by Kim Roshell
The digs at his mom’s prejudice takes his expression from anger to anguish. I let it fuel me. Frustration. Anger. Pain. They bubble from the caldron of despair neither of us can escape. I want to scream. Do something—anything to relieve the pressure building in my lungs. Is it too much to ask for a little less angst, a little more happy? Is that what Shawn’s offering?
“We’re not together. We never will be.”
Hot, clammy fingers—the weather has toppled down into the unpleasant side of chilly, so I have no clue how any part of this boy’s body is sweating—slide over top of mine, trapping them firmly where they’re massaging his chest.
Dear, God . . .
I’m ready to die now.
Amen.
“Never?” Whit moves closer, heat rolling off of him in waves.
The air between us grows so thick, I literally quit breathing. The beast inside me roars back to life, revived, while my lungs burn for oxygen. Hard as I try, I can’t stop my eyes from taking the journey to meet his one last time. What they find at the end is a yearning so intense, the ache in my arm spreads to my heart.
Using his other hand, he cups the side of my face, tracing the outer shell of my ear with his thumb. I bite the inside of my cheek underneath the warmth of his palm, fighting the desire to lean closer to the fire.
I’m mad at him. He betrayed me.
God, I want him to stay. And I need him to leave.
His terse nod is so small, it’s near invisible, but I see it. He senses my conflict, reads my inner battle. Whether intentional or not, this boy knows me. A scary truth, given only a short time ago we barely classified as acquaintances. Virtually strangers; connected, yet kept apart by degrees of separation. Somehow, though, he’s figured out a way to see inside my thoughts. So deep, I’m not sure they’re mine anymore.
We’ve crossed too many lines.
“Hate that word,” he murmurs in a husky note that must be the one my heart loves most based on the maniacal taps against my ribs. “I’ll go, though. You need anything? Call me. Time don’t matter.”
If only he knew how many times I nearly did. Five? Maybe ten time I scrolled my contacts, queued his number, each time ending in incomplete calls? My thoughts were nothing but him last night—boiling, spilling over my brain like blackstrap molasses. Dark and sticky, intensely bitter. By the time fatigue overpowered me, I knew I couldn’t continue depending on his presence in my life. I still can’t. It’s not healthy for either of us.
“I won’t need you. Aunt Katie’s on her way, Shawn’s here with me now.”
He presses the heel of his hand to his temple. Pain radiates from his eyes as he searches mine for a glimpse of the girl who, on more than one occasion, abandoned her right mind, surrendered to his kisses. I see the devastation my words inflicted. Feel it, for that matter. But, I ignore the ache. The reality is, caving to our emotions culminated in us being where we are now.
“This how we’re doin’ it?” he asks, that southern drawl of his more pronounced than usual.
I nod, since I suddenly lack sufficient oxygen for actual speaking. There was a time I might’ve used the opportunity to raze him about the melodic twang. Now, the sound resonates far too deep in the most sentimental recesses of my heart.
Mercifully, he doesn’t prolong our agony. He gives my fingers a squeeze, lets them go as he takes a decisive step backward. A chill swoops in between us, making me shudder.
“Okay,” he whispers, with a light shake of his head. He rakes a hand down his face, inhales. Exhales with a forceful gush that puffs his cheeks. “Til later, Williams,” he says, all the while keeping his eyes on me.
“Yep.”
He turns in the direction of his Jeep, stops.
I’m not ready when he doubles back. Even less prepared as he walks right back into my space. Like he wants to give me one last piece of his mind.
Only, he doesn’t.
Instead, he dips his head, places a soft kiss on my forehead. Apologizes.
He’s halfway down the street before I get a full breath.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Let your yes be yes, and no be no. That’s in the good book.
Whit
First time in months, neither Ryan nor I need a cover to be out past curfew. We’re exactly where we said we’ll be, holed up in my room of all places. Ryan’s sprawled on a queen-size air mattress that dominates a sizable portion of the floor space, texting some girl he met earlier when we picked up our tuxes.
Me? I’m stretched out on my bed, also texting.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Saw ur mom n cheyenne 2day. She asked me over 4 bkfast 2morrow. That ok?
Had Chirp not filled me in, the news might have thrown me for a loop. Plan was sleeping in, getting the Jeep detailed, haircuts for Ryan and me. Later, checking in at the hotel where we’re crashing tomorrow night. Spending additional portions of the day of Prom with Ashley? Not on the agenda, but my baby sister has me wrapped around her finger. Waking earlier than I’d like, joining her and my ex for breakfast is a reasonable sacrifice for her sake.
Yep.
I’m so exhausted lately, I can barely see straight. Coop took pity on me last night, sacrificed thirty precious minutes of phone time with his girl, stepping in to finish reading the last four chapters of a Junie B. Jones book Chirp brought home from the library. He’s also curtailed the late night visits—I really should thank Marnie for the distraction—leaving me to toss and turn in private.
My brain won’t shut down long enough for me to relax, my thoughts a constant loop of Ashley to Simone to Ashley to Simone.
She wants me, she wants me not.
In case anyone’s wondering, that shit is interchangeable.
Sure? Don’t wanna push
Liar.
Yep
“Jackpot! Shanna’s a twin. Name’s Jenna. We can double.”
“No, thanks.”
Dad moved out
“Don’t be too hasty, dude. I’m looking at a pic. They’re identical.”
Means the sister is a gorgeous brunette with stunning green eyes, a killer smile, and ridiculously long legs. Only thing that would make her better is if she had billowy spring curls that feel like coiled clouds of smoke sliding between my fingertips and tempting dark chocolate drops for eyes. Let’s not forget a smile that is highly probable to be the very same one that snagged Paris’ attention, spurring his pursuit of Helen of Troy. Also help if she had those curves.
God blessed those curves.
A now familiar tingle races along my spine, the sensation spreading through my veins like liquid fire. Happens every time I think about them.
Every. Time.
I roll over on my side, bunching the pillow under my head. “Not interested.”
You all right?
“Yeah, you’re right. I can handle them. There’s enough of me to share.”
Sharing. Now there’s a novel concept. A thought I’ll only conjure in the deepest, most fantastical depths of my imagination, of course. Only in my dreams, I’d have two willing girls, no drama. Not that sharing my affections is an option. Simone’s cut me off like an ugly, hairy mole. I’m still hemorrhaging from the gaping wounds she inflicted when she chose Williams over me. Even if she hadn’t, at the end of the day, I’m still a Devereaux. Made to be a one-woman-at-a-time kind of man.
So so lookn 4ward 2 prom need the break
Understandable. Maybe space will help them.
Because that’s worked so well for us!
Will prayer for them.
Pray 4 us 2
think anymore bout us getting back together
I’m praying.
Not a lie. I have been praying. For guidance. God knows I need all the help I can get.
Im being pushy sorry
Miss u tho miss us
Ashley has not cut me off. Quite the opposite, actually. I haven’t decided if this is good or bad. May be somewhere in the middle of awkwardly sweet and
nauseatingly disturbing. She calls more,—who knew that shit was possible?—texts constantly. Does these unannounced drive-bys when she thinks no one is looking.
Under other circumstances, none of those things would bother me had she not done what she did to Simone, putting her business on blast for everyone to hear. The night I sat outside Simone’s door, she shared some of the details behind Leann’s putting her up for adoption. That account went something closer to her biological mama falling for some lowlife, then deciding having a kid around wasn’t safe. I assumed (wrong, again) the guy was into drugs, or a gang, or something equally unacceptable. Thought Leann made the choice to put Simone out of harm’s way. Hardly excusable, abandoning your kid in exchange for keeping a criminal, but her actions seemed a smidge less selfish.
I had no idea she’d left out crucial details. Ashley spilled the real story at the feet of the masses of how some scum sexually abused Simone. Discovering Leann actually took his side, proved nothing about her was, or is, selfless.
Then there’s Mama, who acted less scandalized by Dev’s drunken exploits than she is by the idea of me seriously dating a black girl. I want to thumb my nose at her issues. Force Ashley and me out of this weird limbo for good. Explore where another path might lead. But if Simone don’t want the same thing, then I have to believe God has a different plan for me.
Question is, is His plan meant to lead me back to Ashley?
Which brings me here: Would that be a bad thing?
Contrary to what Coop and Ryan think, they don’t consider how Ashley’s been more than a girlfriend. Compatible in a number of ways. She knows me. My best, my worst. Knows without cereal, milk or sandwich stuff, I’d starve to death if Mama didn’t cook. Saw the pictures of my disastrous year of metal mouth. Shrugs off my weird aversion to the sight of tiny air bubbles in a shaken bottle. Ashley understands what drives me, pushes me to be better. We’ve had some amazing times.
I care about her, I really do.
I just don’t know what to do with the feelings anymore. Can’t shake the persistent questions in my head.
Try?
Let her go?
Make this work after everything that’s happened?
Would we survive the distance?
Do you love me
Especially that one.
“So, what’s the game plan? Simone, Williams? You ready for that?”
And that one.
I stiffen. In more ways than one. Just from hearing her name.
This isn’t good. If this is how I react—how my body reacts—from her name, what will happen when I see her all decked out, wrapped in the douche’s arms tomorrow night?
“No plan. We’ll be there, they’ll be there.”
Together.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the thought, inwardly cringing when my phone vibrates in my hand.
Not knowing where I stand that’s hard
“So, that’s it? You’re cool with moving on, or whatever?”
“Ain’t in the mood for this tonight, Ry.”
“Just a question, dude.”
“You already know the answer. Simone made her choice. I respect that.”
Like I respect Ashley’s honesty right now. Situation reversed, I’d probably feel the same way she does, wanting some understanding of how the spot I’ve held for so long suddenly isn’t my place to occupy anymore—at least, not mine alone.
How in the world did I let this happen, fooling myself into believing that spending time with Simone would undo the damage we caused in that closet? Like finding out who her all-time favorite boy band was would somehow curb the insatiable need I have to be around her.
To touch her.
Seeing Simone on Williams’ arm tomorrow night will burn. She’s with him, so that’s that. I accept it.
Ryan’s right, though. I need a plan before I mess around and do something rash, like irrevocably break someone’s heart.
I know I need to get my head screwed back on. Think about my future.
Having Simone? Pipe dream. Not something actually meant to be.
Ashley and me?
Losing my cool or saying anything that irrevocably hurts her can’t happen. As Mama pointed out, I should feel nothing but honored that this girl wants anything to do with me.
Can we talk this out tomorrow night at the hotel?
Sounds great :)
I hope so.
We kissed, friends no more.
All alone in empty house.
Stupid boys, love sucks.
—a truth-filled, sucktastic haiku by Simone Bruckner.
CHAPTER FORTY
Don’t fool yourself, son, half-truths are a gateway for whole lies.
—Granddaddy
Whit
Prom was ok. Ashley scored the tiara, like she hoped. Thought I’d be a shoe-in for king—her thought, not mine. Celebrated her coronation dance with Matt, instead. I didn’t mind one bit.
One day, I’ll look back on this night. Be proud of how I refrained from getting wasted, unlike most of the people crammed inside this house. Have vivid memories of Cameron Jackson spilling beer down the front of Lacey Simpson’s ridiculously bright yellow dress, remember the exact moment Abby Miller announced her crush on Donovan Rogers ever since third grade, perhaps the worst kept secret.
I’ll recall my regret as I sat here thinking about how on a night with some of these same people in attendance, I kissed a girl who wasn’t my girl.
And, how happy I am to see that girl’s prom date on the other side of the room with his arm around another girl.
Dickhead.
All good, though. Means he’s not hugged up with her, something I witnessed earlier this evening more times that I cared to see.
“And you’re gone again. Seriously, I don’t think you’ve heard one word I’ve said in the past hour.”
“You think your mom should get a dog, going to the shelter tomorrow to see what they have. I heard you.”
“Did you catch how I’ve begged you, like thirty times, to come with?”
She did?
I rub the back of my neck.
Ashley sighs. “That’s what I thought.”
“Pretty noisy in here,” I hedge, then take a long pull on the warm Dr. Pepper I’ve been nursing for over an hour.
“Just say you don’t wanna go.”
After an endless night of tossing and turning, praying for levity in decisions I need to make, I awoke, determined to enjoy these last few precious moments with my crew, most I won’t see after graduation day. Straight after his last final, Matt takes off for New York for some prestigious art program. He won’t even be walking with us on the big day. Hayes? Leaves the day after graduation for Europe. Entry-level internship at his dad’s company. Cody enlisted.
Ashley.
I rub my temple, then look into my ex-girlfriend’s eyes. Suddenly, a beer don’t sound half bad.
“Promised Chirp I’d spend time with her.”
“Bring her. She can help make the pick. It’ll be fun, like old times, the three of us hanging out.”
“Don’t know if that’s such a good idea, babe. Things have been tense around the house. She’s already having a hard time coping. Take her, she’ll wanna come home with something furry, and Dev will shit a brick before he’ll let that happen. No need to give her another reason to be disappointed.”
She harrumphs. “I’d know how she felt.”
Along with all those other memories, I’ll remember this moment as I looked at the face of the girl who’s held a piece of my heart for longer than any other girl. Her expression, this mix of sad and hopeful.
How much I hated what I did—bringing her here when I knew in my heart, my thoughts would be somewhere else.
With someone else.
Life would be so much easier if we could go back to when the two of us made sense. When I felt absolute certainty Ashley was the girl meant to be my forever. When I didn’t worry about how things might look with her sitting on m
y lap for fear of someone—including her—getting the wrong impression.
None of this would be an issue had a kiss not happened.
Best friends wouldn’t be divided.
Two special girls would probably be outside doing some goofy-assed poses in that photo booth out back, enjoying this night together the way they imagined instead of beefing over some guy.
If that kiss hadn’t happened, this same guy would never have realized how little he really knew on that fateful night compared to what he definitely knows now.
I started this mess. It’s way past time I start fixing it—the right way. Without closure, none of us can truly move forward. My plan was to talk to Ashley first, but the only way to really eradicate something—or, someone—is to deal with the root.
Tension spirals my spine. I set soda bottle on the coffee table, freeing my hands to shift Ashley onto the cushion beside me. “Need to leave for a bit, go deal with something.”
“Right now?”
“Yeah.”
“Your dad?”
I won’t lie. Don’t have to. Our relationship may have taken some unexpected turns over the last few months, but Ashley knows me well enough to know the deal without me saying the words.
“Won’t take long.”
Her jaw tightens. The pain in her pretty blue eyes slays me. I expect an argument, for her to beg me to stay, but she surprises me. Nods, letting her hair curtain her face. Habit has me tucking the silky strands behind her ears, which makes one edge of her mouth curve upward.
“All the girls are riding in Heather’s truck over to the hotel in a few minutes. Should I see if there’s room for one more?”
“That’s a good idea. Have some gossip time.”
“We will be doing that,” she confirms. Her shoulders rise, fall. “Go ahead. We’ll be together later. For our talk.”
Right. “Call you soon as I get there.”
“Promise?” Her bittersweet smile tells me she won’t be holding her breath.
“Sure Ryan will make a big enough racket to wake the entire floor, anyway.”
That earns me a genuine laugh. “I’m sure you’re right.”
I straighten the tiara still resting atop her head. No matter what, she deserves a little happiness tonight. I owe her that much. “I’ll call.”
