I turned the card over and read a scribbled note above two underlines: Paid internship. Guaranteed job lead.
“Do you know why she didn’t get it?”
Jaycee shrugged. “Something about needing a recommendation. She was bummed but said she thought it’d be a good fit for you if you wanted it.”
She was willing to help me? Her competition?
“Thanks.” I tucked the card in my back pocket and lugged the ironing board out of the hallway closet. Shame followed me back down the hall to my bedroom and joined the shriek of the ironing board as it expanded into an upright position.
Swallowing my frustration with generous bites of mashed potatoes, I cleared the entire tray in the amount of time it took for the iron to reach the appropriate temperature. I pressed Riley’s leaf between two sheets of wax paper for preservation the way Austin and I used to do as kids.
With a tiny piece of the forest in my hand, everything about being in the clearing with Riley rushed in and grounded me in my desk chair before I could stop it. The way he looked at me. Like no matter what I told him, he’d do anything to make me feel safe, valued.
Then when he’d opened up to me, emotion had plagued his eyes like he was terrified of what I’d think of him. He was probably looking for a friend in return. Someone to believe in him, someone he could trust.
I buried my face in my hands. He needs a friend, Em. Not someone who misreads his kindness as an invitation to kiss him.
My arms dropped onto my desktop. Lamplight flickered over the picture in the corner of Dad and me. I nestled the frame in my lap, wishing I could curl up in his lap instead. His embrace had always left me with the assurance of what to do next—an assurance I’d been seeking ever since I’d lost him.
I hadn’t forgotten my promise to make him proud. Nor had my feelings for Riley replaced the importance of that promise, but being with him made the hole inside me feel smaller. Less jagged. Like it was safe to dream again. Maybe I’d gotten it all wrong.
“Prove your merit.” It always came down to that, didn’t it? I set the frame in front of the leaf. In the war between dreams and responsibilities, some treasures were meant to stay hidden.
I rolled onto my bed and turned the business card Miriam had given me round and round in my hands. Had I chosen the right internship? The weight of that question crushed me into the mattress, the answer coiling with the springs. It didn’t matter. Same as today, I couldn’t rewind time. I’d made my choice. I shoved the card in a book, lugged my economics text from the floor, and draped it over my face. Maybe this was one time osmosis would actually work.
The bedroom door opened and closed, followed by the sound of Jaycee’s mattress squeaking. I knew what was coming.
“There’s nothing to say,” I mumbled from underneath my blockade. “You were wrong. Riley doesn’t feel the same way.”
“How do you know?”
“Something about him bucking away from a kiss he didn’t want gave me a clue.”
Saying it out loud made it ten times worse. What a fool I must’ve looked like.
“Are you sure he knew that’s what you wanted? Maybe you guys should talk about it.”
The edges of my book sawed into my palms. “Pretty sure I did enough talking today.” I’d let my heart ooze out like a complete imbecile. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Riley wants friendship, and that’s what I’m going to give him. Romantic feelings only get in the way.”
“Yeah, I don’t think you can just turn those off.”
I had no choice. “He’s been a good friend to me. He deserves that much in return.”
“Friends fall in love, you know.”
“This isn’t a fairy tale, Jae.”
“No, you’re right. This is your life. The one you’re gonna let slip by.”
My book torpedoed onto the floor and landed with a thud. “What do you want me to do?”
“Stop letting fear hold you back.” She strode to the door and stopped with her hand on the light switch. “That dream of ever after you’re too stubborn to admit you want? It’s not just for heroines in fairy tales. You know who it’s for? Those who believe in themselves enough to accept love when they find it.”
Wrong again. I can’t accept something that’s not being offered.
The streetlight outside our window cast a glow over the laminated leaf peeking from behind the picture frame. Two pieces of my heart. One I’d spent years running to. The other, years running from. Two races I’d never win. When was it time to give up? I curled in bed, tucked my pillow under my arms, and waited for sleep to overshadow an answer I didn’t want to face.
chapter sixteen
On Loan
Work was starting to take its toll. I plodded up the stairs and into my apartment. Dusk’s shadows crept through the windows and yawned across the living room carpet.
“Another late day?” Jaycee asked from the kitchen.
I jostled my near-bulging book bag. “Gotta get this research done.”
“I could’ve sent Trev to pick you up.” She planted a hand on his shoulder.
“Jack offered.” I snagged an apple from the fruit bowl. “He’s been staying late too, helping me with this grant project. We’re so close to having it ready.” So, no need to mention his latest advance. Or his outburst when I dodged it. We were both tired, stressed. If I could push through a little longer, it’d all be worth it. I couldn’t afford to lose everything now.
A yellow sticky note pinned on the bulletin board above the phone waved underneath the vent. Mr. Oakly called for an update.
“No calls from Riley?”
Jaycee shook her head. Trevor slinked up behind me and stole my apple in one of his famous basketball moves. He crunched into it, splattering me with juicy overspray.
I wiped my face with my sleeve. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” He dipped his head toward the board. “You and Riley avoiding each other or something?”
“No.” Maybe. He probably thought it’d be better that way. Less chance of hurting my feelings. And it was certainly easier to handle being only his friend from a distance. But not seeing him for days caused something inside me to ache like a bruise. An acute longing throbbed around a dull pain as soon as someone put pressure on it. The kind that wouldn’t subside with any amount of time or distance.
Jaycee ladled a heap full of soup into Trevor’s bowl on the table. “Want some minestrone? There’s enough for one more helping.”
“No, thanks. Think I’m gonna go for a walk.” Maybe the night air would clear my head. I kept my bag on my shoulder and grabbed my guitar case on my way out the door.
Cicadas zipped around me along the trail leading to my favorite alcove between the roots of a hemlock tree overlooking the creek. A refuge. Powerful enough to eclipse everything else. I settled in and listened to the crickets singing with the creek’s soft current. If only the rest of life could feel this serene.
An exhale pressed the bark’s grooves deeper into my back and doubts about the afterschool program deeper into my thoughts.
I cradled my guitar in my lap, but the strings felt brittle, the wood heavy. I set it aside. Clutching my legs, I closed my eyes and listened to the memory of Dad’s music harmonize with the crickets instead.
A coarse, wet tongue slurped up the side of my face. I opened my eyes to Jake’s snout wiggling its way to my ear. “Hey, boy.” I laughed and pulled him down by the collar.
Riley came into view a short distance away, pensive eyes taking in the scene.
He made it impossible to view his unexpected visit as an intrusion. Same way he made it impossible to deny I was in love with him.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called,” he said. “I—”
“Don’t need to make excuses.” I twisted a thread on the bottom of my jeans. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. You’ve probably been as busy as I have. This project is killer. On my mind and my back.”
I motioned him forward and heaved my bag into his ar
ms. It almost fumbled to the ground with a weight he obviously wasn’t expecting. “See? I won’t have to go to the gym for a week.”
“No kidding. What’s in this thing?”
“Library books, case studies, notes, reports for work, my economics text.” I rubbed the crook of my neck.
A strain furrowed across his forehead. “Sounds like a lot to carry on your shoulders.”
“Tell me about it.”
Riley nodded to the guitar propped against the tree trunk. “May I?” He set some things down and plucked a series of chords as stirring as any of Dad’s music. “That’s a good guitar you’ve got there.”
“Think it might have something to do with the player.”
Casting a frown of doubt my way, he traded the guitar for a cardboard cup he’d put down a minute ago and handed it to me. “Maybe this’ll help ease the tension.”
He squatted and rubbed Jake behind the ears while the dog licked the sweat from his temple. “We stopped at Paradox after our run. I was just on my way to your apartment. Trevor told me you’ve been coming home around eight each night. I thought you might need a pick-me-up.”
An alluring scent of cinnamon and cloves danced from the cup of chai. My lashes fluttered.
He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a thank you.”
“Mmm. You have no idea.” A timely yawn added its corroborating evidence. “I didn’t realize how much would need to go into this project. To be honest, I’m exhausted. Actually, more like flat out drained, if I’m being honest.”
He pushed on his thighs to stand up. The skin around his eyes creased. “Maybe you should take a step back from things. Not drive yourself so hard.”
“I thought you were the one who wanted me to break through borders.” I nudged my backpack. “I don’t have any spray paint cans in here, but I know where we can find a stash if you need a reminder.”
Riley didn’t return my laugh. “I didn’t mean to push you—”
“You didn’t push. You inspired. But sometimes coloring outside the lines takes hard work. Especially with a performance review riding on the outcome.” I sighed and stroked the guitar strings beside me. “Truth is, I’m scared it won’t be enough.”
“You’re already enough, Emma.” Light from the lamppost amplified the full spectrum of blues in his compassionate eyes. He looped Jake’s leash around his wrist. “I know it’s getting late, but would you be up for coming to my place for a little while? I have something I think might help.”
“As long as it doesn’t include any more adventures,” I teased.
He adjusted his beanie over his head. “No fire-breathing dragons this time. Promise.”
“That’s comforting.” Except he didn’t know the fire he fanned without even trying.
“I won’t keep you long.” The earnestness in his expression ravaged any chance of deflecting my attraction to him. Why did I even try?
I laced my arms over my ribs, tucked my hands in my armpits, and repeated the same thing he’d said to me the night of the campfire. “On one condition.”
He gave me a Sherlock Holmes stare. “Which is?”
“You have to play at least one song for me.”
He mimicked my stance and pretended to deliberate before answering. “Deal,” he finally said. “But only if you play one for me. You got out of it last time, you know.” He helped me to my feet.
I braced the tree until my Jell-O legs solidified again. My nerves followed me like a shadow to his car. I coiled and uncoiled my book bag straps around my fingers as we walked, keeping my gaze glued on my guitar in Riley’s hand.
Once inside his apartment, the angst eased. Even if it didn’t make sense, I felt at home here. Riley tossed his keys on the table in the entryway. Jake bounded for the dog bed in the corner of the living room and collapsed in a tight ball with his head hanging off the side. Apparently, I wasn’t the only exhausted one.
I dropped onto the couch and considered curling up in the same exact position while Riley made his way to his bedroom. On his knees, he looked like he was digging through some kind of chest from the glimpse I caught through the doorway. He sat back on his heels, dusted something off, and rose to his feet. He joined me on the couch and set a small wooden box with hand-carved designs beveled on the sides onto my lap.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
A soft cadence of high-pitched notes swirled around me in an unexpected song.
“When I first left for school,” he said, “Jasmine insisted I take her music box with me. Said it was a reminder for me not to lose my song while I was away.” He smiled. “She’ll be thrilled to know it helped more than just me. I want you to have it.”
Above the music player, the word Dream was stenciled onto the back of the lid in what must’ve been his youngest sister’s handwriting. My throat tightened. “I can’t take this, Riley. She gave it to you.”
He set his hands over mine, moved the box back to my lap. “Consider it on loan, then. Sometimes we need to borrow each other’s songs until we learn to hear our own.”
Tears filled in for words I’d never find. I nestled close to him. He bristled at first but then settled his cheek over my head, his stubble rubbing against my hair. His fingertips caressed my arm as he sang the same song he had the first time he brought me here.
“Can we stay right here, in this sweet refrain, where memories last and tears don’t stain?”
Tender notes drew me even deeper. I held on to him, on to this moment, not caring about boundaries or promises. Not tonight. Tonight, my heart was on loan.
If there was anybody I could play for, anyone I could offer everything to, it’d be Riley. I lifted off him slightly. “Guess it’s my turn.” The words sounded slurred.
He pulled me close and brushed my hair back. “Shh. You’re exhausted, Em. Just rest.” He hummed softly. And as the minutes drifted, so did my heart.
I nuzzled my head beneath his chin, breathed the scent of his skin, and dreamed we could stay right there, where everything made sense. Where it felt safe to trust life would work out.
“Do you think there are things worth hoping for?” I whispered.
Riley stopped humming. His fingers stilled over my arm. A minute later, his body relaxed again. “Yeah,” he whispered back. “There are. Sometimes, hope is all we have.”
Like dreams. When they’re all you have, it’s hard to let them go. I curled closer, sleep nearing. At least for tonight, I’d hold on to this one dream a little longer.
chapter seventeen
Crumbled
All week, I’d relived the feeling of falling asleep in Riley’s arms. Every time my muscles ached from sitting in hard library chairs, or when my eyes stung from staring at tiny font, I’d retreat to that night on Riley’s couch and the reminder that some things were worth hoping for. Just as some things were worth working for. Even if it meant spending every spare minute double-checking my research on this grant project.
“You know, I hear you have higher odds of retention when you read while you’re awake.”
A sideways view of A. J. blinked into focus. I peeled my face away from the open book on the library desk and rubbed out a crease embedded in my forehead.
A. J. raised the front cover. “Webster’s New World Grant Writing Handbook.” He let it fall to the desk. “That’d put me to sleep too. You been here all night?”
All night? Faint traces of daylight traipsed across the row of bookshelves two down from us. No, no, no. It cannot be morning already. “What time is it?”
He lounged an arm across the shelf above the individual-sized desk. “Quarter to eight.”
“What?” I rocketed up from the wooden chair, my body screaming with stiffness. The hardbound book teetered off the desk and dropped to the floor with an echo that rippled across the quiet library. “I have to be at work in an hour.”
“Need a ride?”
“Riley’s taking me today.”
He raised the back of h
is hat, scratched his head, and tugged it down. “Of course he is. And where is lover boy?”
“He’s probably at my apartment, wondering where I am.” I checked my cell phone. Two missed calls. Great.
My tangled book bag strap fought me, finally surrendering with a solid yank off the chair.
“Relax, Speed Racer, you have time.”
“No, you don’t understand. I have to give a presentation today. I need to get in early.” Can this stupid backpack be any more uncooperative? I left the zipper half open, whipped the bag over my shoulder, and wrenched my hair out from underneath it.
A. J. picked up the book from the carpet and tapped it against his leg. “So, this is why I haven’t seen you much lately? Burying yourself in research for a presentation. There’s more to life than an internship, you know.”
Not at the moment.
“You still playing your guitar?”
What? I scanned for a librarian. “Yes. Well, not recently. I’ve been so caught up in this project. I have a real shot at making a difference. I don’t want to blow it.”
A hushed snicker leached out of A. J.’s lips.
“What’s so funny?”
He leaned a little closer. “Think you might be missing the big picture, Em. You don’t have to try so hard. Just being you is enough.”
My conversation with Mr. Oakly at the beginning of the term flooded to mind with reminders of how every other scholarship recipient exemplified the prestige I was lacking. The prestige I needed to prove I had. Just being me is enough? Wrong. I pushed the chair and A. J. out of my path. “Look, you don’t get it, okay.”
A. J. dropped his gaze to the floor.
The tension straining across my muscles tightened even more. “A. J., I . . . I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I’m tired, in a hurry.”
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