by Ella Fields
For the whole drive back to Willowmina, I forced myself to recognize that broken heart as mine.
As if that’d somehow make it easier to bear.
“Where are you going?”
Drew stopped at the back door, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Shit. Anyone ever told you that sometimes you sound like Mom?”
He laughed at my offended look. I wiped it off, trying to act nonchalant. “Whatever. Answer the question.”
Sighing, he leaned against the doorjamb, holding the door open with his sneaker. “I was going to go next door.”
“Still seeing her then?” I asked as I opened the fridge, looking for leftover Christmas pudding.
“I am.” He was still there when I retrieved the pudding and set it on the counter. “You’re not going to say anything?”
I rolled my eyes. “Dude, you’re almost seventeen. Who am I to talk you out of doing what seventeen-year-olds do. I might sound like Mom.” I gave him a pointed look as I plucked a spoon from the drawer. “But I’m not her.”
“You okay?” he asked.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” I rolled my head back dramatically, shoving a spoonful of pudding into my mouth and groaning. “Oh, man. This always tastes better the next day.”
“Maybe because it’s been refrigerated, and maybe because when no one is looking, you seem like you’ve either got a bad case of constipation or like you might cry.”
My mouth fell open. “I do not.”
“Who is he?” His lips tilted to one side, and he pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “Do I need to pay him a little visit?”
That made me snort. “Cute. But he’s a gym junkie and a football player. Good luck with that.” The football player part made my nose and chest twinge.
“Ha. Gotcha.”
I jabbed the spoon at him. “You didn’t hear shit. Now run along and play and cover it before you smother it.”
Drew paled like he would be sick, shaking his head as he walked outside.
The door closed, and I took a seat at the counter, looking forward to some quality time alone with my late-night treat.
It’d been a whirlwind.
My mom’s family came to town this year, and every last one of them was outgoing in a fun-loving yet exhausting way. My grandma being the worst. I lost count of how many times she squeezed my butt, talking about how hers used to sit nice and high just like it.
“He needs to quit doing that.” My mom’s voice sounded from behind me, making me flinch. She walked into the kitchen, tying her robe and grabbing a wine glass from the cupboard.
“Doing what?” I tried to play dumb, swirling my spoon around the pudding bowl and hoping I didn’t get my perky ass chewed out for not getting a plate.
“The reverend’s daughter.”
I faked a gasp, and she paused in pouring herself a glass of red to give me a raised brow. With nothing left to do, I shrugged and looked down at the pudding.
“I mean the sneaking out.” She scoffed. “Like I didn’t know the first time he did it months ago.” I tried not to laugh—tried and failed. My mother had a way of shocking me every time I thought I had her pegged. “Oh, don’t even. I know all the things.”
“All the things?” It was my turn to raise a brow as she took a seat beside me.
After taking a hearty sip of her wine, she nodded. “Oh yeah. Just like I know someone has made my daughter leave teardrops on her pillow every night she’s been here.”
The next spoonful of pudding almost got stuck in my throat. I quickly grabbed her glass of wine, taking a huge mouthful to wash it down. “Hey!”
Wincing at the bitter taste, I handed it back. “I was about to die.”
“Sure, sure.” She took it back, then surprised me by getting up and fetching another glass. “Here.” She poured me half a glass. “Now spill.”
The fear of what she’d say or do evaporated.
Alcohol, a loving mother, and a fucking awesome dessert had me telling her everything. From the night I met him—to which she said she knew I stole that bottle of vodka, and then said I owed Drew an apology, due to him getting grounded for it—to the last time I saw Toby just days ago.
“He sounds like he has his issues, all right,” she agreed. “You love him, though.”
I swished my wine around, watching as the red marred the glass a dark pink. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, come on.” She got another bottle of red out, pouring herself another glass, and topping off mine. “No smart daughter of mine grows up with a father like hers and willingly puts herself in the same situation.”
She was right. Oh, Lordy Lord, was she right. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“It always matters. Always.”
“He’s not coming back.” Saying the words out loud brought a fresh round of tears to my eyes. Just when I thought I’d been so careful to keep them contained until I was on my own.
Her hand met my cheek, gently turning me to face her. “Does it matter any less? You’re allowed to love someone who’s hurt you.” She brushed some hair back from my face. “I should know.”
“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered.
Her eyes crinkled as her face softened. “You’ve tried. Now, it’s up to him.”
It hurt too much to keep talking about it, and I didn’t want to keep crying. “Can we change the subject?”
Her hand fell to her lap. “Drew quit hockey.”
My gasp was real this time. “No way.”
Mom nodded, taking a big sip of wine. “Yes way. Good grief, it was hard to keep that from your grandfather over Christmas.”
“He never said anything.” I took a sip of wine, cringing again at the bitter taste.
“I know. I don’t know what he’s playing at. He said he just doesn’t want to play, and that there’s nothing else to it.” She stared at her wine like it had some answers. “At times like these, I think having your father more involved would’ve been a godsend.”
“Do you …” I hesitated. “Do you think that maybe you should try talking to Dad about it?”
She looked over at me, laughing silently. “You know what? I think it’s time I should.”
That made me smile, and I pushed my wine away, lowering my head to my arm on the counter. A humming silence filled the kitchen as I stared up at my mom.
“Sometimes, you remind me of him. Of how he could’ve been.”
“Who, Dad?” I asked.
She smiled, nodding with tears glistening in her eyes.
“That’s okay?”
“That’s more than okay.” Her hand found mine, and my hand squeezed hers.
I’d heard people say that you’d do stupid things for love.
In this case, most would say returning to college and trying to get my shit together wasn’t stupid at all. But then, they wouldn’t know the motives that dragged my sorry ass back there.
My head was questioning everything I’d been doing since Pippa drove out of sight two weeks ago.
My heart, well, let’s just say it seemed to be running the show here. Which actually made for a nice change.
I got in late last night. Nothing like a last-minute decision to get the blood pumping. I was paying for it now, though, as I struggled to get my shit together so I could hurry to the registrar’s office and get my class situation figured out.
“Toby?” Quinn knocked on the half-opened door, his look of surprise mildly comical. “You’re here.”
“That I am.” I shouldered my bag, tossed my sweats into the hamper, and waited for him to step back so I could walk past.
“What … how?” he asked, following as I jogged downstairs.
“What, no claps on the back and glad to see you, buddy?” I stopped in the kitchen, ignoring the fact Quinn had just returned from practice, and grabbed the last apple from the otherwise empty fruit bowl.
“No. I mean, ugh, shit.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “Can we start again?”
I ch
uckled. “Don’t sweat it. I gotta get going, but”—removing my gaze from the tiled floor, I met his—“I’m sorry for, well, how I—”
“Shut up. Just glad you’re back. Catch up later?”
Giving him a genuine smile, I nodded and made my way out the door.
If the rest of the day could go that smoothly, this might be easier than I thought.
Famous last words.
The registrar said I’d probably need to retake some of my classes from last semester, and that I wouldn’t have a new schedule until tomorrow at the earliest.
Heading out of the building, I sucked in a deep breath, slowly setting it free as I stared up at the light blue sky with blotches of white clouds spread among it.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy to swallow my pride and head back to the place where my dreams shattered. But I needed new dreams, and right now, the only dream I had was currently walking toward the library with her phone to her ear.
Her back was to me, and I climbed down the stairs, walking behind a bunch of giggling girls who kept glancing over their shoulders at me.
Yeah, it’s me, I felt like saying. The guy who threw a massive tantrum and his career down the toilet.
Pippa turned, heading down the small tunnel that led to the front entrance of the library. I stood at the end, waiting until the girls moved on and Pippa had gone inside. Then I walked down to the glass windows, leaning against the cool brick as my eyes scanned for any sight of her.
Finally, they found her again just as she was taking a seat at a table upstairs by the windows that faced the quad.
Was she sad? I couldn’t tell. Not from my vantage point.
And hopefully one day, you’ll see that too. See yourself the way I do.
Her words had implanted themselves in my brain, making sure I knew they were there every second of every day since her visit.
I’m here, I tried to tell her without saying a damn thing. I’m back, and I’m trying to see it. Will that be good enough for you?
I had no idea if it would be. I could only hope. And hope was often a bitch with two left feet, wobbling around and teetering over, just when you thought you could finally rely on her to set things straight.
Pippa looked up, her head turning my way. And I didn’t know why, but I slunk back further against the wall. I couldn’t see her here, not like this. So I left, hoping to ignore everyone until I came up with a plan.
I’d just gotten off the phone with my dad, who said he’d look into getting my class situation sorted out by tomorrow, and was sitting in the corner of the quad behind a large hedge when they found me.
“Dude!” Ed hollered.
“We heard it, but we didn’t believe it,” Paul said, grinning so wide I thought his face might splinter.
They hefted me up off the seat, shoving me between them, ruffling my hair and slapping my cheeks—both sets of them. Assholes. And even though I hadn’t wanted to see them yet, I was happy to.
Actually happy.
Burrows had legitimate tears in his eyes as he gathered me to him and slapped my back, holding on a little longer than what I was comfortable with. “Missed you, bro. I mean”—he sniffed, blinking rapidly to hide the tears—“we didn’t know what happened to you. You just god damn disappeared.”
“I went home,” I said.
He rolled his eyes. “Duh. But shit, at least leave a note next time.”
Ignoring the image that sailed through my mind of the note I’d hastily slapped to my door, I forced out a snicker.
Callum pulled him away from me, laughter in his dark eyes. He gave me a curt nod, and I nodded back, letting him know I was all right.
“Coach blew his rocket, man. You should’ve seen it—” Burrows was cut off by a swift slap to the back of his head from Paul. “The fuck is everyone always hitting me for?”
“Because your parents clearly didn’t do it enough to you as a child,” Ed commented dryly.
Burrows swung his arms out to his sides. “Uh, yeah. That’s child abuse, brother.”
Everyone laughed, then I was dragged to the cafeteria where they bought me lunch and filled me in on all the gossip I’d missed.
I wasn’t one for gossip, but these guys liked to talk about anything and everything. As long as their lips were moving, I guess they felt connected to one another.
The only person I wanted to feel connected to was two buildings away, and I was unbearably uncertain if she’d still want the same.
When they left for class, I headed to her dorm, my hands clenching inside my jean pockets as I kicked at the tiny weeds, pacing back and forth below the steps.
No one dared to talk to me. Not one of the girls who strode by. Not even the ones I could’ve sworn I’d slept with in the past.
That was fine by me, though; I guess I didn’t look too approachable with my hood on and my feet constantly moving.
I started up with my mental list once more.
I needed to start hitting the gym again. And to possibly look into playing some ball outside of college, as my dad suggested.
For now. Everything was just for now. A way to keep moving. I needed to keep moving.
“Toby?” Daisy’s voice reached through my tangled thoughts, and my head snapped back, my feet freezing.
“Hey.”
She tilted her head, gaze swinging from me to the doors of the girl’s dorms and back again.
“Quinn said you were back.” She gave me a timid smile. “Good for you.” I was about to apologize when she continued, “Pippa’s upstairs. She sent me a text earlier. Want me to let you in?”
“Please. I have some apologizing to do.”
She held up a hand at the top of the steps. “Don’t waste any on me. Save them for Pip. Third floor, last door on the right.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
The door clicked open, and she gave me a quick hug, one that shocked the hell out of me but also made me smile, before running down the steps.
“Wait, you’re not going in?”
She called over her shoulder, “Nah, I’ll be at your place.”
The smile stayed on my face—maybe hope was on my side after all—that was, until I reached their room.
“Hi,” Pippa said. So apathetic, as if she was talking to a salesman instead of the guy she allowed inside her most intimate body parts.
I stepped forward because, fuck this shit, she belonged in my arms, not carefully situated on the other side of the doorway like we were newly made enemies.
She pushed me back, and although the touch was soft, the force of her gaze almost made me stumble. “No. What do you want? Are you just visiting?”
“Not visiting at all. I’m reregistering.”
A dark brow rose. “Really? I thought there was nothing to come back to. I’m glad you’ve decided a decent education seems to be enough.”
I almost laughed at her venom-coated words but bit my tongue. It didn’t matter how she spoke to me. She could speak to me in Parseltongue, and it’d still get me heated. Even if it hurt, I deserved it, and I said as much, which made her scoff.
“Hurry this up. I’ve got important crap to do.”
“Like what?” I leaned against the doorframe, absorbing every detail of her beautiful, flushed face.
“Like watch some trashy TV on my laptop while eating a whole bag of Doritos.”
“Can I join you?” I bit my lip, and her eyes narrowed as they dropped to my mouth.
“No, you can’t. Again, what do you want?”
“You.”
Her eyes rolled, but I saw the way her hand shook before she gripped the edge of the door. “Not happening. I’m really glad you’re back, but you’ll have to understand if I’m a little pissed off with you. Later.”
Shoving a hand out, I stopped her from closing the door. “I’m sorry, Pip-squeak. I really fucking am.”
She froze, peering at me from behind the door. The vulnerability in those luminous greens slammed me in the gut harder than a flying tackle to
the ground.
“Then tell me. What actually made you decide to come back?” Her long lashes feathered open and shut. Open and shut, open and—“Toby?”
My courage crumbled. I couldn’t tell her the exact moment I’d started to have a change of heart, not without possibly ruining everything. “What you said before you left.”
Her eyes stared through me, then they dropped to the floor. “That was weeks ago, Toby.” She went to close the door again, but my palm was still flat against it.
“I fucked up, I’m sorry. But I can’t—”
“You can,” she said. “Just spit it out. You say you’re back for me, but why? What the hell happened between when I last—”
“I tried to fuck someone else.” Her face turned ghostly white, and I hurried to add, “Tried being the keyword here. I couldn’t do it.”
She laughed this strange, acid-filled laugh. Like she thought this was some fucked-up joke. I kind of wished it was. “And what, you want me to thank you for that? To feel special because your conscience wouldn’t shut up long enough for you to let your dick get to know someone else?”
Stumped, I wanted to say so much yet was unable to form a coherent thought, let alone word, so I just stood there. “It didn’t get that far,” was all I could seem to bumble out.
“Fuck off, Toby.”
I stared at the now closed door, nodding to no one. “So that went well.”
“Thank you. Have a fantastically awesome day,” I said with probably way too much cheer.
The guy gave me a weird look, straightened his glasses, and got the hell out of there with a stumble in his step.
As soon as the door shut, I slumped against the counter, dropping my head to my forearms. I didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night. And a Pippa without enough sleep was a Pippa in a foul mood all day long.
Look at that, she was also a Pippa who referred to herself in the third person.
Rolling my head from side to side, I tried to wipe away Toby’s parting words.
It didn’t get that far.
Didn’t get that far, as in, he touched her all over then decided to stop? Or didn’t get that far as in, he let her do the same to him? Or maybe, didn’t get that far could’ve meant she’d …
