Changing Forever

by Lisa De Jong

  “Why did she drive by without saying anything? I mean … Dad asked her not to but after she saw me …”

  His arms tighten around me. “Maybe she wasn’t sure it was you.”

  Pinching my eyes closed, I say, “My dad had that same truck when I was four. He couldn’t afford anything else.”

  “Fuck, Em, I’m so sorry. When my mom fell into her depression, I never questioned why. I only questioned why she didn’t come back. Maybe when we’re older, it will make sense.” He runs his fingers along my spine before gently combing them through my hair.

  “And what if it never does?”

  His fingers still. “Then we move on with what we know. We live our own lives, aiming to be something we never had.”

  I need something to help me forget. I need something to help ease the bleeding in my soul. Sometimes this life is too much. Sometimes it’s just enough, but right now, I need it to be just right, and I know exactly how to get there.

  Wrapping my hands around the back of Drake’s neck, I let my fingers curl into the hair at the base of it. One more look in my needy, pained eyes, and he knows what I’m asking. His tongue slides along my collarbone while he wraps my hair around his hands. As his lips move higher on my neck, his hard length presses between my legs, causing a wonderful friction.

  “You taste so fucking good,” he says, placing tiny kisses along my jawline.

  “Drake,” I moan right before his lips capture mine. It’s hot. Unrelenting. He kisses me like this might be the last time. Like it’s the first. Like it’s the sum of every kiss we’ve ever shared.

  He breaks his lips away from mine just long enough to give me some instructions. “Arms up.”

  I comply, letting him pull my sweater over my head. I lay my back against his bed, but his fingers manage to snake under my back and unfasten my bra, leaving me bare from the waist up.

  His fingertips trace the line of my shoulders before dragging down between my breasts. They continue down, stopping to unbutton my jeans.

  He splays his hand across my stomach, using his lips to sear the skin his fingertips just touched.

  “Hips,” he groans, lifting them off the bed. He grips the waistband on my jeans, pulling them down to my ankles. I wiggle and stretch my legs to help him free me completely.

  Stretching my arms over my head on the pillow, I watch as he stands and performs his own little strip show. He makes his way back to me, working his mouth up my calves to the inside of my thighs. There’s nothing short of an ocean between my legs. He does this to me.

  His hot mouth settles between my thighs. “Drake.” He uses his tongue to lap my sensitive skin. Closing my eyes, I tug his hair between my fingers. He blows warm air against my aroused skin, sending me closer to the edge.

  This is the best feeling in the world. When my body is climbing, all thoughts are gone except for those of the pleasure I’m about to feel, and the way his fingers and tongue dance carefully over my skin.

  “Oh my God,” I pant, feeling the first orgasm tear through my body. Drake doesn’t stop until it’s over, continuing to tease me the whole way through.

  As he moves back up my body, he nips at my skin, tugging it between his teeth. It’s sexy. It’s sensual. It’s pure bliss. And when his lips touch my throat, he enters me in one fluid motion.

  “You fit me so perfectly, Em,” he whispers, slowly moving in and out of me. He’s right … the way it feels when our bodies are fitted together is impossible to describe.

  “You’re mine, beautiful. I always want to be your favorite,” he breathes against my ear. He pushes into me over and over again, whispering sweet things to me the entire way through. As I build up to my second orgasm, he builds to his, quickening his pace.

  “Emery,” he growls, pumping into me. I wrap my arms tightly around him, needing to have him as close as possible. Even after sex, he feels so right inside of me. I wish life would leave us uninterrupted so we could live in moments like this.

  After a couple minutes, he looks into my eyes through the darkness and gently kisses my lips. “I’m sorry about earlier, Em. I’m stressed out, and I guess I just lost my shit.” He kisses me again before laying his flushed cheek against my chest.

  “I should be the one saying sorry. I should have been honest with my dad,” I whisper, running my fingers up and down his bare back. “Why are you stressed? Is there something I can do?”

  “Big game tomorrow. Do or die, you know?” His voice is more full of emotion than I usually hear. Drake appears tough, but he’s fragile. I think I’m the only person he lets see it.

  “I’ll be there.”

  He lifts his head, kissing the skin between my breasts. “Knowing you’re close always helps.”

  “I’m glad,” I whisper tracing the lines on his forehead. “You’ll do great. You always do.”

  Without another word, his eyes begin to drift closed, and he falls asleep with his cheek pressed to my chest. Even with frozen dinners, and our little argument, it’s the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.

  And I never did get any of those pumpkin bars.

  THIS IS THE ONLY FRIDAY we play football all year. The big post Thanksgiving game between Southern Iowa and Nebraska. These are the days that most guys on my team live for. The days the fans come from miles around for. Since my dad’s been gone, the joy behind these days is gone. It’s not about me anymore. It’s my job. I do it for my team. I do it for my family. I can’t say I hate it, because it’s the one part of my dad I still have, but my relationship with it has definitely changed over the years. I’m just going through the motions.

  “How’s the shoulder feeling?” Looking behind me, I see Cole pulling on his pads.

  “Nothing to be concerned about,” I say, throwing my gloves in my locker.

  “If you need us to run shorter routes or anything today, let me know.”

  I slam my locker door shut, the loud sound of metal quieting the entire locker room. “It’s fine. Drop it.”

  These guys have known me long enough that it shouldn’t be new to them that I don’t like to be coddled. My dad instilled in me that mental toughness is the most important aspect of the game. I can hear his words in my head right now, “If you get knocked down, you have to get right back up, kid. Not even Joe Montana could win a game lying down.”

  When I walk out of the tunnel, the first thing I notice is the packed stadium. This is one of the biggest games of the year. Each team is undefeated, and the winner gets their ticket to the conference championship stamped. This is one of the goals I’ve been pressuring myself to reach for years. What my coach has drilled into my head week after week in those meetings I try to avoid.

  There’s sixty more minutes.

  Four more quarters.

  One more game until we know we’re in it, or it’s done.

  If we don’t make it, there’s no way we can play in the National Championship game. There are too many good teams week in, week out that are vying for one of those two spots. They’re only awarded to greatness.

  “Ready, Chambers?” Coach asks, placing his heavy hand on my shoulder.

  I nod, tossing the football around in my hands. “It’s no different than any other game. We just have to execute. No mistakes.”

  “Good, good. James has a few gloves for you to try. It’s cold and wet out here.”

  My stomach turns through the first couple plays. After working with me for almost two years, my offensive coordinator knows how I work and calls two easy run plays. By the time I go under center for the third time, my feet are firmly planted under me, my nerves just a trace of what they were before.

  On the third play, with six yards to go for a first down, I drop back, scanning my eyes over the field looking for an open receiver. This is where being calm helps. On my first pass over the field, no one is open, but I keep my shit together and quickly start a second pass. My tight end has freed himself on my right side, raising his hand to give me the signal.

  He catches
it, gaining even more yardage after the catch. The home crowd roars, and the rest of the tension leaves my body. We score two touchdowns before Nebraska scores their first, and going into halftime, we have a one score lead.

  “Good job out there, Chambers,” Coach says, patting me on the shoulder. “If the defense can hold up, and you do that again in the second half, the game is ours.”

  I nod, feeling some of the pressure falling back on my shoulders. I’m good at just doing things, and as soon as someone starts reminding me, I feel like they have no confidence in my abilities. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I read too much into this stupid shit.

  When we step back out on the field, the rain is coming down faster, small puddles forming across the field. I’ve played in these conditions before, and if one thing is for certain, we’ll be running the ball a lot more in this half.

  You ready to go?” I ask Trevon, our first string running back.

  He rolls his neck and bends his knees a couple times. “I’m always ready.”

  “I’m going to need you a lot this half.”

  “I’ll do what I’ve got to do for the team,” he says, stretching his shoulders out.

  Nebraska has the ball first in the second half, but we hold them to a three and out. When the ball is back in my hands, I pass it to Trevon, over and over again, moving the chains several times. I place it in his hands again in the red zone, and he runs hard on third down but is brought down before getting a first down. I start walking away, expecting Coach to bring out the field goal unit. I don’t realize that Trevon isn’t getting up until I see the training staff run past me.

  I squint my eyes, trying to see across the field. It doesn’t look good. His arms and legs aren’t moving, and after a couple minutes of coaching from the training staff, the cart goes out to the field. I’m trying not to let it get to me because we have a game to finish, but the guy’s the heart of our team. We need him.

  We make the field goal, but Nebraska scores a touchdown on the next two drives, putting us down by four points. My back-up running back fumbled the ball on his first drive in, and since then, I’ve been trying to come up with new ways to get down the field.

  It’s the fourth quarter now. It’s go time.

  With only a few minutes left to score a touchdown, I take matters into my own hands when I see an opening in the line. I’m not as fast as Trevon, but I’m not the worst running quarterback either. I slice right on through, gaining a first down. The next play, I take a chance and throw it down the field, but it slips through the receiver’s hands, landing on the wet ground. If I’m going to do this, it’s got to be now.

  In the huddle, I call a quarterback run, something so rare it earns me a few dirty looks. I ignore them, getting everyone lined up. After the ball is hiked to me, I tuck it under my arm and take off down the center of the field again. A few tacklers slip, missing me and I speed up.

  I didn’t see him coming.

  The front of my body came down hard on the ground, knocking all the air out of me.

  A second later, something hard and heavy hits the center of my back, sending a shooting pain down my spine.

  Then everything goes black.

  I HATE HOSPITALS. The sterile smell makes my stomach roll.

  I’ve never had to stay in one overnight or visit anyone for any other reason than they have a new baby. It’s white walls, white tiles, and just a few patches of blue carpet in the small seating area.

  “I’m here to see Drake Chambers,” I announce to the lady at the reception desk.

  Her fingers work on the small keyboard before she looks up at me. “Name?”

  “Emery. Emery White,” I reply nervously, tapping my fingertips along the top of her desk.

  “You’re not on my list. Are you family?”

  “Not exactly. He’s my boyfriend. I don’t think his family is coming, at least not tonight anyway.” I tuck some hair behind my ear and watch her nervously. If she doesn’t let me see him, I’m going to have to find another way.

  I can’t leave him.

  Her eyes skim my features before she picks up the receiver. “Have a seat. I’ll make a call and see what I can do.”

  I step back before she has time to change her mind. “Thanks,”

  I mumble, running my hand up and down my purse strap.

  I stare up at the old tube TV and wait nervously while that last play flashes through my mind over and over again.

  I watched for many agonizing minutes as the medics worked on him. I’ve never felt more helpless. All I could do was pray that things weren’t as bad as they looked.

  They couldn’t get him up after working on him for a few minutes. The only thing that gave me a sliver of hope was a simple nod of his head. But as I watched the cart come out to the field, my chest tightened. Never a good sign.

  The wait seems long, but it probably isn’t more than a few minutes before the receptionist calls me back to the desk. “You can go in for about an hour. Visiting hours end at nine.”

  I nod, grateful that I get the chance to see him. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank the nurse. She said he could use a little company,” she pauses, a slight smile forming on her face, “He’s in room 214.”

  Bolting down the small hallway, I find the elevator and push the up arrow. I find myself waiting again. I hate that it’s taking me so long to get to him.

  The elevator dings, and two people step out before I’m able to get in. I press the two button and wait one more time. As soon as it opens, I rush to find his door, reading the numbers twice to make sure I’m in the right place.

  I press against the wood and step inside, staring at his motionless form. I guess I had this vision that I’d walk in and he’d walk right over to me, telling me everything is going to be okay. That’s not how it’s going to play out.

  As I walk closer, I have to cover my mouth to hold back the tears begging to fall. Drake looks so helpless lying there, but when I look at his face, it looks like every other time I’ve watched him sleep.

  A voice from behind startles me. “He’s going to be out of it for a while. He was in quite a bit of pain when they brought him in.”

  A nurse dressed in light blue scrubs comes up beside me, wrapping one hand around his wrist while counting the seconds on her watch. “Is he going to be okay?”

  She smiles sympathetically. “The doctor should be in shortly to talk to him. He’ll be able to answer any questions you have.”

  “Thank you.”

  She squeezes my shoulder, leaving the room without saying another word.

  The last couple hours have been so crazy, I didn’t realize how late it was getting, or how tired and achy my body was from pushing my way through the crowd to get out of the stadium.

  I spot the wooden chair in the corner of the room and slide it close to Drake’s bed. Just as I sit down, his eyes flutter open. He stares at me, appearing confused. “Hey,” I say, wrapping my hand around his.

  He just watches me, eyes filled with pain. I’d do anything to take it all away, to make it my own.

  “Just rest, okay.” I gently squeeze his hand, running mine across the top of it.

  His eyes drift shut again, and I’m content to rest my cheek against the white sheets that cover his bed and watch him.

  I’m not sure how long I slept, but when I open my eyes, Drake is watching me. I’ve missed those blue eyes of his.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask, entwining our fingers.

  He opens his mouth to speak, but the door clicks open, interrupting him. “Good morning. I’m Dr. Gates, and I’ll be the one observing you while you’re here.”

  My focus stays on Drake, watching as he wrinkles his brow. For the first time I notice the dark circles under his eyes and wonder how much he slept last night.

  A heavy hand covers my shoulder. “Can I have a moment with our patient? I need to examine him.”

  I’m nervous about leaving him, but he gently squeezes my fingers t
o let me know he’ll be okay. “I’ll wait outside,” I say, leaning in to press my lips to his cheek.

  I step out in the hallway and rest my back against the wall. There’s no way they’re going to get me any farther away from him than this. A few nurses pass me. Maybe I should feel self-conscious over my wrinkled clothes and tousled hair, but that’s one of the last things on my mind. I fell asleep watching Drake, and nobody woke me up to let me know that visiting hours were over.

  Maybe they wanted to, and realized it was pointless to even try. My dad always tells me I have stubborn written all over me. I’m going to do what I want to do, not matter what.

  It feels like hours pass before Drake’s door opens. I glance up at the doctor, noticing how much his expression darkened from what it had been before I left the room.

  Standing, I ask, “Can I go back in?”

  Dr. Gates opens his mouth to say something but quickly closes it again. He looks down at the floor then back at me. “You can go back in.” I walk around him, pressing my palm to the cool wood. Taking a long, deep breath, I push against the door and hesitantly step in.

  At first, the mood doesn’t feel that much different than when I left, but as I move closer to Drake’s bed, his body language tells me something is wrong. The pain’s evident on his brow, the tension showing on his jaw. Whatever the doctor had to say … he didn’t like it. Which tells me I’m probably going to hate it.

  “Drake,” I whisper, covering his forearm with my hand. I can feel the tension even in that.

  He swallows hard, but his eyes stay locked on the tiled ceiling. “You need to go.” His voice is so devoid of any emotion. My heart always aches when I hear tears in someone’s voice, but something about this cuts a little deeper.

  “What?” I ask, my fingers digging into his skin.

  He shakes his head. “We can’t do this anymore, Emery.”

  He hasn’t said my full name in forever. It feels so impersonal, like miles worth of space is coming between us.

  “Do what, Drake?”

  “Us,” he says, grinding his teeth together.