A few minutes after we’ve placed our orders, Jack hands me another green envelope. I tug my eyebrows together in question and when I don’t reach for it, he simply smiles, sliding the item across the table toward me. I open it and find another birthday card from Avery with another note inside. This one is shorter and far more cryptic.
Before I can ask Jack or Beck if they know what her message means, I receive my answer. As our waiter comes from the kitchen with my plate of sweet potato pancakes, he’s followed by a small crowd of singing colleagues. They’re singing happy birthday…to me. There’s even a single lit candle in the middle of my breakfast. When I look at Beck, I can tell he’s biting back a laugh. Jack, on the other hand, is laughing so hard, he’s practically doubled over. I shake my head and read Avery’s note again. Don’t hate me.
Yeah. Thanks for that, sweetheart, I think to myself as I shake my head. I can’t help but chuckle as the singing entourage finishes their number and waits around for me to blow out my candle. When I do, they erupt in a hearty round of applause. That’s when Beck loses his composure and joins in on Jack’s laughter. Their amusement is contagious and, pretty soon, I’m laughing, too.
Thankfully, the rest of breakfast goes by without anymore surprises. I’m feeling stuffed and anxious to see Avery by the time we leave. I thank my roommates for my breakfast, as they insist I am not to pay for my share, and then we head out. As soon as we get back to the apartment, Beck hands me the mailbox key. At this point, I don’t even think to inquire why now is an important time to check the mail—I just do it. There are only two cards inside. One green, one yellow. As I catch up to the guys, I have a fleeting thought about the significance of the green and yellow colored envelopes. I wonder if it’s a hint as to what’s inside or what might be coming next. Green and Gold. CSU colors. Connection?
I toss the mailbox key onto the coffee table as I open the green envelope first.
Excited to know that whatever is coming next will involve me getting to see my girl, I turn my attention to the yellow envelope. I pause when I notice that this one is thicker and it’s actually addressed to me. When I turn it over to open it, my stomach drops. There’s a return address on the back. When I see her name scribbled across the envelop flap, my heart drops, too. Suddenly, I feel like I might just crap out all of my organs.
“What. The. Fuuu-aaahhh—” I bite my tongue, but I can’t contain myself. I have to yell. So I do. “Fiddle sticks!” I’m too distracted to be amused by my use of the Avery-ism. I have to concentrate on containing whatever it is that I’m feeling—I can’t even assign a name to it; all I know is that it’s making it hard to breathe.
“What the hell, man?” asks Jackson, looking up at me from where he sits on the couch.
His voice snaps me out of my head.
“Are you okay?” asks Beck, his confusion made evident on his face. “Why do you look like you could punch a wall?”
“I—I—” I can’t talk right now. Ignoring them both, I head to my room and shut myself inside. I don’t realize that I’m trembling until I look back down at the envelope and see that it’s shaking in my hand. Despite the movement, I can still make out her name.
Rhonda Meyers.
Her last name is different, but I would recognize that handwriting anywhere.
I toss the envelope on my bed, as if holding it any longer might singe away my fingerprints.
How the hell did she find me?
I can hardly think straight, which infuriates me. I begin to pace in an attempt to gain some sort of control. I walk from the door, across the room to my desk, and then back again. I still can’t figure out what it is that I’m feeling, all I know is that it’s suffocating. I lace my fingers together and rest them around the back of my head in order to open up my lungs. God—I feel like I might burst!
I don’t notice that I have company until I almost plow right into her. Despite the fact that her hands are full, she lifts them both to brace herself for impact, but I stop short. Her eyes grow wide in surprise and she sucks in a tiny gasp as she stares up at me. The look she’s portraying is full of worry and wonder. I don’t know why, but the sight of her pushes me over the edge. It’s as if she tears down my walls just by looking at me. Now I feel completely defenseless against my own emotions.
“Sonny, what is it? What’s going on?”
“Happy—effing—birthday to me! She found me,” I spit out, pointing toward the bed.
“What?” she murmurs as her gaze follows my finger. She makes her way to the bed, discarding whatever it is that she’s brought before she picks up the envelope. I can tell when realization hits as she coughs out a breath of air. “Sonny…”
Her sympathy is my undoing and I can’t stop the tears that fill my eyes. I don’t want her to feel sorry for me. I don’t want her to see me like this at all! I’m pissed at myself for letting a stupid envelope get to me this much. I growl my frustration, pressing my heels against my eyes to press away my tears. That woman does not deserve to get a rise out of me. Shit! How did she find me?
“Sonny,” Avery murmurs as she reaches for my wrists. I shrug away from her touch as I begin pacing again. “Hey, stop,” she pleads, grabbing a fistful of my shirt. I plant my feet but tilt my head back and look up at the ceiling as I push out a heavy sigh. “Look at me.” When I don’t obey, she reaches her hands up and cups them around my neck, coaxing me to comply. “Grayson, hey, look at me. Please.” I brace myself, knowing I’ll break a little more when I meet her gaze—‘cause that’s what she does to me; with one glance, she opens me right up and leaves me completely exposed and vulnerable. “Grayson,” she whispers.
I give in. When my eyes meet hers, a breath hitches in my throat and I have to clench my jaw to try and stave off the tears.
“Talk to me.”
“She—she—what does she want?” I manage, speaking through my teeth. It’s been three years since my last birthday card from her. I thought I was finished with having to deal them. The fact that she doesn’t know how her cards ended up doing more damage than good upsets me more. If she knew, if she cared to find out—to learn anything about me—she would have given up a long time ago. But, once again, my birthday is not about me at all.
“I don’t know,” Avery answers my question softly, stroking her thumbs against my skin to try and comfort me. “There’s really only one way to find out.”
“What—you mean open it?” She nods. “No,” I state, emphatically. “Absolutely not.”
“But Sonny—”
“No! I’m not opening that.”
“It has a return address. Didn’t you say she never used to leave a return address? Maybe she’s ready to be found.”
“She’s ready to be found?” I scoff and pull away from her. “That’s bullshit,” I cry, unable to control the quiver in my voice. “She’s the one who left me. She should be the one crawling back for me. No—I don’t give a shit what’s in that envelope.” I walk around her, picking it up from off the bed and tossing it in the trash beside my desk. Unsatisfied that it’s still in eye sight, I bury it under the trash that’s already in the small bin. The act seems to restore my control and I feel better having discarded the offensive item. I’ll have to remember to take that to the dumpster later.
“Grayson—”
“Avery, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Hey, I understand—”
“No, Avery, you don’t. You don’t understand.” I huff, realizing that my emotions still need a little reigning in. I’m not so sure I can do that with Avery in the room. I’m aware of the fact that I’m raising my voice at her, but I can’t help it. She doesn’t get it and I can’t listen to her tell me that she does. Her mom is a phone call away; just like I don’t understand what that feels like, she doesn’t understand what this feels like.
The rational side of me reminds me that she’s just trying the be helpful; but my rationale pales in comparison to my bitter anger—because that’s what I’m feeling. I�
��m angry that my so-called-mother has the audacity to send me a damn birthday card. I’m angry that she found me—but most of all, it pisses me off that she went through the trouble to find me and a card was the best she could do. I shake my head, wondering what else I would expect her to do? Show up herself? Yeah right. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
“Wait, no, Sonny!” She blocks my path to the door, pressing her small hands against my chest. “You’re right. I don’t understand. I can’t understand. But you’re hurting and I hate it. I hate it! I can’t stand what she’s done to you. It makes me sick! And I’m sorry. But don’t go.” She wraps her arms around me and holds me tight. “Let me in.”
I draw in a couple deep breaths as I try and calm down. I concentrate on the feeling of my girl wrapped around me. My girl. Avery. I look down at her and what I see helps to press down my flared temper. What I see is a woman—a woman who is barely five-foot-one—ready to fight the world for me; ready to fight me if I stand in the way of her path to my heart. She’s exactly the opposite of Rhonda.
While I don’t think that I deserved to be abandoned by my own mother, I know I don’t deserve the woman who is now holding me—but I want her. More than that, I love her. And she loves me. As I lean down to kiss the top of her head, I inhale the smell of her shampoo. I wrap my arms around her and she squeezes me tighter. Suddenly, the world feels right again.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble into her hair.
“What? No,” she insists, shifting so that she’s looking up at me. “You have nothing to apologize for.” She groans pathetically as she presses her chin against my chest. “This is not how I wanted your birthday to go,” she says with a pout.
“It started off pretty good.”
“Will you let me try and salvage it? I have presents…I was going to give you one now and one later—but maybe now’s a good time for both of them.”
“Sure. Why not?” I reply with a shrug.
“Yeah?”
The hope that shines in her eyes beckons me to shove aside all thoughts of Rhonda and kiss the woman that I love. When I press my lips against hers, she kisses me back tenderly. “Yeah,” I answer before delivering one more kiss.
“Okay. Come here.” She takes my hands and leads me to the bed where we both sit. I watch her as she folds her legs underneath her and situates the items she has brought, just so. Now that I’m calm, I can take her all in. She’s wearing the same outfit she wore when I took her on her birthday date. The leopard print leggings fit like another layer of skin and her black top clings to her chest while the sweater she wears drapes around her. Even though it was months ago, I’ll never forget that night—and her outfit assures me that she won’t, either.
I reach for her, sliding my hand underneath her sweater and around her waist as I close the distance between us and bring my mouth to hers. She giggles, surprised by my abrupt act, and then follows my lead as she wraps her arms around my neck. I shove aside my presents and pull her into my lap, never parting my lips from hers. I relish in her willingness and deepen our kiss. I pull away as soon as I feel my self-control slipping out of reach.
“What was that for?” she asks softly as she searches my eyes.
“I love you.”
She sighs happily and leans against me. “You know what I love?”
“Tell me,” I murmur, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“I love that you tell me you love me just because.” She kisses my cheek and then reaches for one of my gifts. “Open.”
I’m not surprised to find a green card sticking out from the top of the gift bag. “Why green?” I ask as I open the envelope.
“Someone I love has incredible green eyes. Now, it’s my favorite color.”
I chuckle softly and then open my card.
When I look at her, she’s grinning in anticipation. I can’t help but smile back as I pull the tissue paper out of the bag to reveal what’s inside. I laugh—really laugh—as I pull out the white fuzzy dice. I’m laughing so hard that I have to hold onto her waist to keep my balance—and it feels good.
“You are awesome,” I say when I catch my breath.
“You like them? I thought your vintage car could use some vintage flare; and now you’ll have something that reminds you of me wherever you go.”
“I love them,” I tell her as I kiss her cheek. I don’t tell her that I definitely don’t need help remembering her wherever I go. She’s my heart; I carry her with me, always. But it is true—I do love them. “Thank you.”
“Yay!” she cheers with an excited clap. “Okay, now your other gift.” She hands me another card and a small rectangle box. I open the card first.
I furrow my brow at her suspiciously as I set aside her note and remove the lid from the box. My jaw drops when I see two tickets to watch the Broncos play the Chargers in just a few weeks. As crazy as it might sound, considering how much football means to me, I’ve never been to a professional game before and she knows it. Even still—“This is too much, Ave. You shouldn’t have.”
“Did I pick a bad match up? I wasn’t really sure what game you’d like to watch. I—”
I shake my head at her, signaling that she’s misunderstood me. “No, this is incredible. But it’s too much, sweetheart. I got you flowers and you got me Bronco tickets? I mean, that’s not even fair.”
“Hey,” she protests, cupping her hands under my chin. “First of all, I loved my birthday date—and you gave me a lot more than just flowers. Second, I’m sure these seats are so high up you’ll wish you were at home watching the game on your big TV. Third, it’s not too much. It’s not enough. I have a lot of birthdays I’m trying to make up for, here. I told you I planned on spoiling you and I’m not done. Not even close.”
“Avery—”
She shuts me up with a kiss. “Happy birthday, Sonny,” she says as she pulls away.
“You’re unbelievable,” I whisper as I stare into her eyes. I replay the last half hour and I’m in awe of the way she’s managed to pull me out of a state of emotional turmoil to this place, where the only thing I feel is her. In the back of my mind, the image of that yellow envelope is nudging me and encouraging me to open up doors that I closed a long time ago; but I refuse. I don’t know what it means—the fact that I got a birthday card with a return address today—but I don’t want to know. I don’t want to go backwards. My future is sitting in my lap and showering me with more love than I’ve ever known. I want to take her hand and never look back.
I won’t deny the fact that that card has conjured up a lot of questions. But how can I regret ignoring them when I know nothing but pain will come along with the answers? I don't need that. I don’t need Rhonda. I don’t need Patrick. I just need Avery.
“Thank you, Shorty. You have made this day the best birthday of my life.”
“Really?” she murmurs. “I’m not driving you crazy?”
“No. Not at all. Now, how do you feel about staying in here the rest of the day and just making out with me?” I ask as I recline back onto the bed, pulling her with me so that her chest is pressed against mine. She giggles as I nibble at her neck. “I’m not kidding.”
“We have—plans,” she stutters.
“It’s my birthday. Don’t I get a say?” I reach up to sweep her hair out of my way and I can hear her breathing become irregular. She drives me insane when she does that, but I love it—I love that we both feel it and that we effect each other the way we do. It makes me want her so badly.
When she ducks her head, I know what she’s after and I don’t refuse her. As soon as our lips meet, I know she’s mine just as much as I am hers. I roll us over, clearing a space for us as I do, and prop myself on my elbows above her. She runs her fingers through my hair and I free a moan into her mouth. She pulls me closer in response. I lower myself down a little more, supporting myself on one elbow as I free my other hand to explore her body. I start at her knee, which is bent at my side, and slowly feel my way up her thigh. When I get to the hem
of her tank top, I sneak my fingers underneath the fabric, desperate with the desire to feel the warmth of her skin against mine. She gasps at the contact, stealing a mouthful of my breath.
I pause, gently gripping my hand around her waist as I rub circles on the side of her stomach with my thumb. I enjoy her kiss and the softness of her body and the fragrance on her skin. Her fingers trail their way from my hair, down my neck, across my shoulders and along my arms. As she glides her hands back up my arms, she pushes up my sleeves, massaging my triceps as she ascends. Her touch is like heaven and I swear she was made just for me.
Anxious to continue my own exploration, I kiss her deeper still and continue to feel my way up. When my fingers graze their way over her bra she pulls away from me with a start. I yank my hand back immediately and frantically search her eyes, wanting to make sure she’s okay.
“Sorry,” she breathes as she stares up at me. She shakes her head and then covers her face with her hands. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to kill the moment. I just—I—I just—”
“You don’t have to explain, it’s okay,” I tell her, kissing the backs of her hands.
She uncovers herself, revealing her rosy cheeks. “I couldn’t think. I honestly believe you just kissed every thought out of my head and I didn’t want to—”
“Hey,” I chuckle, bringing my lips to her forehead. “It’s okay.” I smooth down her tank top and then lay on top of her, resting my head just below her chin. I definitely need a minute to cool down before we do anything else. “Just hold me for a minute.”
“Aww, my hottie likes to cuddle.”
“Damn straight.” I grin as she giggles.
“So, we really do have other plans today.”
“Like what?”
The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) Page 35
