The Choices We Make

by Barbara C. Doyle

  “He left because he thinks I love you,” she chokes out, meeting my eyes. I don’t know how well she can see me through her blurred vision, but when our eyes lock my heart jumpstarts in my chest.

  “And what do you think?” I whisper, leaning into her, my forehead resting on her.

  “I think I’ve always loved you, Bash.”

  I told myself that we’d get our second chance, despite her disbelief. We would get our someday, I knew it deep inside of my bones.

  It’s someday, Opal.

  “Opal …” He says my name like a painful prayer, a forbidden curse, something that tears him apart slowly and deliberately.

  Then his lips brush fervently against mine, and I let him taste me. I allow myself to feel the past consuming us—the way his lips control the kiss, nipping, sucking, biting the way they’ve done before. But now it’s different. He’s desperate, needing a connection that was lost years ago.

  I’m frozen in the present, yet my mind whirls to the lost years. His need is new, but the way he feels against me hasn’t changed.

  I like it, which makes me hate myself.

  When his tongue probes my mouth, I gasp, giving him entrance to twirl his tongue with mine. He licks the roof of my mouth, nips my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth.

  Then his hands are everywhere. On my face, cupping my jaw, grabbing my shoulders, brushing my arms, holding my hands. They leave trails of fire wherever they go, setting me ablaze. I’m burning so slowly with water just out of reach.

  I can’t douse the flames.

  He says my name again as he pulls back, and the pain in his eyes has twisted into pure lust, nothing I could deny. Suddenly, his hot palms are under my tee, the skin to skin contact making me shiver. Before I know it, my hands are on his shoulders, the blanket he’d put on me now fallen to the closet floor, with my fingertips digging into his skin. I’m not sure if it’s to push him away or pull him closer.

  The heat between my legs tells me to tug his shirt off and feel all of the ways Bash has grown. To explore the new muscles, dips, and ridges. Our kiss becomes hungrier, greedier. In seconds my shirt is over my head, and so is his. My bra is shed and thrown into the bedroom, and his pants are down his thighs before I can blink.

  His teeth mark my neck, nipping just above my pulse point. His tongue travels down to my collarbone where he bites down again. It’s like he’s leaving a trail in case he gets lost in me.

  And I let him.

  I allow him to mark me. Strip me. Claim me.

  I let his hands guide down my sides, trace the curves I got after being pregnant, and grab onto the skin that I wish I could shed. His eyes rake over every freckle, blemish, and stretch mark. But the lust in those heated eyes never dies. If anything, my flaws make him crazier.

  I latch my arms around his neck as he picks me up, only our underwear separating us, and sets me on the bed. His erection bulging in his boxers leaves me breathless.

  When he dips his fingers under the elastic of my pink cotton panties, I hold my breath. I’m surprised I don’t lose consciousness over how long I hold it, counting the seconds it takes him to slide my panties down my thighs. My heart thumps so hard in my chest that it’s its own timer—whether it’ll self-destruct or explode in pleasure I’m not sure.

  Bash tosses my panties onto the hardwood floor, then takes his time looking at my naked body. I’m on fire. Burning. Withering away.

  And he watches me while I lose myself.

  Laying still, I watch him dip his head down to pepper light kisses down the valley between my breasts, my stomach, until his tongue swipes across one of my more prominent stretch marks.

  “B-Bash.”

  “Beautiful, Opal,” he rasps, looking up at me through his thick lashes. “Everything about you is so fucking beautiful, and I hate that I’ve missed it.”

  Tears threaten to spill from my eyes over his words. It’s not the first time I’ve heard them.

  My heart stops.

  Noah used to worship my body, my stretch marks, even when I was self-conscious over them. The first time he ever saw me naked, he kissed every inch of me.

  “They’re part of you, Opal,” he had whispered, giving them attention like they’re made of gold. “They’re a reminder of your strength. Your ability to bring such a sweet little girl into a world too corrupt for her.”

  I called them flaws.

  He called them perfection.

  My body freezes when Bash starts lowering his boxers. I know what’ll happen next.

  I know that we’ll have sex, and it’ll probably be way better than anything I could remember. We’ll get lost in each other’s bodies and make up for missed memories and years apart. Except when we wake up tomorrow morning, still naked, a cold sweat flushing our skin, we’ll regret our weakness from the night before.

  We aren’t those same kids who thought they knew what love was.

  Addison taught me what true love is.

  And Noah.

  “Bash, wait,” I plead, reaching for anything to cover my body. “P-please just stop. Just …” Now I’m crying—sobbing and burying my face in my hands so he won’t see the pure terror on my face.

  The shame.

  Because he’s not who should be seeing me like this anymore. He shouldn’t be the one touching me, loving me.

  “Opal?” He quickly gets off the bed, staring at me with a grief stricken expression on his face. His wide eyes take me in, full of panic. “Jesus, are you okay? Did I do something? You know I’d never make you do anything you didn’t want to.”

  “Y-you’re not him,” I sob, barely able to breathe. “You’re n-not Noah.”

  He’s completely silent, causing me to sniffle and look up at him fully. I’m clutching a pillow to my body like a shield, cloaking every vulnerable part of me.

  Bash finally snaps out of it, grabbing the comforter and passing it to me, eyes averted. I drape it over me, covering myself fully.

  “You love him,” he whispers.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re in love with him.”

  I nod.

  He blinks, staring at the empty wall. Slowly, his eyes linger back to the picture of us on the dresser. His fists clench and unclench.

  He swears, collecting his clothes and pulling them on haphazardly. I’m certain his jeans are inside out.

  “Sebastian …” I sniff again, letting the tears on my face create a steady river.

  He doesn’t look at me.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper brokenly.

  “Yeah,” he breathes, “me too.”

  Age 18

  It’s been five months since Bash left Clinton. I’m about two-thirds through my pregnancy with our baby girl. The one I’ve yet to tell him about, or any one really.

  Her.

  A ten-fingered, ten-toed little girl. I wonder if she’ll have my hair or his eyes. It might kill me if she takes after him, but I don’t even know if I’m keeping her yet.

  A month into finding out about the pregnancy, I became homeless. Or, kind of homeless. Linda Everly opened her doors to me when she saw me tear-faced and heartbroken at her doorstep when my parents kicked me out.

  All these months later, and I still hold out for hope that Mom will reach out to me. But I don’t even see her around town anymore. I don’t exist to her or Dad, I’m just a ghost that they choose not to see.

  My body aches with exhaustion as I walk through town, trying to enjoy the nice day while it lasts, but the sky looks like it’s going to open up and rain Hell any second. I’m not far from Linda’s house, but I’ll be soaked if it started pouring now.

  And running … yeah, that’s never ended well for me before. I’d trip and hurt myself, and I couldn’t afford that, because it’s not just me in my body anymore.

  Right when I feel a drop of water hit my face, a car slows next to me on the road. I stop walking, not recognizing the sleek black exterior. It looks new, or at least made in the last few years.

  It
’s not until Noah Fuller leans over and opens the passenger door for me that I find myself breathing again. I don’t know why I get so nervous in public. People know about my pregnancy, but they usually don’t stop me on the streets. It doesn’t stop them from whispering behind my back. A pregnant teenager who was kicked out of her house spread faster than wildfire in this small nosey town.

  “It’s about to pour, get in,” Noah tells me, gesturing for me to slide into the passenger seat.

  Normally I would hesitate. Besides Linda and Kennedy, I don’t talk to many people these days. I wait for Bash to write, text, or call, but he’s been radio silent. I don’t know what I expect. He broke up with me, why would he try to talk to me?

  Something about Noah makes me remember what trust feels like, so I slide in right as the sky lets loose. I quickly close the door as his car gets showered on, sinking into my seat as I stare out the window.

  “That was close,” he remarks.

  Pressing my lips together, I nod.

  He turns his windshield wipers on. “I’m glad I saw you. Dad mentioned that you weren’t at home anymore?”

  My hands twitch on my lap, brushing the bulge under the oversized sweatshirt of Bash’s Linda let me have. It hid my stomach, but eventually it wouldn’t be easy to do anymore.

  “You don’t have to be nice to me,” I tell him in a barely audible voice. I hiccup. “I know you know. I’m sure our fathers have talked.”

  He shifts his body toward me, dark eyes piercing me until I look at him. “How long have you known me, Opal?”

  My jaw quivers. “A while.”

  He nods once. “And have I ever been anything other than nice to you?”

  I want so badly to look away, but his eyes make it hard to. “N-no.”

  “No,” he agrees firmly. “I like you, Opal. Still do. Don’t care what happened or what people say. You haven’t changed any, have you?”

  Um, yes?

  Subconsciously, my hand goes to my stomach, caressing the bump. His eyes track the movement, locking on my stomach like he can see through the shirt.

  His stare burns, making me squirm.

  “I’m not the same girl anymore.”

  “I call bull.” His voice is raspier than it was, as he dares to look at me again. “Maybe you’re not the same light-hearted version of yourself, but you’re still the same person, have the same personality, same heart. Even if … you know, you’re—” He can’t say it.

  Nobody can say it.

  And suddenly I’m furious.

  Call it hormones, or something, but I’m so over tiptoeing around people’s feelings. Clinton has seen teen parents before. They’ve seen breakups, and divorces, and heartbreak. I’m just the newest target.

  “Pregnant, Noah. It’s not a bad word.”

  His jaw snaps shut.

  “I’m sure my father has made me out to be some slut, but I’m not. I made a mistake, a really large mistake, with a boy that I thought I loved. That I still love. And guess what? It’s my reality no matter what I do to pretend it’s not. I can’t keep walking around town like I’m some freak, because I’m two seconds from fucking losing it.”

  I instantly cup my mouth.

  Holy crap. I swore. I never swear. I mean, I’ve thought some things before, but never said them out loud.

  “How’d that feel?” Noah asks softly, peeling my palm from my lips.

  My nostrils flare. “Good,” I breathe. “It felt really, really good.”

  His lips quirk up. “It’s okay to break, you know. I don’t know what went down between you and Sebastian, but breakups are never easy.”

  My brows draw in. “Were you ever in a relationship?”

  He chuckles. “A few. Not serious or long lasting like you and him were, but it still sucked to part ways with someone you care about.”

  My eyes widen when I realize that he’s in college. I mean, I knew he was. He’s a sophomore at some fancy college I’ve never heard of before.

  “You mean you’ve never tried dating anyone on campus? What are you doing here anyway? I thought your college was closer to the city?”

  He cracks a grin. “Keeping tabs on me?”

  I blush. “No, I just …” I shrug, not knowing what to say.

  He takes pity on me. “I’m in town visiting my dad. He has some court case he wants me shadowing him on for experience. And, no, I’ve never tried seeing anyone on campus. Not seriously, at least.”

  I wonder what that means. Not seriously. The back of my neck heats when I realize he probably just hooks up with them rather than taking them out to dinner.

  “I’ve kept an eye on you,” he admits casually, turning back in his seat and putting the car into drive. “I know we didn’t talk much in school before I graduated, but you’ve always interested me, Opal. You still do, even if you’re pregnant. And you know what I think?”

  I don’t answer. I can’t. My mouth is suddenly dry as I wait for him to tell me whatever it is that he wants to say.

  “I think you’re strong,” he states, glancing at me with warm eyes. “I think you’re going to overcome your circumstances and build a life for yourself outside of your parents’ house. It’s your world, Opal. Own it. If anybody can it’s you.”

  My breaths are shaky as I absorb his words. He’s still the same Noah Fuller I remember. Kind, warm, friendly. He isn’t judging me for getting pregnant at eighteen or being kicked out. He doesn’t believe that I’m some slut, or weak, or a failure.

  He believes in me, and more importantly, he makes me want to believe in myself for the first time in months, maybe years.

  “Want to know the most important thing?” he asks in a whisper.

  I find my voice. “What?”

  He reaches out and puts his hand on mine, only to squeeze it lightly before pulling away. “I think we’re going to be really great friends.”

  I think we are, too, Noah.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

  Sitting in an empty house, lights off, with nothing but snow plows grazing the streets in the background. There was supposed to be life here, rooms full of laughter and happiness.

  I was supposed to be wrapped up in Opal’s arms or body, watching movies, teasing her over her chocolate addiction, while we watched Addy sing along to songs we’d heard a million times before.

  But that wasn’t our reality.

  She finished our chapter and closed the book.

  Because she loves him.

  Sometimes the prince doesn’t get the princess. Occasionally, the princess chooses the white knight—the one who saved her after the prince destroyed her.

  I’m so sorry, she’d told me.

  Me too, I had replied.

  Sorry she couldn’t love me.

  Sorry I’d messed up.

  Sorry I ever let her go in the first place.

  Nine days. It’s been nine days since I walked out the door of my old life. When it closed behind me, I couldn’t see anything anymore. Nothing in front of me, nothing behind. A blank canvas either way I looked. I’d centered myself around winning over somebody who couldn’t be won. And, honestly, I was fucking stupid for expecting anything else.

  Too many years have passed and too many excuses were made. No matter how many times I told myself we’d be together, there was never a right time.

  If I’d waited for the perfect moment I would have waited a lifetime. Because there’s no such thing as a ‘perfect moment,’ just smaller jagged ones that seem invaluable until they’ve passed by. And by then you missed your chance. I can count the amount of times I had the opportunity to see her, but not once did I choose her.

  Maybe subconsciously that meant more than I wanted to admit. Perhaps the smallest part of me knew that the chances of us ever being the same couple we once were was microscopic. Yet I clung to the hope like it was my lifeline, my salvation. I never wanted to live my life in regret of the choices I made, but I was. It did
n’t matter that the reasons were for her benefit—her future—because they all fell apart anyway.

  Staring down at the promise ring clenched between my fingers, I almost didn’t hear the pounding at the front door. Or the lock turning, the door opening, and four people walking into my house like I wanted them here.

  “Jesus,” Dylan mutters once his eyes settle on me.

  Kennedy stands next to Ian, making a disgusted face, her brows furrowed, and her lips tipped down. I was under a microscope as the girl who seemingly was the life of the party took in my scruffy jaw, messy hair, and pajamas.

  “Oh my God,” she exclaims, shaking her head at the scene. “All that’s missing is Rocky Road ice cream and a sappy chick flick for him to cry over.”

  The guys laughed, even Ben.

  “What the fuck, guys?” I demanded, slipping the ring into my pocket and standing up. “You can’t just come in here whenever the hell you want!” I’m choosing anger over the other millions of emotions running through my veins.

  Ian shrugs. “Shouldn’t have given us a key.”

  “It was for emergencies.”

  Kennedy waves her key in the air. “This is an emergency if I ever saw one. You’re a mess, Bash. Honestly, Opal is, too. But at least she leaves her house.” Her nose scrunches. “Have you even showered lately? It smells like someone died in here.”

  Ian nods. “It really does, bro.”

  I haven’t showered in days because my body feels like it’s crashing from a high. And maybe that’s the perfect way to describe how numb I feel.

  I’m an addict cut off from my supply, no rehab in sight.

  “All right.” Kennedy claps her hands. “It’s time to get you cleaned up, shaved, and dressed. You still owe me dinner and a drink from when I helped your for murdering your daughter’s fish. Which, by the way, she loves her new one.”

  Opal mentioned she had told her that Bert finally found his family and went to live with them. At first, Addy cried, but when I showed her the two new fish, she recovered quickly. She even named them Shrek and Fiona, a new movie series obsession for her.