by Clara Stone
I shift in my seat. I’m not sure how to explain. But I give it a shot, anyway. “I’ve had my share of dating experience. I know what I liked in each girl, and what I hated. But I’ve realized that they all had a little bit of Ace in them.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Harrington says, dropping his sandwich onto the plate.
“You remember Lisa?” All three nod. Blake’s smiling, like she already knows what I’m about to say. “Well, she has the same color eyes as Ace. The girl before her wore the same tennis shoes. The one before that loved to dance. I could go on, but you get the idea. The thing is none of them have ever held a candle to Ace.”
I rake my hand down my face. “What I’m trying to say is that, I’ve had the chance to explore and see what’s out there. Ace hasn’t. She’s only dated two guys, and both of them were the same in personality. I mean, at first, when she told me she was going out with Vincent, I wanted to kill the bastard. But I knew, if she were to make a choice . . .” I grunt. Now that I’m saying this out loud, I see just how stupid it sounds. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to ease the queasy feeling that’s building in the pit of my stomach. “I want her to pick me, knowing that she has other choices. I don’t want her to regret us.”
I open my eyes and find Blake staring at me, her gaze glimmering with tears. Hudson looks at me like he’s proud. Harrington . . . well, he’s being Harrington—gaping at me with his mouth open.
“That’s some messed up shit, man,” he finally says. “You’re a bigger idiot than I thought, letting some other douchebag touch your girl.”
“It’s not like that, Harr—”
“And shit doesn’t come out of my ass.” He cuts me off with obvious sarcasm. “What the fuck are you going to do if she ends up choosing him? Are you ready to back down and let him have her? Kiss her, hold her . . . ?” He pauses, almost like he’s too pissed at my idiocy to continue.
Hell, I’m pissed at me, too. I shoot out of my chair, the legs scraping against the wood decking. My jaw clenches, and my fists turn white. I don’t need someone else pointing out my fuck-up. I turn around to leave. But then, he asks the ultimate question:
“Can you live with your idiotic self, knowing she’s going home to some other dude’s bed because you made the mistake of letting her look for other options? Knowing that you’re the one who pushed her away?”
My stomach churns like acid as I leave without saying another word.
I STORM INTO MY room, slamming the door behind me. A scream claws its way up my throat, and I have the overwhelming urge to punch something. Instead, I take a few steps forward, away from any potential targets, my body trembling with the effort of keeping my anger in check.
“Can you live with your idiotic self, knowing she’s going home to some other dude’s bed . . .” Harrington’s words ring inside my head. I shove my fingers through my hair and pace the room. “Knowing that you’re the one who pushed her away?”
I grab a hold of my lamp and throw it across the room. It crashes into the back of my door, shattering to the carpet. I scream again and fall to my knees. Acid burns at the base of my throat as painful memories swirl around me. Harrington’s right. I would lose Ace, and it would be my own fault. Just like it had been with Mom.
One of my hands stretches out, holding my favorite red fighter plane in a tight grip as I run toward Mommy’s room, making silly noises.
I want to show her how the plane is flying when I move my arms.
“Prrrrrrrfffffff.”
Room 301.
Room 303.
Room 305.
I slow when Daddy’s voice reaches my ears. I quiet down and peer through the crack, wanting to hear what he’s saying.
“Why didn’t you agree to have the pregnancy terminated, Anne?” Daddy’s voice breaks.
Mommy cups Daddy’s cheek, like she does to me when I visit her. “You know why, Homer. Besides, we didn’t expect it to progress again after the last remission. The doctors were so sure.”
Tears roll down Daddy’s cheek as he turns his head to the side, kissing Mommy’s hand.
“I could never live with myself if I’d sacrificed Heath for me.” She smiles. “You wouldn’t have forgiven yourself, either. He was made out of love, Homer. How could we throw that away?”
“But we could have beaten this, if you could have had the treatment or taken the medications.”
“And risked his life?” She closes her eyes, wincing, then opens them, looking at Daddy. “That was never an option. I . . . I can’t imagine not seeing that smile. Besides, we don’t even know if that would have helped.” She breathes heavily, like she’s struggling. “Yesterday, he came here with a Damask rose and told me that I’m going to get better soon, because he loves me. That I’m the most prettiest mom in the world.” Her smile gets brighter.
“I . . .” Daddy’s words come out broken. “How do you expect me to raise three boys by myself, Anne? I can’t. I can’t raise them by myself. I need you. We need you.”
Mommy tries to sit up, wincing as the wires on her arms pull at her. Daddy scoots closer, his arm supporting her back.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I believe in you, and I know you can do it. The boys . . .” She coughs, holding onto her ribs. “I know the boys will be wonderful men, just like their father. Promise me you’ll love them no matter what. That you will ensure they have a good future.”
He nods, sobbing uncontrollably. I’ve never seen him like this before. Daddy is always strong; he never cries. Even when I jumped off the swing and needed twelve stitches in the back of my head, Mom was the one that cried, never him.
A hand wraps around my mouth as another snakes under my arms, pulling me away from the door. The fighter plane slips from my fingers. I try to scream, thrashing in the bad man’s arms.
“Shhhh . . . it’s me. Hudson.”
He lets go and I turn around, my eyes wet from tears.
“What’s wrong, little man?” he asks.
I wipe the tears away with the palms of my hands. “Mommy’s dying. Because of me.”
His eyebrows furrow, and his lips press together. “No, little man.” He swipes his finger under my eyes before pulling me into a hug.
I shake my head. “Daddy said—”
He pushes me to arm’s length. “It doesn’t matter what anyone said. You are not the reason she’s dying. She’s leaving us because God loves her too much.”
There’s a quick knock on my door, followed by a pause. I slowly open my eyes, but don’t move. My vision’s blurry. I blink, then blink again.
Another knock cuts through the silence, but the person still doesn’t enter. It’s Hudson, I’m sure of it. Blake would’ve called my name, and Harrington . . . well, he has no patience or care for my privacy.
Pushing to my feet, I go to the door and pull it open.
Hudson smiles, warm and thoughtful. “Can I come in?”
I step aside.
He walks over the threshold, handing me a folder as he passes, on his way to my leather love seat. I glare at him as he throws himself into it and waits.
I look at the folder in my hands and tilt my head to the side. I run my finger over the name: Anne Marie Lovelly. Flipping it open, I scan page after page of graphs and numbers that make no sense to me.
“What is this?” I finally ask.
“Research I’ve done over the years. On Mom,” he says.
“And why do I need this?” I snap, dropping the folder on the table. I cross my arms over my chest and stare at him, challenging.
“Because I know you, Heath. You’re up here thinking about Mom, and how you’re going to lose Ace just like you lost her,” he says. “But it’s not true. Mom’s cancer went into remission twice before it finally won.”
My eyes widen and my arms loosen over my chest.
“The first time was a year after I was born, then again four years later, before Harrington was conceived.” He stares at me.
Mom beat cancer twice. What happene
d the third time? Was it because she hadn’t received the treatment in time?
“Why are you telling me this?” I snap, balling my fists. “To prove that I killed her?”
He pushes up and stands before me. “No,” he responds calmly.
Ever the professional, I scoff to myself.
“Because I see the same vulnerable little man standing before me as I did that day in the hospital.” He places his hands on my shoulders and squeezes. “I told you that day, and I’m going to tell you again . . . because, after all the years of research I’ve put into this, I know that it wasn’t your fault, Heath. It’s just the way things were.”
He gives a tight-lipped smile. “If Blake and I ever get lucky enough to have kids, and God forbid we were in the same situation . . . I know Blake would make the same choice, without a doubt. Mom didn’t die because of you. And she wouldn’t want you to feel like you can’t live your life because of something that was never in your control to begin with.”
“I don’t—”
“She loved you. We all did—and still do.” He sighs. “Don’t let self-doubt, or regret, or fear of what could be ruin your chance at happiness.” He walks past me toward the door and pauses with his hand on the handle. “There are coincidences in life, Heath. But you meeting Ace wasn’t one of them. This might be Mom’s way of helping you heal. Think about it. What are the chances of a girl who lost her mother finding comfort from a boy who blames himself for losing his own; what are the odds that they’d meet in the very hospital where his mother drew her last breath? Don’t let your guilt over what happened with Mom destroy your chances with Ace. Tell her, Heath. Can you really live with yourself if you don’t at least try?”
Then he walks out, closing the door behind him. I don’t know how long I stand there, numb with confusion. I don’t know what the right choice is. I need a sign or something.
Hudson’s right. Hell, even Harrington’s right. I can’t live with myself if I push Ace away without trying, without letting her know how I feel about her. The pain of not being with her far outweighs the possibility of losing her.
My phone dings in my pocket. I pull it out and see it’s a text from Ace.
Ace: Wait 4 me?
My heart thuds reading those words. It’s like the sign I needed to see.
Ace: Aftr school tmrrw?
Me: Always.
I BARELY SLEPT LAST night. My mind kept churning, trying to create a game plan—the steps that would lead to a relationship with Ace. I felt like a child with a huge secret to share, and no one to share it with.
The few times I’ve tried to corner Ace to talk to her, and tell her about my plan to break-up with Lisa, we were interrupted by Vincent—something about that stupid senior project they’re working on. I’d wanted nothing more than to ram my fists into Vinny-the-Pooh for every interruption. But I didn’t.
Besides, Ace had specifically asked me to wait for her after school. I’ll just have to tell her everything then.
The whistle blows, bringing me back to the moment. Coach yells my name and waves his hand, telling me to get off the field. He sends in another player as I jog toward the benches.
“Coach?” I say.
He hands me a green Gatorade bottle. “What the hell is going on out there?”
“Coach?” I feign innocence, admitting to nothing.
“Don’t bullshit me, Iceman.” He places his hand on my shoulder. “You’re a good kid. But right now, your teammates are scared shitless about what you’re going to do. Whatever issues you have, figure them out off the field.”
I open my mouth, then close it.
“Now, get outta here.” He turns his back on me.
Is he kicking me out of the practice completely? I want to protest and yell. But over the last four years, I’ve learned that once he makes up his mind, it’s like an iron gate. You can’t make him change it.
I throw my helmet on the ground and kick it. My mind has been like a mess of two-year-old scribbles. I’m wired tight, not knowing what Ace will say when I tell her my feelings. Hell, every time I’ve rehearsed the words in my head, they’re like a Shakespearean sonnet. Then I open my mouth to say them out loud and make Rain Man look like a fucking genius.
A whistle blows, and the team comes running off the field. Without looking back, I head toward the locker room. As I pass the part of the field where the cheer team’s practicing, I slow, pausing to watch.
Ace looks so happy doing the routine. She’s radiant when she dances. And this is as close to dancing as she’s gotten in the past ten years. I had met her in the hospital the night her mom died. Hudson had just started a shadowing program there as a pre-med student and had wanted to take me out at the end of his shift. Instead of finishing my homework in the Doctor’s Lounge, I’d decided to explore the hospital. It was then I’d seen Ace, curled into a ball in her pink tutu, rocking herself.
Curious, I’d decided to give her some company. That first moment when her puffy gray eyes had met mine, I knew . . . I knew I had to do something to make her smile. And I did. They were small and rare those first few days, and she wouldn’t tell me about her dancing. But we started hanging out, and a couple of months later, when I dropped by her place to go ice skating at the local rink, I caught her dancing outside in her backyard. Every move, every expression had been laced with pain and emotion. I’d seen tears roll down her cheeks as she finished the routine. I hadn’t known how she felt about it then, about the guilt and anger she associated with it, so I’d told her how beautiful it was. She’d gotten pissed at me. That was our first fight, and the last time I’d seen her truly dance. It was almost like she’d been bidding it goodbye.
But now, watching her smile, seeing her enjoy something that had once caused her pain, I feel something inside me stir. We’ve both been through so much, and we’ve stuck together through thick and thin. I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to realize I’ve fallen for my best friend. It’s so easy and natural, like breathing. I can’t go on denying that Ace is the one for me. I have to tell her. But first, I need to end the charade with Lisa.
With determination set and a goal in mind, I jog toward our locker room to hit the showers. Afterward, I get dressed and head back to the field, waiting by the exit for cheer practice to be over. Her text from last night comes to mind: “Wait 4 me? Aftr school tmrrw?” I wonder what she wanted to talk to me about. I see Ace walking toward me, and my heart beats in an odd rhythm. She looks up from under her lashes and gives me a smile—a smile that’s so genuine, sweet, and . . . weak? Her cheeks are hollow, and her shirt hangs loose, like she’s wearing a size too big. I scowl with concern. She taps her chin three times—our signal for “wait for me.” I tilt my head slightly and let her walk past without saying anything. I need to take care of something else first, before I figure out why she looks like she’s participating in the starving games.
“Hey, stranger,” Lisa says, signaling her friends to leave us alone. Her short-shorts barely cover her ass. A behind like that would usually drive me crazy. But not today.
She gets on her tiptoes, wraps her arms around my neck, brushes her healthy-sized chest against mine, and pulls me down for a kiss. At the last second, I turn my head so she catches the corner of my mouth. She pulls back, confusion highlighting her features.
“We need to talk,” I say, shoving my hands into the front pockets of my jeans.
It’s like a light bulb goes off in her head. She steps back and crosses her hands under her chest, pushing her boobs higher. I get a direct view of her cleavage, and again, I feel nothing.
“So talk.” Her tone comes out clipped. I don’t blame her.
“Why don’t we talk over dinner?”
She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t respond. Instead, she waits.
With a heavy sigh, I point between us. “This isn’t working. It hasn’t for a long time.”
I cross my arms over my chest, subconsciously mimicking her determination, and wait. Lisa is a smart girl. I
’m certain she knows what I’m indicating. From the beginning of our arranged relationship, I’ve been truthful and open about my intentions, since I’m not the kind of guy who likes to give people false hope. But until now, I’ve had no reason to disrupt the “perfect” plan my father and his business partner schemed together, no reason to speak up. I do now.
I need to end this charade, so I can finally ask my best friend to be my . . . girlfriend. My girlfriend. I swallow.
“Fine,” Lisa says.
I raise my eyebrows, surprised at her response, but quickly school my features to neutral. “Thanks,” I say.
I know I should feel like a douche for feeling relieved. After all, we’ve been together for nearly six months. But I can’t contain the excitement building inside me at being a step closer to Ace. I can’t ask her out yet, though. I need to let the rumors about Lisa and I die down first. And there will be rumors. I certainly don’t want Ace to be in the middle of them.
When I turn to leave, Lisa says, “On one condition.”
I raise my eyebrow. Whether she likes it or not, I’m breaking up with her. But out of courtesy, I give her my undivided attention.
“I broke up with you.”
Ah. The whole nobody-rejects-Lisa rule. I fan out my arm. “Be my guest.”
“You don’t mind getting dumped?” Her eyebrows knit together, and her lips thin out.
“Nope,” I say. “Any other demands?”
Her brows escape behind her brown hair, her mouth slightly open in shock.
“See you around, Lisa.” I casually wave and head to my Wrangler.
I lean against the bumper and wait for Ace. When I see her coming out of the school’s double doors, everything inside me wants to run to her and tell her I’m a free man—that we’re free to be together. I want to pull her to me and kiss her.
But I don’t.
I wait.
After what seems like an eternity, she stands next to me.
“Hi.” She says, throwing her bag in the backseat.
I push off the Wrangler, moving around to stand behind her. When she turns, I gently push her back against the car.
