Hope

by Sydney Lane

  At Eric's new apartment, we walk in to find the girls eating lunch. Sitting on the living room floor, with her legs crossed, Quincy is reaching for a piece of pizza while she laughs at something Jenna says. I pause in the doorway, taking in the sight before me, allowing myself a luxury I don't often get.

  The first thing I notice is that she's smiling. The second is that she's completely, utterly beautiful. And the last... that she looks happier than she's been since before everything happened.

  I'll never forget the first time I saw her. We were in psych class, and I got that feeling you get when someone's looking at you. I glanced over my shoulder, and my eyes met the darkest, sweetest eyes I'd ever seen. I couldn't stop thinking about her, and I was so damn happy when she showed up at one of our house parties. And then, our first date, and after that, our first kiss. I was so nervous, like a teen-aged boy having his first kiss. All I remember is that I had been so afraid I was going to mess everything up, but once my lips touched hers, none of that mattered. I fell... hard. That kiss changed everything.

  But then, I caught her with Brody. The shock, the pain, the betrayal... it brought me to my knees. I said a lot of things I shouldn't have, things I wish I could take back. And then, her sister committed suicide. She needed me. Me. I'm the one she asked for. I was willing to forget everything. Her pain was my pain. And, yet, somehow, I still lost her.

  There's only so much you can give before you give yourself away.

  "The fuck, Declan?" Seth runs into my back, almost dropping the box he's balancing on his shoulder.

  "Sorry, man." The girls turn at the sound of Seth's smooth, deep voice. Every eye falls on us. There goes my plan to remain as invisible as possible.

  With offers of pizza and beer, we all take a break. Brody sits with Quincy, pulling her close as he whispers in her ear. The rest of us try to pretend as if we're just one big, happy family. Since none of the other guys know what happened, I find it easier, less painful, to pretend, and surprisingly, I begin to feel more relaxed throughout the day.

  The only thing more tiring than being mad is trying to stay mad.

  I carry box after box to the truck, walking past Brody, pretending he doesn't exist. A few times he stops, his mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something, but I ignore him, never giving him the chance.

  I was raised better. The whole forgiveness thing creeps in sometimes, and I begin to feel guilty. Imagine that. I feel guilty because my friend screwed me over. I've spent so long trying to be the nice guy, always doing the right thing, that I can't even be mad the right way.

  I suck.

  The highlight of the day is when Eric presents Jenna with a kitten. She jumps up and down when he hands her the tiny, squirming bundle. A new pet for their new home. All the girls take turns oohing and ahhing over it before we get back to work. Everything is falling into place for my friends, and although I've been wallowing in my own self-pity, I'm happy for them.

  Sweating and tired, we finish carrying boxes upstairs and collapse on every spare surface. Seth volunteers to go pick up beer, and we order more pizza. It almost feels normal, whatever that is. Not quite an episode of Friends, but we're moving forward.

  I try to catch Corrine alone so I can ask about Liza, and I wonder more times than I'd ever admit where she is, what she's doing, and if she's thinking about last night like I am. I secretly love that she left her marks on me last night- scratches down my back and a dark red love bite on my chest.

  "There's a jungle cat in there!" Seth walks out of the bathroom, flicking his thumb over his shoulder at the kitten following him.

  "Holy fuck! He's not kidding! There's a tiger in there." Quincy and I quote The Hangover at the exact same moment. It sparks a Hangover quoting challenge, one I know Quincy will win. It's her favorite movie.

  With each win, she giggles loudly. It's like music to my soul, and when I turn to her, I find her smiling from ear to ear... at me. In that moment, when our eyes meet, time freezes, an unspoken understanding passing between us, and I realize that I may have lost her, but I didn't lose everything.

  She's been hurting as much as I have, and I've been a selfish asshole.

  Chapter 22

  Eliza

  Monday mornings suck. By the time I finish a paper that was due last week, spill coffee down the front of my shirt, and almost get run over by some jerk who took the corner too close, I'm late to the track.

  I need to run, the release it gives me, more than usual. The whole thing with Declan is a complete mind fuck. My sister called and wants me to come watch her softball tournament this weekend, and to top it off, I'm well and truly pissed that I'm afraid I missed Declan this morning.

  I shouldn't have left Saturday night. I know he likes to play the Southern gentleman and drive me home, but I got scared. The thought of sleeping next to him all night and waking up with him in the morning terrified me.

  It's just too intimate.

  Besides, who the hell can climb down a fire escape with any dignity at all?

  It's my shame, my guilt, and I want to keep it that way.

  I throw my towel on a bench and stretch. Sometimes, when I'm trying to punish myself, I don't even warm up before taking off. There's something alive in the burst of pain and burning in my muscles that temporarily numbs my mind.

  I'm bent over, grasping my ankles, when a bright blue pair of size twelves comes into view. My heart leaps in my chest, and I straighten quickly to meet the dimpled smile that makes me want to poke my own eyes out.

  He's adorable, and so, so... nice.

  And who the hell smells so damn good when they're going running?

  "You can't get rid of me that easily." He smirks, like he caught me doing something I shouldn't be doing. I don't bother telling him that I wasn't avoiding him. I really was just late. A girl has to have a few secrets of her own, though.

  "You can't say I didn't try." I shrug my shoulders, squelching the smile trying to fight its way onto my face.

  He waits for me, stretching his hamstrings, while I finish my warm up routine, his eyes following my every move.

  I ignore him. Well, I at least try to give the impression that I am. It's hard to ignore the pull between us, the physical connection that feeds the beast inside of me. I'd like to call it lust, but it feels like something different. Something deeper and even more powerful.

  We run around the track without speaking, but after the first lap, Declan veers off toward the gates. I stop, confused, as he calls over his shoulder, "Come on! We're getting outta here!"

  Laughing, I run to catch up with him. He's crazy. Or maybe I'm crazy for following him. Either way, it feels liberating to run through those gates, past Neyland Stadium and the world-famous 'body farm', toward the unknown.

  As usual, we run in silence, but my mind is all over the place. When I can't take it anymore, I ask, "What are we doing?" I'm asking about right now, but I really mean this, the whole thing. Us.

  "Last week, we played by your rules. This week, we play by mine." His words cause me to shiver despite the heat. Even my hair stands on end.

  "Yeah? What rules are we talking about?" Rules terrify me... unless they're my own. I have to be in control or I'll lose my shit. Big time.

  "Don't worry your pretty little head. I'll go easy on you." His voice is smooth, his smile even smoother. I bet he could charm the panties off a nun.

  "Enlighten me." He said 'pretty'. Yes, I noticed. And yes, my heart did a weird flip-flop thing. I'm pretty sure I hate it.

  "Rule number one: we go somewhere new every day." Too easy. There has to be a catch.

  "Okay, I think I can handle that. Anything else or are you making this shit up as you go along?"

  "Rule number two: we talk. No more silent treatment." His eyes challenge me. That one might be harder to do. I'm ready to break out of my shell, but I'm not ready to smash it.

  "So what happens if I don't abide by these rules?" I arch a brow in his direction, my stomach doing that
stupid flopping trick again.

  "Then, I get to pick your punishment."

  I become silent. There's something so sexy about the good guy ordering me around, a simplicity in someone else making decisions for me that it makes this terrible idea sound... tempting. He's like the freakin' pussy whisperer or something.

  Sometimes, I feel like a survivor. It's painted all over my body, different places, different tattoos, but they all tell the same story. I survived.

  But every time this beautiful boy looks at me, it's painfully obvious that I haven't done as good a job as I thought. It hurts, and it makes me mad, and I want to run far away from here, but the sad realization is undeniable. I've been lying to myself. Yes, I survived. I'm alive.

  But I'm not living.

  Until now, I didn't know there was a difference.

  "Liza, stop analyzing every little thing. Just go with it. I promise it'll be painless." He picks up his pace, and as I run to catch up, I marvel at the idea that someone might want to get to know the real me.

  I think I'm ready to become friends with the girl I used to be, too.

  The farther we run, the freer I feel. In the hot Tennessee heat, with the sun beating down on my shoulders, I realize that the track was just another cage I'd built. A prison. Walls are meant to keep people out, but sometimes, they just end up keeping you in.

  "Any more rules I need to know about?" I can do this. I can play this game.

  "Only one." He glances at me sideways, a sheepish smile on his lips. "Would you please stop pulling condoms out of random places? It's kind of creepy."

  I burst out laughing and stop to catch my breath. I bend, with my hands on my knees, and laugh until big tears roll down my face.

  Hey, what can I say? I believe in safe sex. Don't judge.

  Chapter 23

  Declan

  Monday, we ran around campus. Tuesday, we ran across Henley Bridge, and today, we're running through Volunteer Park. It might sound like nothing, just a small step really, but I get the feeling this is huge for her. Significant.

  We're getting good at this- our bodies moving in sync as we get lost in our own thoughts, working off the pent up energy we both exude, and knowing how far to push without pushing too far. It was my idea, the running, and don't get me wrong, I love it, but it's slowly driving me insane.

  I promised myself I wouldn't push her, wouldn't think of her naked body every five minutes, and... well... I suck. It's not her fault that I have a one track mind. It's not her fault they make yoga pants to reveal every curve, every dip, every single thing you wish you could touch but can't. I mean, it's just yoga; why do you have to be sexy as hell to do the downward dog in a room full of old women?

  She's sexy. There's no doubt about it. But when I look at her, I see so much more. Her blonde hair softly curls around her shoulders, the dark layer underneath giving her an edge. When she gets nervous, she twirls a few strands around her finger. There's a tiny scar on her chin, and her eyes are the window to her world. I could drown in them and still beg for more. And then, there's her voice, her sexy voice, with a hint of sadness, which ruins me.

  After our run, we stop near the marina and sit on the banks of the river. This is my favorite part of our new routine- the part where she relaxes and lets her guard down. No pressure. No alcohol. Just us.

  It's during those times, when she lets her guard down, that I learn her favorite color (blue), her favorite band (Kings of Leon), and her favorite movie (A League of Their Own). And I tell her mine- green (the exact color of her eyes, in fact), 30 Seconds to Mars, and The Hangover (though I'm reconsidering that).

  Today, she laughs as she tells me a story about her dog and a soft breeze blows mussing her hair. I want to reach up and tuck it behind her ear, but there's no way that's cool. She'd break my fingers for a move like that.

  "So I tied his leash to my sister's chair, and when he saw the boat, he ran into the water, dragging her with him!" Her eyes are bright, and her giggle floats between us. If you had asked me two weeks ago, I would have told you that it wasn't possible to make Liza Nichols giggle.

  The transformation is breathtaking.

  Continually, my eyes drift down to her flat stomach, rounded hips, and long, well-defined legs. And continually, I remind myself that she's vulnerable and deserves better. But it's no use.

  I give up.

  Her chatter fades as my eyes explore her body.

  I drown in her, savoring the view while it lasts. A tattoo winds its way around her exposed hip, another one peeking out from under her shirt. I already know she has a shooting star behind her right ear, and I vow to make it my mission to find them all.

  Reaching down, she unlaces her shoes and slips them off along with her socks. She buries her feet in the lush grass and wiggles the black-polished toes attached to a mile-long leg that seems to go on forever.

  I may be a nice guy, but even a saint would be tempted by Liza's legs. My eyes roam up her thigh, lingering on the tattoo peeking out from under her shorts. I wonder if it means something to her or if it was something she did on a whim, something she chose just because it was the cool thing to do. I have only one, my fraternity shield, and I'm not sure it means anything anymore.

  "Are you going to ask or just keep staring?" She takes her bottom lip between her teeth while a smile plays at the corner of her mouth. It makes me think really naughty thoughts.

  "I think I'll just keep staring." I grin shamelessly, my eyes roving over her stomach, up to her perky breasts, lingering, before meeting her icy glare. "Hey, what can I say? I like what I see."

  "Perv." She punches me in the arm, her eyes twinkling with laughter.

  "Oh, come on, is that all you've got? I've been called a lot worse."

  "I didn't want to damage your virgin ears." Her lips curl into a snarky smile, and I'm suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her, to punish her lips to spite her sharp tongue.

  "Liza." My breath catches in my throat, choking me, when her eyes meet mine. I'm absolutely, positively bewitched. "Did I feel like a virgin?"

  "Totally. You mean you weren't?" Rolling her eyes, her cheeks turn a fascinating shade of pink even as she smiles mischievously. An enigma.

  I lean into her, my lips close to her ear, and whisper, "Is that so? Maybe we should practice?" She shudders as goosebumps rise on her arms. Oh, yeah, she likes this.

  "My mom always told me to stay away from preacher's sons!" Pushing me away, she giggles, again. "They're the worst kind."

  "Oh, yeah? Why's that?" Her giggle turns me on.

  I want to kiss her.

  "Because instead of trying to get in your panties right off the bat, they charm you with their dimples and nice words first... then they try to get in your panties." She playfully nudges me, and I resist the urge to remind her of just who wanted in whose pants the other night.

  "She said that, did she? When I meet her, she won't be able to resist my charm. Mommas love me." I shrug off the slight twinge of unease that seeps in. Mommas love the nice guy, but nice guys get the shaft.

  Been there.

  "Now, that, I can believe." She leans back on her elbows, more relaxed than I've ever seen her, and jabs again. "Even if you are a big hornball."

  I want to crawl over her, to cover her body with mine and kiss the living daylights out of her. Just so we're clear, it's not because I want to forget Quincy.

  She's the last thing on my mind.

  I want to do it because I'm falling for this crazy, foul-mouthed, totally beautiful, broken but not ruined girl.

  All I have to do is convince her of that without scaring her away.

  Chapter 24

  Eliza

  I'm sick. No, I have a paper due. Oh, I got it! My car's making funny noises. They'd never want me to break down on the side of the road.

  I'd rather shove toothpicks under my fingernails than go home.

  I'm desperate. And slightly agitated.

  I drive below the speed limit, blasting music t
o drown out the voices in my head, but I'm only delaying the inevitable. My little sister has a softball tournament this weekend, and they have a real shot at winning state. She's a right fielder, not a pitcher like me, but she's just as good, if not better, than I was. I can't let her down.

  Gah! The things you do for the people you love.

  My knuckles turn white on the steering wheel, my pulse quickening as I drive past my old high school. Memories fight to breathe, coming to the surface for air, giving them a life of their own. And I drown in them… one... two... three... breathe. Then, like a life vest, an image, a thought, surfaces, dragging me from the depths of the ocean.

  Bottomless chocolate brown eyes, so honest, his gaze scorching.

  Sweet lips and well-placed dimples.

  Hands and a body that sing to the angels.

  Declan.

  I cling to the memory of his hands on my body, his rough voice, the way he makes me want to change. He gives me hope.

  This week was perfect. I wouldn't change a second of the time we've spent together. The running, the talking, the joking... perfect. It's different to run with someone instead of alone, and even in the silence, his presence is comforting.

  That's just the thing, though. The hope, the comfort- it still scares the hell out of me. You'd think I would be happy, but I hate anything I can't control. I'm not spontaneous, and I'm not a dreamer. I don't believe that shit about people being good at heart. It's a lie fed to us, to all of us, to lure us into a false sense of security. It makes you vulnerable to believe everyone has good in them. They don't, not by a long shot.

  When I get home, my little sister, Taylor, is a flurry of movement, a tornado blowing from one room to another as she gets ready for her game. I find my mom and older sister, Payton, in the kitchen. Taylor has wavy brown hair, and her face is dusted with freckles. Cute as a kitten. Payton has long, blonde hair that reminds me of what mine would look like if I stopped dying it. We all look similar, but to put it mildly, I stand out and not in a good way. It might have something to do with the tattoos and piercings, but they'd never admit it.