The worst part was she never so much as batted an eye in my direction when she was with him. Never even gave a hint of acknowledgment to my presence. I understood why, the stifling hostility that roiled between Troy and me. It was so thick there couldn’t be a person in the room who wouldn’t choke on it. It’d grown over the weeks, the bitterness that tightened his jaw and hardened his eyes.
I wondered if it was obvious to him just how much I wanted his girl.
It was only a matter of Troy walking through the door of wherever we were hanging out and Blake was suddenly ready to leave. I knew to Blake this animosity was not so much about the girl Troy towed alongside him, but the principle behind it. Reluctantly, I would follow my brother out from wherever we’d been, conceding to let the bad blood simmer.
Maggie had been back to the house three times since that first timid knock on my bedroom door. She began coming earlier and earlier each time, lingering a little bit longer before she left. After the conversation we shared in my room, I struggled to maintain safer subjects, giving her space. I learned little snippets of her life. She’d be happy to read all day long, but the thought of taking a math test made her sick to her stomach. I teased her when she revealed she loved Harry Potter, and then she blushed when she admitted she liked to sing. It was a whisper when she told me her little sister was the most important person in her world, saying she’d do absolutely anything for her.
Beneath those everyday words grew an affection I was certain was only noticeable to the two of us.
Giving her that space had become hard to do when I opened the door last Tuesday to find her eyes tear-stained and puffy. I waited until my mom went upstairs, and then I followed Maggie into the kitchen.
“Are you okay?” I’d pled to her back. “Is it Troy?”
She’d only shaken her head, turned and lifted her gaze to mine.
The expression on her face killed me.
“Maggie, please...tell me what’s wrong.”
“I can’t,” she’d said, but she hadn’t hidden her face, had openly showed me the pain she held there.
I’d just stood there, wishing I could somehow wipe it away.
That place she discovered in me expanded again when the doorbell rang downstairs. I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. Fifteen minutes earlier than the week before. Taking a quick peek at myself in the mirror, I pushed my fingers through my hair while telling myself to get it under control before I bolted out the door.
When I stepped from my room, I paused to listen to the voices coming from downstairs.
“I’m so sorry, Maggie,” I heard my mother say. “Lara just called to say she isn’t feeling well, and I promised her I’d stand in for her down at the shelter.”
“Oh…oh…I’m sorry. I didn’t know…,” Maggie seemed to ramble, the uncertainty making a resurgence. “I’ll just—”
Mom began to speak at the same time. “You can come back or stay, it’s up to you.” Mom’s voice dropped in a sort of ruefulness. “William’s here, though. I’m not sure…”
With my gut in knots, I moved forward to watch the interaction over the wall, to see my mother have to look down because she couldn’t bear to finish the sentence, to see the embarrassment rush to redden Maggie’s cheeks, then to see the resolution take its place. “No. It’s fine. I can stay.”
Mom looked up. “Are you sure?”
Maggie crossed the threshold. “I’ll be fine, Mrs. Marsch. Really.”
I wasn’t quite sure how to describe the way it made me feel that she chose to stay with me—that she felt safe with me. What I was sure of was it made me sick to think of why she had to contemplate it in the first place.
With my mother away, I ended up spending the entire afternoon trailing Maggie’s every move, found myself working beside her while we continued on in nearly constant conversation. I couldn’t pull myself away. All I wanted was to be near her, to swim in the attraction saturating the room as it slowly simmered between us. She kept smiling over at me, always shy, but somehow free.
It was almost painful not to reach out to touch her. Instead, I busied my hands and my mouth, helping her straighten the pillows on the back of the couch while I told her about the time Blake and I got busted stealing a street sign off Main when I was in junior high. The words were just to fill the space. In the undertones, there was a plea. Please, open up, talk to me.
I continued on when she shook her head and laughed. “The cop had his flashlight on us, yelling ‘Stop,’ while Blake was screaming ‘Run,’ I just stood there, frozen. Blake was so mad it was my fault we got caught.”
“I can’t believe you two. You were so bad.” She grinned at me, those brown eyes warm and amused.
“Blake was constantly causing trouble in high school, and of course, I wanted to be right there beside him. I mean, it wasn’t anything super bad, but I think he was grounded more than he wasn’t.”
Maggie’s movements slowed and she squinted her eyes, as if in thought, absentmindedly fluffing a pillow before she tossed it to the couch to grab another. “He seems so different now.” She turned to study my face. “You seem different.”
I could feel the shift in the air. The attraction flared. Swallowing, I forced myself to keep talking. “Yeah.” I thought about Blake in the truck after the bonfire, the way he’d spoken about Grace, how he wanted to marry her, the devotion that had gushed from his mouth. “I guess we’re just growing up.”
Maggie nodded, seemed lost in memories.
“Maggie,” I said, my voice softening as I inhaled through the tension in the room. I’d been tiptoeing around topics, careful not to tread too deep, but I couldn’t do it any longer. Continually wondering and worrying about her had begun to wear me down, and I knew Maggie wouldn’t just come out and tell me. I had to ask. “You never answered me.”
Her face pinched in awareness, but she asked, “What are you talking about?”
“Troy...do you love him?” I could barely get the words out. I thought I knew her well enough to know how she felt, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t know how to handle it if I were wrong.
“William...” She tilted her face down.
“Please, I need to know.”
With the slant of her head, her expression was indiscernible, and she barely shook her head, but in it was her answer. No. Again, I didn’t understand her or the choices she made.
“Then...why don’t you just break up with him? I know”—my hand fisted as I emphasized the word—“you don’t want to be with him, Maggie. Break up with him...please.”
Maggie inclined her head so she could look over at me. “It’s not that easy, William.”
Old wounds filled her eyes.
Her family was the root of it all, I was sure, what brought on the sadness that haunted her eyes. What made her think someone like Troy was good enough for her. What made her believe breaking up with some loser wasn’t that easy. How could I convince her otherwise if I didn’t know the truth?
“Will you tell me about them...what your family’s like? I mean...I’ve heard stuff...” I trailed off, feeling sick when I realized I’d pushed her too far.
She stilled, and her face paled. She turned ashen white. Her hands trembled and the pillow slipped to the ground.
“Maggie...”
She squeezed her eyes shut, then fled from the living room into the kitchen with her hand covering her mouth.
Stupid…careless. I cursed at myself as I sank down onto the couch. So foolish to broach a subject I knew she wouldn’t want to talk about. But I was desperate to know her—to really know her. But then I had to admit I was probably ill-prepared for what I might learn.
I warred with the urge to go in the kitchen, to offer her comfort, to tell her she could tell me anything and I’d never think any less of her. I forced myself to sit still and wait for her to decide.
Three minutes later she returned, hesitant as she approached me. She stopped a foot away from where I sat and apologized to the floor. �
��I’m so sorry, I…” She glanced at the front door. “I should go.”
I grabbed her wrist, not hard enough to restrain her, but firm enough so she knew I wanted her to stay. Just the slight contact was enough to knock the wind from me.
What had this girl done to me?
I stared up at her, pleading without words, hating the monster inside her that caused her to believe she was worth anything less than what she was, wishing she would see what I saw. Wished she wouldn’t hide. I recovered my voice, though it was broken, choppy with emotion.
“Don’t leave.”
Her eyes dropped closed, I feared as another means of escape. Instead, she shocked me by twisting out of my grasp to weave her fingers through mine.
A moment was spent contemplating the connection, the surge of warmth that rushed straight to my heart and settled in the pit of my stomach, before I looked back at her face to find her staring down at me.
“Tell me you feel this, too.” I wet my lips and tried to make sense of how I felt. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Slowly, she untwined our fingers, and Maggie took a step forward to stand between my knees, moving to hold my face between her hands. They were warm and trembled against my cheeks. Her touch was soft, as gentle as her eyes, just as gentle as the cautious hands I placed on her hips.
Everything thrummed and sped—my nerves, my heart, and my mind.
Locks of hair fell all around her face when she leaned in, and I reached up with the intention of brushing it back, but I couldn’t stop myself from winding my fingers through the auburn waves just because I needed to feel.
Yes.
So soft.
Desire prickled over my skin.
I cupped the back of her head and slid the hand at her hip around her waist. I was so far out of my element, and I cautioned myself to move slow, knowing Maggie was nothing like any of the girls I’d dated in the past.
“William,” she whispered. She hovered two inches from my face, wavering, rocking in indecision, before she pressed her lips to mine.
The close-mouthed kiss felt both innocent and obscene, something stolen, forbidden. It was the single most intimate moment I’d ever shared with anyone. We lingered, breathing into each other, our hands shaking and pulses thundering.
I wanted to weep from the loss of contact when she pulled away.
Visible panic welled up in her, that old sadness darkening her face when she touched her fingertips to her lips, the pain in her eyes when she took one fumbling step back.
“Maggie,” I implored, reaching out. “Please don’t do this.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and fisted one hand at her side, as if she were struggling to find something to say, before she turned and ran.
William ~ Present Day, Later That Night
It was that moment six years ago when I realized it was too late and there was nothing I could do. I’d fallen for the first time in my life and I’d fallen hard. That fall had left me battered and scarred. Had left me with a child I didn’t even know.
I lay on my stomach across the length of the couch, hugging a pillow with my face buried deep.
The wind gusted and shook the window pane.
It suddenly occurred to me that I’d become just as good at hiding as she was.
Chapter Eleven
Maggie ~ Present Day
I stared out the passenger window of Troy’s truck after we left the pizza place. Buildings whizzed by as a blur of obtuse shapes and flashing neon lights. I ignored the churning anger emanating from Troy, the tendons on the back of his hands flexing and tensing as he gripped the steering wheel. I pretended I had no reason to believe anything was wrong. Troy had never given what happened between him and William that summer any acknowledgement.
In his wounded pride, he had glossed over the incident as if it’d never occurred. It was one of the few times life had ever cut me a break. I knew Troy had his suspicions. The contention between him and William had always revolved around me, but for once, Troy’s ego had been my safeguard, keeping watch over the one secret I’d protect with my life. Troy was dying to vocalize it, I knew, to curse William’s name and his sudden reappearance, but saying it aloud would only be a testament to the one person who had ever dared to put Troy back in his place.
It seemed both a miracle and a punishment that I hadn’t run into William the entire week. The time had been spent wondering whether he’d stayed or gone, both longing to see him and contending with an all-consuming fear of what would happen if I did. I couldn’t really make sense of the feeling, how I was so torn between an intense desire to catch even a single glimpse of his face and the ardent prayer he had gone.
I listened to the gossip whenever I went out and engaged in conversations I normally would have avoided. No one had so much as breathed his name.
As preoccupied as I had been with watching for him, it was no surprise that I spotted William’s car the second Troy pulled into the parking lot at the pizza place. Maybe I should have come up with an excuse to keep Troy out of that restaurant. Then he wouldn’t be seething beside me and I wouldn’t be so damned sick to my stomach. But in the moment, the need to see William outweighed any rational thought.
I glanced over at Troy as he jammed the gear of his truck into park under the detached carport outside our house.
“Goddamn it,” he swore at nothing at all, then he jumped from the truck. Slamming the door shut behind him, he stormed up to the house, jerked the back screen door open, and disappeared inside.
It’d been worth it.
I’d been so scared of seeing William again. I was terrified over what he would say and what he would do, and I hadn’t expected the relief I felt when I’d seen him there with his family where he belonged, taking up the space my choices had driven him from so long ago.
And I was sure I’d do just about anything for that instant when William and I had been caught up and lost to each other, when, with just a look, he’d taken me back to how we’d once been.
I sat fixated on the empty space between the carport and house that Troy had just occupied, the winter air seemingly inflamed by his anger. The tire swing pitched and rocked from where it hung beneath the massive tree that took up most of our small backyard, the tree’s branches pummeled by a sudden gust of harsh wind that followed in Troy’s wake. Sadness swelled within my chest. I’d bore witness to that type of anger my entire life. Still I couldn’t grasp from where it could come.
Troy had been left just as damaged by his childhood as I had been. Sometimes I saw it beneath the hatred in his eyes—remorse. But the icy bitterness was too thick for regret to ever break through. He’d forever hold us captive in this miserable life.
“Mommy…isss cold,” Jonathan complained, breaking the silence from the backseat of the truck.
I shook myself from my thoughts and turned to smile at him, reaching out to brush his cool cheek with the back of my hand. “I’m sorry, baby. Let’s get you inside.”
~
I tugged the blankets up to Jonathan’s chin. He snuggled down into the covers and grinned up at me, and I gently swept the hair back from his forehead.
“Tell me your favorite part of today,” I murmured into the dimly lit room. On the floor on my knees, I leaned against the edge of his bed. I wound a lock of my son’s silky hair through my fingers, felt the wistful smile playing at my lips. I loved these quiet moments, when the two of us would shut the door behind us and lock out the rest of the world, when I rested and remembered the things I did have to be thankful for. These times felt like mine and Jonathan’s special secret as we spoke in hushed voices and honest words. It was a sanctuary never invaded. Not even by Troy.
Jonathan twisted his brow up, concentrating, as if his answer were the most important thing in the world. His eyes lit. “I liked eating pizza.”
I chuckled and my smile spread. I tickled his sides. “You do love pizza, don’t you?”
A subdued laugh broke free from his mouth, an
d he nodded his head vigorously as he rolled onto his side to protect himself from my playful attack. “Yes, Momma…is’ my favorite,” he whispered as he giggled and squirmed beneath my gentle fingers.
My love surged, tingled all the way from my fingertips brushing his sides and traveled to my toes.
Gasping for breath, Jonathan stopped to gulp for air then fell into another fit of repressed laughter when I tickled him again. We might as well have been elementary school children at a sleepover, buried beneath a blanket with a flashlight, trying to stay as quiet as possible so we wouldn’t be caught staying up long after we’d been told to go to bed.
“Mommy,” he wheezed, clutching my hands when he finally had enough. He sat up, his little hands still gripping mine. His head was cocked to the side with an adorable grin drawing up only one side of his mouth, his hair sticking up everywhere in a tousled mess.
I laughed and smoothed it down.
“All done?” I asked. I straightened his twisted covers so he could get situated back in bed.
He climbed in. The smile never faded from his face, even when he yawned. “Yep.”
Yes.
I adored these times.
I kissed his forehead and whispered, “Goodnight,” against his baby soft skin.
“Night, Mommy,” he said, sinking down and cuddling into the warmth of his blankets. I began to stand when Jonathan grabbed my hand. “Wait, Mommy,” he said, almost frantic, “we forgot your part.”
Oh.
I sank back to my knees. I wondered if my expression was the same as his had been when he’d asked the same question, because to me, my favorite parts of the day had been the most important things in the world. I sighed and drew my lips together in thought. Was it wrong to share this with my son?
“I had two favorite parts,” I finally said as I fiddled with a loose thread at the corner of his blanket. “This,” I murmured, softly nudging his chin with my knuckle. He wiggled in unabashed pleasure, expecting my invariable answer. “And…” I weighed what to say, settled on sharing the snippet of joy I felt. “I saw a friend today. That made me happy.”
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