by Lisa De Jong
Resting my forehead against the passenger side window, I completely lose it. I’ve been dying to hear those words for months, but Clay isn’t the person I wanted to hear saying them.
Without warning, Clay pulls to the side of the road and puts the truck in park. “Emery?”
I catch a glimpse of his concerned eyes and crumble, instantly feeling his arms pulling me close. It feels wrong taking comfort from the guy who wants me while I’m crying over the one who doesn’t. I guess life hasn’t been fair to either of us.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers, running his hand up and down my spine. “We’ll get through this.”
His words make me tense up. There is no we … not in the way Clay wants. Pulling back, I wipe my tears away and take a deep breath. “I’ll be okay. It’s just not how I wanted him to find out.”
“He didn’t know?” Clay asks, sitting back in his seat.
Tears slip from my eyes again. “No, I mean, I left a message once, but he never called back. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, and I wasn’t going to force him with a baby.”
“He’s an idiot not to want you,” he says softly, squeezing my hand before putting his truck back in drive.
The rest of the drive is quiet, which is good because I’m sure anything Clay wants to say will cut me deeper. I know what it’s like to love someone but not be able to be with them. He’s a sweet guy, but he’s not the one for me. He’s a safe walk across the sidewalk when what I really want is a walk across a tight rope. I’m slowly learning, though, that while one is more fun, the other is less likely to shatter me.
By the time we pull into my gravel drive, the sky is completely dark, and the only light that remains on in my house is the one above the sink in the kitchen, which means my dad has gone to sleep.
“Sit tight,” Clay says, climbing out of the truck. Sitting back against my seat, I anticipate my door opening any second now.
When he pulls it open, he steps into the open space, making it impossible for me to get out. The way he stares at me makes my hands sweat. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?”
Without hesitating, I say, “No, I think I need to be alone. Besides, Clay, I can’t go back to being the us you want us to be. I need to figure out who Emery is right now.”
He reaches up, using his thumbs to brush the tears from my eyes. “I know who you are. You’re a smart, determined, stubborn woman. You’re not typical, but that’s what makes you so special.”
Shaking my head, I try to free my face from his hands. It’s not the right time for this. “Emery, please, just listen to me.”
“I’m tired, Clay.”
“Just do me one favor … whatever you do, wherever you end up, make sure you’re happy. You’ve worked too hard to settle for anything less.” He lets go of me, stepping back.
Our eyes remain locked. I haven’t felt this open and raw in a long time. Not even when my mom left, or the day I saw her again driving past my dad’s truck. I either didn’t let myself fall this far, or those events didn’t push me this hard. I’m older. I’ve seen more. I feel more.
And one thing I know for certain … the guy standing in front of me with sad eyes and a defeated stance is the most unselfish person I’ve ever met.
“I’m sorry about today,” I whisper, breaking the silence.
He grabs my hands in his, gently pulling me forward until my feet are firmly planted on the ground. When his lips press to my forehead, I close my eyes, letting his touch soothe me.
“The first part was fun,” he says, smiling sadly. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the front door.”
I nod, following his lead. All I want to do right now is let my head fall against the pillow. With any luck, I’ll get some sleep.
We stop in front of my door. It reminds me so much of our first date. Neither of us knows exactly what to say or do. “Thank you for everything, Clay.”
His lips touch my forehead one more time. “You take care of yourself.”
Nodding, I open the door and disappear inside.
AFTER I DROP MY SISTERS OFF AT HOME, I drive through the darkness, no destination in sight. I’m too numb to fully process the consequences of what happened today, or how my actions in that hospital room months ago affected the rest of my life. I want to go somewhere and forget all my problems by drowning myself in alcohol, but I know when I wake up in the morning, I’m going to feel exactly like I do now. Nothing can be worse than this, and I never deserve better.
This is my forever … the one I was destined to have anyway.
There’s something about country roads. They never get you to where you want to go too quickly, but when you do get there, you’ve gotten the best form of free therapy. It’s crazy what a little time to think can do for you.
After a couple hours, I find myself pulling into the parking lot of B&B’s. It’s one of the two bars in town, but it’s my personal favorite because it’s more low-key. Not the place a guy goes for a hook-up or a fight. Just a place to sulk and forget.
As I walk in the door, I spot the regulars sitting up at the bar, nursing their drinks. That’s not where I’m heading tonight, not if I’m driving.
“Hey, Chambers, what can I get you tonight?” Bill, the owner shouts from over the bar.
“I’ll take a Coke.” He stares at me curiously for a few seconds before throwing some ice in a glass and grabbing a can from the cooler. I drink often when I come here, but tonight I don’t have a ride home, and one thing I’ll never do is drive drunk … not after what happened to my dad.
While I wait for my drink, I switch on the dartboard and pull the darts from the center. This is what I do when I need to focus on something other than what’s swirling in my head.
“Where do you want it?” Bill asks.
I don’t even bother looking at him. “Just set it on the table next to the jukebox.”
As I throw my first set of darts, I hear the glass clink against the table. “What’s eating you, kid?”
“I’m not a kid.”
His voice is lighter when he speaks again. “To me, you’ll always be a kid.”
Without responding, I pull my darts from the board and stand back to throw my second round. I didn’t come here to talk.
“How’s your momma doing?”
Fuck. “I didn’t come here to talk, Bill.” I throw another set of darts, hoping he takes the hint and finds his way back to the bar.
“Your mom and dad used to be the king and queen of this town. I’ve been praying for her since the day he died.”
“I’m not in the mood for this, Bill,” I mumble, hoping he’ll just walk away.
He lets out a short laugh. “Every woman in town was jealous of her because your dad was quite a catch. Handsome, and he’d gone to college. Hell, all the guys envied him because he could get a woman to look at him like your mom did. He was a lucky bastard.” The last word fades away as I finally look over at him. My dad may have been lucky in life, but it ended too soon. Way too soon, and we’re all paying for it.
“Some luck,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. My dad was my best friend, and I still haven’t dealt with his death the way I should’ve, because I’ve been too busy taking care of everyone else.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
I nod, my silent way of letting him know that I’m okay. Or at least that’s what I want him to believe.
“Anyway, if you ever need anything, I’m here. I know you don’t know me that well, but your dad and I were good friends. He loved you, and I know he’d hate to see you like this.”
I stop, rubbing my fingers over my brow. I try so hard to keep everything to myself, to hide it so deep that no one can see, but this guy I barely know is reading me like a children’s book. “It’s been a long day. I think I’m just going to head home.”
“Avoidance isn’t going to solve any problem,” he says as he places his hand on my shoulder.
He walks away before I ha
ve a chance to say anything, not that there’s much to say. He’s right. I’ve been running for as long as I can remember. When my dad was killed, I took care of everyone else so I wouldn’t have time to deal with my own grief. I practiced football for hours each day so when I wasn’t in school, I wouldn’t have to think. School. Football. Sleep. That’s all I did. When I was old enough to work, I got a job at the local grocery store, working every weekend and all through the summer.
I monopolized my time. I avoided serious relationships. I didn’t have many friendships. And where has it gotten me?
A life of fucking misery. Even if I could play football and made it to the NFL, I’d still be this guy. I can’t believe it took me this long to realize it.
I grab my keys from the table and head out the door. It’s time to stop running. I’m too fucking tired … I have been for a long time.
This time, as I drive home, I let my mind go free, thinking about what it is that I want. What would make me happy? I’ve made such a mess of things that it’s hard to sort through it.
As soon as I pull in my driveway, I shut off my headlights, careful not to wake my family. I want to get inside and throw myself on top of my bed.
After an attempt to open the front door quietly, I make my way toward the stairs, careful not to step on the creaky boards.
“Drake, is that you?” From the sound of my mom’s voice, I know she’s been sleeping.
“Yeah, Mom. Go back to sleep,” I say, running my fingers through my hair.
I spot her dark form sitting up on the couch. “I must have fallen asleep watching Pretty Woman with your sisters. They never get sick of that one.”
I can’t help but laugh a little. I’ve watched that movie more than any man should.
“Where have you been? You weren’t drinking, were you?”
“No, I went to B&B’s to throw some darts,” I say, rotating my neck to release some of the tension.
She stands, walking in my direction, her eyes taking in my features. “Are you okay? Tess said you were acting strange at the fair, and she saw you arguing with a girl. You can talk to me, Drake.”
Looking up to the ceiling, I inhale a deep breath. “I met a girl at school, and we dated for a while. Anyway, I ran into her at the fair today, and let’s just say things didn’t go well.”
“There’s only one reason seeing her would bother you like this. She must have really meant something to you.”
I could have really used my mom all these years. “I know,” I reply, quickly skipping up the stairs.
I don’t want to talk anymore.
I know what I want, but I just don’t know how I’m going to get it.
Or if I even can.
THERE ARE ONLY SIX WEEKS LEFT until my baby will be in my arms. Time’s gone by so fast, and it really hasn’t even sunk in yet. I wonder if it’s like this for everyone. I’ve spent months preparing, making sure I have everything, but does anyone really feel emotionally ready?
Tonight I’m finally getting some time to myself. My dad’s suffocating me. Clay’s smothering me. I know they only want what’s best for me, but I’m starting to lose my sense of self. And also my mind.
Daddy rarely lets me out of his sight, and Clay likes to pop by once a day to make sure I’m okay. Usually we watch some TV, or if it’s not too hot, we sit on the front porch and talk. And he’s given me more space, making our friendship stronger. I don’t feel the pressure to be anything more than his friend.
I throw a bag of popcorn in the microwave and pour myself a big glass of lemonade. The nights are getting hotter, and it’s getting more and more difficult to chase the humidity out of the house. As soon as the sun went down tonight, I opened the windows and cranked up the ceiling fans.
The microwave beeps, and the smell of fresh kettle corn hits my nose, making my stomach growl.
Right as I’m about to take my usual seat on the couch, the doorbell rings. Glancing up at the clock, I notice that it’s almost ten, and my heart rate picks up. Dad is out of town on an overnight camping and fishing trip, and last I heard, Clay went with him.
I hesitate for a few seconds, looking down at my short cotton shorts and oversized white t-shirt. I could just hide out, but all the lights are on and my car is parked outside the garage. It’s a little too obvious.
I tighten my ponytail, deciding to chance a peek through the side window. As I’m taking small steps against the wall to stay out of view, the bell rings again. Then again.
You know that feeling you get when you are watching a horror movie, and you know something really bad is about to happen? That’s how I feel as I peel the curtain back. I’ve watched way too many episodes of those true crime shows … it always starts like this.
At first, I can’t make out my visitor’s face in the darkness, but as I look in the distance, I spot a familiar car parked in front of my house. I swear my heart rate just doubled as I brace my hands against the wall to stabilize my weak knees.
I last saw that car almost three weeks ago in the parking lot at the fairgrounds, which means the dark figure on the other side of my door is someone I don’t want to see right now. Or maybe ever.
But yet I want to know why he’s here. Drake Chambers doesn’t do anything unless he wants to. Why would he want to be here?
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I try to get my emotions in check. He’s hurt me so much. Done things I’ll never forget. And I’ve asked myself over and over if I’d ever be able to forgive him.
I honestly don’t know.
Slowly, I grip the doorknob, closing my eyes as I pull it open. When I think it’s safe, I open them again and let them take in the familiar features of the guy I let myself fall hard and fast for months ago. The guy who turned me upside down and spun me around before standing me back up and walking away, leaving me staggering.
“Hi.” His voice is quiet and screams of fear. I’ve never seen Drake Chambers quite like this. He’s played on much bigger fields.
His eyes stay on mine, but then they roam down, taking in my breasts and my ever-growing belly. They linger there, and when his eyes finally come back up to my face, his head stays down. There’s more remorse written there than could ever be expressed in words.
I stand frozen, still shocked he’s even here … on my front porch. I notice things about him that I didn’t a few weeks ago. His hair is a little longer than it was when we were still in college, and he’s lost weight. I can tell by the way his khaki shorts hang lower on his waist, and the way his t-shirt hugs his thinner abs.
“Em, are you okay?” he asks, taking a step closer.
I flinch, not wanting him in my space. “What are you doing here? How did you find out where I live?”
Now it’s his turn to flinch. He grips the top of the doorjamb and stares at me with those blue eyes where I used to get so lost. He used to be able to talk me into anything.
I wonder if he looks at me long enough, like he is right now, if he still could.
“I need to talk to you, and it’s not hard to find anyone in this state. There aren’t that many of us.”
“What could you possibly have to say that you haven’t already?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. They’re my armor … my heart’s protection.
If only that were possible.
“Just give me a few minutes, Em. That’s all I want.”
The way he says my name … my resolve to push him away is slipping.
Falling.
Deeper and deeper.
I have to know why he’s here at least. Otherwise, I’ll sit and wonder. Just like I have with my mom. I don’t want to go through that again.
“Wait out here,” I say, pointing to the old patio furniture that adorns one end of our front porch. “I’m going to grab a different shirt.”
He looks past me, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is anyone home?”
I shake my head, gripping the side of the door. “Just wait out here,” I say, pushing the screen door closed.
And what if he wants to be part of our baby’s life?
After grabbing my gray t-shirt from the laundry room, I walk back to the front door, opening it slowly. Drake’s seated on one of the old wooden rocking chairs, giving me a choice between the old porch swing and the other chair.
“I don’t bite,” he jokes, resting his elbows on his knees.
“That’s debatable.”
“I get that you’re pissed at me, but will you please just sit down and let me say what I need to say? I think we both need this.”
I rub my fingers over my temples. The headaches I’ve been getting these last few weeks are starting to get to me. “Five minutes,” I say, finally sitting in the chair next to him.
He does nothing but watch me for a while. It’s dark, and the only sound that fills the country air is the crickets … the same sound that puts me to sleep every night.
“First, I have to ask you something. What you said a few weeks ago about the baby being mine—”
“It’s yours,” I say, cutting him off. If he came to question me about Clay and the baby, this conversation isn’t even going to last five minutes. It’s going to be done now.
He stands, pacing back and forth on the porch. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried. I called one day and left a message,” I reply, resting my elbows on my knees. Since I ran into Drake at the fair, I’ve felt guilty about not trying harder. Even after everything he did, he deserved more from me.
“I never got a message,” he says, stopping in front of me with his hands on his hips.
I sigh, feeling the frustration of this. Of all of it. “I left it with a girl. She said she would give it to you.”
