by Jayne Frost
And that’s when I realized, to give Anna a future, first I’d have to give her back our past.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Anna
Peering over the top of my textbook, I frowned at my laptop on the desk. A message from Sean flashed in the corner of the screen.
After our dustup at the park last month, he didn’t contact me for two weeks. My mom facilitated his visitation exchanges, and he stopped sending me emails about the time he spent with Willow.
So I threw myself into my studies, my volunteer work at legal aid, Mommy and Me classes with Willow—anything so I wouldn’t have to think of him. It was our new normal.
And then last week, he’d sent me three words.
Lemon or lime?
Back in high school, we used to play this game. Sean would throw out two choices and I’d have to pick one. Sean knew I was a lemon girl, but I’d indulged him.
And that’s how we made the leap from lovers to friends. Sean didn’t tell me he loved me or beg me to talk to him about our future. Because there was no future beyond co-parenting our child.
For Sean, it seemed effortless. He was happy.
Me? I was trying. But the fact that I looked forward to his stupid messages more than I’d liked to admit proved that my heart still belonged to him. And his belonged to Willow. Our daughter got the best of Sean, and for that, I was supremely grateful.
With a sigh, I set my book aside, then doing my best impression of a contortionist, I slid out of bed. Willow never even stirred.
Grabbing my laptop, I headed to the kitchen for some wine. After filling a teacup with some cheap Moscato, I settled on the couch to read Sean’s message.
Cookies or Brownies?
Biting my lip, I typed: What kind of cookies?
Dots jumped around in the box as I sipped my wine.
Laughing when he replied: You’re breaking the rules, I responded with an angel emoji.
When nothing came back for a long moment, my heart sank just a little. It was still early. Maybe Sean was getting ready to go on a date.
Sipping my wine, I pulled up my browser to find a movie to watch. When Sean’s picture appeared on the screen, I startled, spilling Moscato all over myself.
Incoming FaceTime call.
Butterflies swarmed in my stomach as I accepted.
And then Sean was there, his handsome face taking up the entire screen.
His brows turned inward. “Why can’t I see you?”
“Oh . . . Hold on.” I ran my fingers through my hair, straightened my soggy T-shirt, and then tore off the piece of electrical tape covering the webcam. “Better?”
Sean smiled as he relaxed against the headboard. “Yeah.”
We stared each other for a minute and then both spoke at once. My cheeks heated and I wondered if Sean could detect the blush in the dim light.
“Sorry, go ahead,” I prompted with a laugh.
“I was just asking about your day.”
I took my last sip of wine to cool myself down. Sean was making it all kinds of difficult to concentrate. He was shirtless with his arm resting casually behind his head. And damned if I didn’t want to lick the screen.
“Let see,” I began. “I made homemade macaroni and cheese for dinner. And then Willow—”
“I’m asking about you.” He smiled into a sip of beer. “What did you do today?”
Thrown off by the heat in his azure gaze, I pondered for a moment. Think. “Um . . . the usual. I went to class and—”
“Which class?” His tongue darted out to sweep some liquid off his bottom lip, and I forgot my own name. “Well?”
I rattled off a few classes that I wasn’t even sure were on my schedule while Sean continued to look at me like he wanted to eat me for a midnight snack.
“Sounds like fun,” he said when I finished babbling.
Fun would be if he lowered his camera so I could see where that happy trail led, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, adjusting his computer so only his concerned face lit the screen.
I finally managed to push out a breath. “Yeah . . . of course.”
He looked down and sighed. “Anna . . .”
Nothing good ever started when Sean said my name that way. Infusing steel in my spine, I braced myself for whatever was coming.
Raking a hand through his hair, he met my gaze and smiled. “I want to see you.”
Blood rushed to my ears. Why would he want to see me? It had to be something big.
“You are seeing me.”
“In person. Can we do that?”
Excuses filled my head. But I couldn’t form any words, so I nodded.
Sean visibly relaxed. “Cool. Day after tomorrow?”
Resisting the urge to rub the ache in my chest, I nodded again. “Sure.”
My voice was thin and reedy—but Sean didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy grinning. The pain spread to my limbs, and I couldn’t feel the cup in my hand.
“It’s getting late.” I forced my lips to bend. “I’m going to go, okay?”
A crease formed between his brows. “Yeah, sure.” Before I could sign off, he blurted, “Wait! Blue or Green?”
I looked deep into the azure pools of his eyes, momentarily silenced by the silver threads that sparkled when he smiled again.
“Blue.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Sean
Sitting on the open liftgate of my old truck, I scrolled through the list on my phone. Most of the items had a little red check beside them but a few details I’d left to others. I shot a group text to Logan, Christian, and Cameron.
All set?
Christian replied almost instantly, enumerating every detail.
Cameron answered a moment later: Yeah. Stop worrying.
It took a good five minutes for Logan’s response, an emoji of a middle finger. Not an answer but the best I was going to get from him.
Pocketing the phone, I reclined on my palms and looked up at the bowl of stars. I didn’t pray. Not the way most folks did. But as I gazed at the night sky, I whispered a few words, likely to my mother. If there was a heaven, she was there.
The hum of an engine pulled me from my thoughts, and I sat up straight when Anna swung her car into the parking space next to mine.
She hopped out, smiling.
God, she was fucking gorgeous. Like a summer day. Her hair hung in loose waves around her face and she wore a black Damaged T-shirt, the letters faded and the fabric threadbare from too many trips through the spin cycle.
How I ever went four years without seeing her was a mystery, because right now, one day shy of a month from our last face-to-face, and all I wanted to do was grab her. Kiss her. Fuck the truth into her.
I hid my true intentions behind an innocuous grin as I climbed off the tailgate of my truck. “Hey.”
Anna tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hey, yourself.”
She looked from the dim façade of the building, then further to the grass that made up the football field. The lights were on, illuminating the Westlake High “Chaps Nation” scoreboard.
“What are we doing here?” she finally asked, her voice thick with nostalgia.
Rocking back on my heels, with my hands buried in my pockets, I tipped my chin to the sign on the light post. “Do you remember this spot?”
Anna followed my gaze, and a flush rose on her pale skin. “You used to park here and wait for me.”
When her eyes found mine, she bit her lip to keep her smile in check.
“Yep.” I motioned to the field. “Let’s go.”
She blinked down at my hand, extended for her to take. It could all end here. This was our journey, but I wouldn’t drag her kicking and screaming.
Hesitantly, she slid her palm against mine, and I locked our fingers.
Anna fell into step beside me as we crossed the blacktop. I let her go when we got to the gate on the chain link fence. She stared intently
at the padlock, beaming when I gave it a tug and the bolts disengaged.
“I can’t believe they haven’t fixed that,” she said, ducking under my arm as I held the gate open for her.
Joining her at the edge of the field, I reclaimed her hand. “I guess they’re more worried about kids breaking out than breaking in.”
Anna looked at me out of the corner of her eyes as we strolled along. “But we’re not kids,” she whispered.
Reality warred with the fantasy I’d constructed, and Anna hesitated. But I wasn’t going to stop now. Not when we were this close. So I urged her along.
As we neared the gym, she squeezed my hand. “We’re not going to break in . . . are we?”
A sly smile curved my lips, deceptive enough to distract her until we reached the double doors. “No, we don’t have to break in.”
I knocked lightly, and when Coach Riley appeared, Anna yelped.
She slipped behind me, fisting my shirt, and I could practically feel her trembling.
Pushing aside my nerves, I said, “Hi, Coach.”
Amazingly, the guy hadn’t aged in ten years. Riley’s Westlake Nation T-shirt stretched across his muscled bicep as he pushed the door open, granting us entry.
“Hudson, good to see you’re still breathing free air. I thought you might be in prison by now.”
“No, sir.” I chuckled. “Thanks for the favor.”
“You can thank Christian.” Coach clapped my shoulder, tipping forward. “You got fifteen minutes, and there are cameras everywhere. So no funny business.” Shifting his no-nonsense gaze to Anna, he smiled. “Annabelle, keep him in line.”
Anna swallowed hard. “Yes, sir . . . Coach Riley, I mean.”
Snapping her mouth shut, Anna trapped any further squeaks behind tight lips. Because she was squeaking. Like a little mouse.
It might have had something to do with the fact that Coach Riley caught us behind the equipment locker our senior year. I had Anna caged against the wall with my hand up her shirt, and as I remembered, we were so into the kiss Riley had to blow his whistle to get our attention.
From the look on Anna’s face and the color flaming her cheeks, she was reliving the same memory.
“Fifteen minutes,” Riley repeated and then turned on his heel and strolled toward the gym.
“Let’s go before he changes his mind,” I said, and Anna nodded, her head bobbing long after we’d turned the first corner and disappeared into the maze of hallways.
It was eerily quiet, with only a few lights illuminating our path, but I knew exactly where we were going.
Anna stared down at the rose on the tiled floor when we reached our first destination. “Third row, second seat,” I said as I crouched to pick up the flower.
Anna took the rose and ran her fingertips over the petals. “I don’t understand.”
Molding my hands to her hips, I maneuvered her to the glass window in the classroom door.
“You were sitting right there.” I pointed at the metal desk. “Looking out the window.”
“When?”
My lips grazed the shell of her ear as I told her what she already knew but assumed I’d forgotten.
“The first day I saw you. You had on a green shirt. That was before you started boycotting green because it’s Baylor’s color.”
Ironic, since she was now attending the university. But I didn’t comment on that. Because right now, it was ten years ago, and the only thing in Anna’s future was UT Law. And me.
She tilted her face to mine, but my eyes never left the desk. “Your hair was pulled back,” I continued with a smile, conjuring all the sights and smells and sounds from that long-ago day. “And I knew I had to meet you, so I waited for the bell. But I couldn’t speak. I just stood there like an idiot when you passed, breathing in your peach scent and looking at your ass. You had on Abercrombie low-rise jeans.”
When I finally chanced a peek at Anna’s face, she was frowning.
“Abercrombie? Did you have to remember those?”
I swept a loose curl behind her ear. “I remember everything.” I brushed my thumb over her jaw from ear to tip before taking her hand. “Come on; we’re running out of time.”
Anna didn’t ask where we were going, and I felt no reluctance as her fingers laced with mine. When we reached the row of lockers a few corridors away, she snagged her lip between her teeth.
Extracting the rose from the vent in the metal cabinet, I said, “This was the first place—”
“You ever kissed me.”
I’d vowed not to push her. Not to use the physical spark we shared to influence her decision, but then Anna looked up at me, and it was like the first time. So I slipped my hand into her hair and brushed a chaste kiss to her lips.
It took all my resolve to pull away.
Anna’s lids fluttered open, and she smiled. Shy, like she used to.
“You ready to go?” I asked, and she nodded.
We made our way to the parking lot without saying a word. Afraid to break the spell, I coaxed her to the passenger side of my truck.
She blinked up at me when I pulled the door open. “What about Willow?”
I wanted to tell Anna that there was no Willow tonight, but that would freak her out, so I slid my hand to her backside and gave her a nudge. “Willow’s fine.”
Anna pondered for only a second before hoisting herself onto the seat.
“Where’s your Range Rover?” Anna asked as she ran her fingertips along the cracked Chevrolet emblem on the glove compartment, a smile ghosting her lips.
“At the house.”
Once I’d hopped in the cab, I took the wicker basket from the floorboard and placed it on the seat between us.
Anna peeked inside the hamper as I pulled out of the parking spot. “What’s this for?”
“Your roses.” I smiled. “Let’s hope they’re all going to fit.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Sean
Fingering the wilted petals on all her roses, Anna gazed at the serene water as I turned the truck onto the gravel road leading to her parents’ cabin.
I’m sure she figured our journey through the past would end here, where we began, in the spot where I learned how to love her.
Anna hadn’t said a word since we’d left the lookout at Mansfield Dam, listening intently as I explained the meaning behind the lyrics to the songs serenading us in the background—“Crimson Pain,” “Rue the Day,” and “Sunshine Smile,” my three contributions to the Caged catalog. All for her.
Cutting the engine, I took in the grandeur of the willow tree. Moonbeams filtered through the snarl of branches, lighting tips of the drooping leaves here and there.
Earlier today, Willow accompanied me to the cabin so I could set the scene. Since it was easier to cut across the lake, we took my boat, and as we’d floated down the inlet, I’d pointed out the special tree, telling my daughter as much as I could about its storied history.
When I finished, Willow looked from the tree to the ink on my bicep. “Like Ma’s.”
“Just like Ma’s. Daddy drew it.”
“Why?”
“For you, Willow-baby.”
It was true. I’d sketched the tree when Willow was nothing more than a hope, some distant future that only existed in a dream.
Tracing the gnarled limbs with her tiny fingertip, Willow had nodded, as though she’d just put it together, the pieces of our story, Anna’s, hers, and mine.
When we reached the shore, Willow scrambled from the boat, racing toward the tree she was named after. And then as she watched, I added her initials to the heart I’d carved in the trunk for Anna and me all those years ago.
No matter what happened tonight, the circle was complete.
Anna’s soft whisper knocked me from my haze. “This is the end of the road, huh?”
I took her hand and brought it to my lips for a kiss. “The road so far.”
She blinked at me, doubt or fear shining in her eyes. Then she slip
ped out of my grasp and opened the door, jumping to her feet without a reply.
It’s not going to work . . .
Until that moment, I never entertained the possibility.
Glued to the seat, I watched as she plucked a stray rose from the gravel. Then another. She had a handful by the time I got out of the truck.
“Careful,” I warned. “Don’t step on any thorns.”
She shifted her gaze to the sea of roses, laid out like a red carpet from the edge of the cobblestone path to the door of the cabin.
“Oh, God . . .”
Since Anna wasn’t wearing shoes, I had an excuse to scoop her up and carry her the rest of the way.
Sliding her arm around my neck, she asked, “How many roses did you buy?”
I chuckled. “All of them.”
I’m not sure Anna believed me until I shouldered my way through the door. Dozens more roses sat in vases and Mason jars on every table, their vibrant peach petals muted by the soft glow of the candles strategically placed throughout the room. The dainty little buds arrived this morning on a truck from Tyler, Texas, where roses of all colors and sizes were grown year-round.
“I know the red ones are your favorite,” I said, easing her onto the couch. “But I like the peach.”
“Why?”
She knew the answer. It was always the same.
“Because they remind me of you.”
Taking a seat beside her, I placed a worn composition book in her lap.
Anna looked up at me, confused. “What . . .”
“Humor me. Open it up.”
She did as I asked and when she turned to the first page, her eyes widened. “This is eight years old.”
“I must’ve given you the wrong one then.” As I tapped the stack beneath the coffee table with the toe of my boot, the little tower crumpled and landed in a heap at her feet. “I’m sure there’s an older one in there.”
I can’t say I was sorry to see the tears drop onto the dog-eared pages as Anna read. With every bit of ink that ran, my optimism grew.
Anna thumbed through the book, scanning some items and stopping to read others over and over.
