm for June, but not too bad, so I decide to go with some cargo shorts, a T-shirt, and one of my five UC Irvine baseball caps my mom got me. Yeah, she went a little overboard when I got my letter of acceptance to the school and decided to buy me a brand-new wardrobe of UCI clothes. I’ve got five hats, three shirts, two hoodies, and a couple pair of pajama pants. And don’t even get me started on what she bought for herself. I think she’ll be wearing some form of clothing that says ‘UC Irvine Mom’ or something to that effect, even years after I graduate.
Jackson has on some board shorts, completely forgoing a T-shirt, and is wearing a cowboy hat. I like country music, but I’ve never been into the cowboy attire. The more I hang out with Jackson, the more I’ve discovered the guy likes having fun.
He’s laid back, carefree, and I’m comfortable enough with myself to say he’s not a bad looking guy. It’s noticeable by all the second glances he gets. And he’s actually pretty forward with girls, having no problem walking right up to a girl and making conversation and getting numbers. I’m actually impressed because the last month of school he seemed a little bit shy.
As far as I know, he doesn’t have a girlfriend. I haven’t said anything because it’s none of my business, but I do find it weird. He’s with girls all the time, seems to like them a lot and they appear to like him, but it’s usually just some kind of hook-up. Which is fine, but there’s something else about Jackson. He doesn’t come off like the hit it and quit it type of guy. He actually reminds me of Matt, who’s about as straight-forward and honest as they come.
But I can say with total certainty he’s pulling off the cowboy hat look, because I’ve noticed more than a few girls checking him out. I don’t miss the looks I get either, but every time I meet eyes with some, I do what I’ve always done. What I did all throughout high school. No matter how attractive the girl is, I always end up comparing them to Jen. It’s really annoying and I wish I could stop, but invariably, that’s where my mind goes.
“This is awesome!” Jackson yells over the loud speakers we’re next to.
We’ve been at the festival for a few hours, seen a few musicians we both like, and discovered a couple new ones. One of his favorites just finished the last song of his set and we both scream out with everyone else around us.
“Want to get something to drink?” I ask, and he nods.
We make our way over toward an area for food and drinks, and both grab a bottled water.
“Damn, this is so sick!” he yells at me, even though it’s not loud anymore.
“Yeah, man.” I grin, taking a drink. “Thanks again for the ticket.”
“No problem.” He takes a drink and then flashes a wink at a couple girls that pass us. “What’s up, ladies?”
He grins, and they giggle back, though they keep on walking.
“Okay, bro, I gotta ask …”
“What?”
“Dude, your confidence level is off the chart.”
“Don’t worry, Lucas, you’ll get there. I’ll teach you if you want.”
His line makes me throw my head back, releasing a laugh. “Nah, man, I’m good. I mean, I’m not some player like you, but I got some skills.”
“Sure, sure,” he says, looking at me with skepticism.
“No, my question is, why don’t you have a girlfriend?”
“Aw, Luc, are you asking me out?” He laughs, taking another drink.
“No offense, but I’m kind of sticking to Team Hetero.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.” He grins, wiggling his eyebrows.
I haven’t asked about relationships with him before and it’s two jokes in a row, so it makes me second guess myself. “Sorry, bro. I didn’t mean anything. I mean, it’s cool if you’re gay, or bi, or …” I feel like I’m gonna stutter, because now I feel embarrassed that I assumed he was straight when he could be gay.
He lets out a l
augh. “Dude, I’m straight.”
“Oh, okay,” I reply, because I don’t know what else to say and now I feel stupid for even bringing it up.
“Why are you asking anyways?”
“Uh, nothing, just forget it.”
He eyes me sideways, but I turn my head away, taking another drink of my water. It’s none of my business whether he just likes random hook-ups or not, so I decide to drop it.
“Hey, didn’t we go to school with those girls?” he says, motioning behind me.
Behind us, on the other end of the food and drink area, two girls look over at us then whisper something to themselves.
“Yeah, we did,” he answers himself. “I think the one on the left was in cheer.”
“Yeah,” I agree, because the one on the right looks familiar. “The one on the right, I think her name’s … Sally? No. Sasha. It’s Sasha.”
“Come on.” He tugs at my arm.
“What?”
“You know her name, so you’re with Sasha. I got her friend.”
“Dude, who are you?”
“What?” His brow furrows in confusion.
“In school you always seemed so reserved. Now, you’re like Casanova or something.”
“In school,” he hesitates, casting his gaze down at the ground. “It was hard to hide who I was.”
“Who you were?” My eyebrow raises. “What’s that mean?”
“Forget it.”
“Hey, you know we went to school with these girls, right?”
“Yeah, but they don’t really know me. So, it’s all good.”
“So, you do just like hooking up?”
He grimaces, looking back down at the ground. “Yeah, sure.”
I feel like there’s more to the story, but I don’t push it because we’ve walked over to the girls. Sasha makes eye contact with me and smiles.
“What’s up? Sasha, right?” I say to her and she nods.
“Hey, Lucas.”
“The one and only.” I flash a grin, before motioning to Jackson. “This is Jackson.”
