by Ginger Scott
“I didn’t remember you. Nobody knows about you. I’ve never talked about you. But then I saw you. The day we were hitting balls at the school. It was like so many missing things fell into place,” he says, his eyes leaving mine for the first time, his head falling forward to the phone in his hands, to the same photo I’m looking at. “I kept this ticket. I knew enough to know it meant something…that it was important. And I…” he pauses, chuckling lightly…sadly. “I remembered there were these twins. When I was a kid, they weren’t very nice to me.”
His mouth twists as he peers up at me, but his lips slowly slide into a soft bend. His gaze lingers and long seconds pass as we stare into one another.
“I didn’t remember you being so beautiful,” he whispers.
His eyes fall to his hands again, and I move my palms to my face to dry the tears forming in the corners of my eyes. I shift my weight, bringing my legs up in front of me, and fold my arms around my knees. Wes tilts his head to the side, not fully looking at me. He watches just enough to catch my movement. His muscles are rigid, and his jaw is flexing as he lays his phone in his lap and lets his hands squeeze into fists at his sides before relaxing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, my voice low, my courage lower. His movement stops, and his eyes find me again.
My heart breaks once more.
“The case, with your dad…it’s still open.”
I breathe in deep and pull my legs in tighter.
“The state has a lot of questions, but I’ve never been able to remember things. The story was always that he lost control of the car, that it was a terrible accident. But there are a few things that don’t add up. There wasn’t a sobriety test done. But a few of the kids said they thought maybe—”
“My dad was drinking,” I whisper, my gaze falling away from him. I tuck my chin into my body and bring my hands to my mouth, my thumb between my teeth.
“I get questioned every few years about the accident, and I never remember. Nobody really cares anymore. The case, it’s just on a list—and it’s probably just considered dead. But it’s on some numerical radar in some filing system, and they have to check. They’re going to call my parents again one day. They’re going to want to talk to me. And they’re going to know I’m back here—near you. Playing for him. And I will lie. You can’t let them know I remember anything.”
“Why would it matter? Maybe it would be good for him, Wes. Maybe that’s what needs to happen—something that sobers him up,” I say, my voice coming out angrier—stronger.
“And what would happen to you?”
Me. This isn’t about my father at all. This is about me.
“You’re not eighteen. Yeah, maybe they would let you stay with a family friend. Or maybe they’d send you to live with a relative. Or maybe they’d place you with a family you don’t know. I’ve lived with a lot of families, Joss. I’ve had good families, but I’ve had bad families too.”
“I want your dad to clean up. I want that for you more than anything on this earth. I’ve been working on it. And I know…” he turns his head to the side, his lips tight, his smile sweet, but short. “I know you don’t want me to help. But I refuse not to. I won’t stand by and watch you go through this alone. I didn’t want your father to get taken away then, and I don’t now. As bad as he is, Joss, you still don’t need to become a ward of the state. He’s not as bad as playing parent lottery—I can promise you that.”
I stare into his eyes for several minutes, and he lets me. My stomach aches over the reality of what he just said, but even so, my emotions swing on this pendulum from fear to freedom.
“Christopher,” I whisper, resting my cheek on my hands over my knees as I look at him. My eyes have adjusted, and I can now see him clearly in the dark.
“It’s Wes, Joss. Just Wes,” he sighs.
I move slowly, pulling my legs under me, crawling on my knees closer to him as I shake my head. “No, it’s not,” I say. I stop at his side, and my breath halts along with his. I place one hand on his shoulder and move my leg over his lap, so I’m straddling his thighs, and I sit my weight on him. My other hand finds his cheek, and I press my palm against his familiar, matured face. “It’s not just Wes. It’s both. It’s…it’s you,” I say, my chest heaving as I start to cry.
Both of my hands move to his face, holding it and looking him in the eyes, my thumbs stroking slowly along his cheeks.
“My god how I’ve needed you,” I swallow, sucking my bottom lip in and smiling for him.
His hands are slow as they move from the floor to my thighs, and with a cautious drag, he brings them up my body, along my sides and to my arms, until he’s cupping my face too. His head falls forward, and he rests it on mine, his lips parting with a breath.
“I love how you look at me. I love how you see me, Joss. I love that you think I’m invincible. You’ve always looked at me like…like I was something better than the way everyone else saw me, but…” He stops, his thumbs moving to my chin, and he tilts my head up enough so I’m meeting his eyes. His eyes move from one of mine to the other, and he breathes in slowly, his chest filling under me, his touch on me the only thing that’s felt right in years.
“I’m not invincible, Joss. I’m just not,” he shakes his head. “I will always fight for you. I can’t say no when it comes to you. I can’t not fight for you. I can’t not do everything in my power to keep you safe. But I could fail. And if I ever lost you, if I was too late just once, not strong enough, not capable—”
“I won’t test you, Wes,” I say, my hand running along his face again, under his jaw. He leans into my touch, his eyes closed, and his lips brush against my palm.
“Thank you,” he breathes, his lips kissing against my hand again. “Jesus, thank you. I can’t fail you, Joss. I can’t—”
“I know,” I nod, bringing his eyes back to mine. I nod again for him to see me. “I know.”
His hands move into my hair, one reaching the tie twisted in the strands, and he pulls it loose and runs his fingers deep into it, combing along my scalp as his eyes fall over me in the most adoring way. I’ve dreamt of him looking at me like this. There were times I even thought for brief seconds he, in fact, did. But now that I’m here, in his arms, I know that this…this is real. And it is a first for us. Every fantasy I’ve had could never measure up.
I pull myself forward, into him, my hands running in his hair, and our heads rest on one another again, until his dips lower, his nose grazing along the curve of my neck, his lips whispering kisses along my skin, up my jaw, until his mouth pauses over mine and I feel it slide into a smile.
“I’m about to kiss Josselyn Winters,” he says, a light laugh escaping him. “Holy shit.”
I give in and smile against him too.
“It’s Jose,” I laugh, loving the feel of him laughing with me, his body shaking with happiness, the sound thundering quietly in his chest. “And you better make it a good kiss,” I add, my bottom lip catching his top lip. I hold onto it, I taste it and wait for him to make the next move.
He spends time dusting his lips over mine, his tongue finding my bottom lip, taking small passes. Every movement is slow and savored. This is our time—here alone in a pretend tree house shrouded in darkness. We’re two kids who found each other when each needed someone to believe in them the most. Our bodies have grown. Our hearts are still the same. And they knew…
Mine knew all along, and his remembered.
“You have always made me feel like I belong,” Wes says, brushing another soft kiss over my lips and resting his head on mine, his eyes closed.
“You have always made me feel like I matter,” I say back, my head shaking at the memory of his embraces during my darkest times.
He pulls away from me, his eyes searching mine again, as if he doesn’t understand how anyone could think otherwise. He’s home. He’s come back to me. And I fall into him, his hands gripping my hair and caressing my face while his mouth covers mine with a possessive kiss. His
tongue moves along my own as his lips tug on my lips, his teeth grazing along my tender skin with each parting pass until he comes back hungrier for more.
We kiss until our bodies are tired and our mouths have memorized every breath and move the other half has made. And then Wes helps me finish my duties, making an hour’s worth of work take less than half the time it should. When we leave, he grabs my hand firmly in his own, threading our fingers together as he walks me from the backdoor to the front of the building and his truck. He doesn’t let go until I’m home and he’s seen me to my front door, satisfied that my father stayed home tonight—even if he’s asleep in the chair with a drink in his hand.
I kiss Wes goodnight, then lock up and shut the lights off in the house. I tug the quilt from my father’s bed and lay it over him in his chair, kissing his head once while he sleeps, and I pull his drink away.
“I hope your dreams are good, Daddy. And I hope you come back from them soon,” I say, for the first time in years, believing he might.
Eleven
Wes showed up Sunday, just the same, telling my coworker—who I know now is named Jamie—that he was my ride. I didn’t even have to ask him to scrape the gum away. He simply grabbed the putty knife from my hand and went to work.
We didn’t leave immediately. We spent an hour after my work was done sitting in the tree house talking. I told him everything I knew—reliving what happened the day of the last race, when my father confronted my mom and how he left in a rage. I also told him how my mom left without ever saying goodbye. As crappy as my father is, at least he stayed.
When Wes brought me home, I was in such a state of peace that, for the first time in months, I didn’t feel my chest seize up with worry over what state I would find my father in. I didn’t search for his car the moment I turned down my street; I didn’t scan the lawn for his body, and I didn’t dread unlocking the door. All of which made the surprise of opening the door and finding him sitting in his chair—alert and awake, a soda in his hand and the evening news on—that much more startling.
I said goodnight to Wes and acted as if he weren’t there at all. We didn’t speak, but we also didn’t argue or tussle while I tried to wake him and carry him to bed. It was quiet and fast, and the weight of it hit my chest the moment I shut my bedroom door. The heaviness was still there this morning, and I feel it now as I pull up to the front of the school with Taryn, her car slowing at the top of the hill where I usually exit and head straight for the library.
“I think maybe I’ll come with you today. To the gym?” I glance at her from my periphery and look away quickly when I catch enough of the shocked expression on her face. I bend forward and zip the side pocket of my bag open. I have no reason to. I have nothing I need, nothing to search for. I just don’t want to look at her.
“Oooookayyyy,” she finally says, moving her gear to drive and continuing down the hill.
We park near the back of the gym and walk to the side door where the weight room is. I can hear the clanking from the other side of the door before we even open it, and my insides are swarming with a sense of familiar. My hands quake, and I look at them to make sure they’re still my own—still the same hands I have now. They are, but everything about me feels like the little girl who used to stop by in the morning with her mom to bring her daddy coffee.
Taryn pulls the door open then glares at me, watching as I stand frozen and look inside. She shakes her head with a sigh, stepping into the room. I grab the door just before it closes and follow her.
“I usually just hang out over here until he’s done,” she says, moving to the padded training tables near the wall. I set my bag next to her as she pulls herself up and sits with her back against the wall. But rather than joining her, I turn around and let my legs amble on rote memories to the other end of the gym where the jump ropes hang.
“Hey,” I hear Wes’s voice over my shoulder.
“Hey,” I hum, not turning around. My fingers run down the plastic beads of the blue-and-white rope. A few seconds later, Wes’s fingers come into view, grabbing the blue-and-red one next to it—his knuckles grazing my own in a purposeful touch that wakes me from my trance.
“Wanna jump?” he says, his right cheek dimpled with a smile. I take it in for a breath, then glance beyond him to my father’s desk. He’s watching me, and though I expect him to be scowling, he isn’t. He’s looking at me with no expression at all.
“Yeah,” I say, my eyes moving to Wes’s. “I do,” I grin.
I pull the rope into my hands and move a few steps away to give us both room, then begin to swing. The silent competition sparks quickly, and I do my best to keep up with him, but after a full minute of skipping, my feet finally run out of speed, and the beads tangle with my shoes.
“Yeah, I’m still working on my cardio,” I huff, wrapping the rope around my hand.
“That was pretty good,” he says. I roll my eyes at him. “No, seriously. I’ve been doing this every day for weeks, so it was good. You did good.”
“Whatever,” I say, smiling to myself when I turn away to hang my rope on the hook. When I turn back, I glance at where my father was sitting to find him no longer there. I sigh, my mind instantly replaying his voice, his warning to leave Wes alone. I’m a distraction.
I leave Wes on his own, and head to the free weights, loading some weights and working out on my own. He never lets me wander far, but he gives me my independence. After twenty minutes, though, my muscles fatigue, and I slide my feet over to Taryn, collapsing on the bench next to her.
“I’m proud of you,” she says through the side of her mouth, not pulling her eyes away from some video she’s watching on her phone. “I know how hard it was for you to come in here.”
I exhale and lean into the wall behind us, rolling my head to the side. “Thanks,” I sigh, landing my fist softly on her shoulder.
After a few minutes, the bell sounds, giving us ten minutes to get to our first period. I pull myself up and lean forward to grab my heavy backpack, but my father’s feet are on either side. I look up at him, squinting, my eyes still sleepy. He’s holding a folded piece of paper, which I stare at for a few seconds before his hand shakes it once, encouraging me to take it.
“What’s this?” I say, my brow pulled in as I stand and shift my bag over my shoulder and unfold the page with one hand.
“Your workout,” my dad says as he walks away. I watch him, my lips parted, caught in their usual pose—the one that’s ready to defend myself and argue with my father. Only…that’s not what this morning was about.
“You ready?” Taryn says next to me. I begin to walk alongside her and read through the routine my father clearly just jotted down in pen—a mix of upper body, legs, and core with specific goals set for two weeks, four, and then six. He made plans. He has expectations. And not just gruff, unattainable ones I’ll never meet. These were made with thought.
“Told you,” Wes says, suddenly by my side. I startle, and begin folding the paper quickly, stuffing it in the back pocket of my jeans.
“Told me what?” I ask, suddenly aware that he’s next to me, near Taryn and TK, and Kyle and Levi are behind us.
“That your dad loves you,” he leans in. I stop for a second and consider his words, what just happened.
“This is about me beating the competition. That’s all,” I say, shaking my head and looking at my feet.
“No,” Wes says, his thumb under my chin, pulling my eyes to his. “It’s about him believing in you and knowing you’re better than the competition.”
I lean my head to the side and purse my lips, still not ready to give into his argument, when without warning, he leans in close and brushes his mouth on mine, running his thumb along my bottom lip and holding the side of my face while he looks at me.
“It’s also about you being too stubborn to consider I might just be right,” he says, his mouth raised on one side. I let out a breathy laugh, and immediately blush at the sound of Levi Ooooooooing behind us.
>
My face falls lower, and I start to tuck my chin into my chest, but Wes quickly trails his hand down my arm to my hand, his fingers linking with mine before he tugs gently on my arm to walk with him.
“This might seriously be the first time I’ve seen a guy hold Joss’s hand and not get punched in the face,” Kyle says behind me.
“That’s because you’re usually the one trying to hold her hand, Kyle. And no girl wants that—we’d all punch you in the face,” Taryn says loudly.
“Ha ha ha,” Kyle says back. He’s acting like it’s no big deal, but I can tell his feelings are hurt. I look over my shoulder to check on him. He smiles with tight lips and winks at me. I mentally do my best to send him an apology. I’m caught between wanting to hide holding Wes’s hand in front of him and wanting to showcase it to the world.
He doesn’t give me a choice, not letting go until we have to part ways and move to our separate seats in our English class. I catch a few stares on our locked fingers before he lets go, and I know it’s only a matter of seconds before McKenna knows. I watch a friend scurry over to her seat, in the front corner—a few rows away from Wes and me. She glances at each of us while her friend talks, but quickly pretends not to care. Inside, I gloat.
The rest of the day, the feeling of having someone like Wes claim me as his publicly, lingers—and I find myself walking the halls a little taller, feeling less of a need to put off a vibe that warns people to stay away. It’s a different kind of confidence. I feel…beautiful.
At lunch, rather than leave campus with his brothers, he tosses the keys to TK and stays behind, sitting with Taryn and me. The way Taryn looks at both of us makes me blush, and eventually Wes leans forward, pressing his lips on my cheek in front of her, almost as if he’s trying to break the ice and let the awkward out of the bag.
“So you two are really actually…together?” Taryn says. I glance to Wes, not sure how to answer.
