by Amy Sparling
My heart leaps for joy. This is it. She’s admitting everything. I play it cool. “What the hell are you talking about? Are you saying we didn’t have sex?”
She rolls her eyes. “Did you even bring the money?”
“No.”
She heaves a sigh. “Dammit. I can’t even go blab to your wife either. She probably doesn’t give a shit about you.”
“So you didn’t know you had herpes?” I ask, trying to keep her confession going. Of course she didn’t know. Because she doesn’t actually have them.
“I don’t have any STDs, Jace. You do, but I don’t. I’m not pregnant, either. I just needed the money.”
“What did we do that night?” I ask, my voice low and demanding.
“Who cares?” she says, pushing up on her hands.
I grab her wrist and hold her down. “You’re not pregnant. You said we didn’t have sex. So what did we do? Why did you con me into cheating on my wife?”
She glares daggers at me and then she drops back into her seat, twisting her wrist out of my grasp. “You sure you wanna know? I mean, it’ll be embarrassing for you.”
I grit my teeth. “Tell me.”
“Fine,” she says, tossing up her hands. “I took you to the back room at my friend’s store and I would have given it all to you. Of course it’s good I didn’t, since you’re diseased.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re just a pussy, Jace Adams. You had a sure thing with me and you wouldn’t do it. You kept babbling shit about your stupid baby and you kept calling me Bay.” Her lip curls. “I am so sick of that name.”
“So you saw that I was too drunk to function and you tried hooking up with me. When it didn’t work, you faked being pregnant to get money. Do I have the details right?”
“Why the hell does it matter?” she says. “I won’t say anything to your wife. I have worse problems right now, like how to come up with this money.”
“Try working for it,” I say standing up. “Because you obviously suck at being a conman.”
“Enjoy your herpes,” she says, rising from the table.
“About that,” I say, grabbing the envelope. It doesn’t really matter now, but I don’t want her spreading shit on the Internet. I hold the paper up in my fist. “This is a fake letter. I don’t have any diseases. I just wanted to see your reaction when I told you.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why would you even say that?”
“Your reaction would tell me if we actually hooked up. I knew we hadn’t.”
She lets out a long, resigned sigh. “Bravo, you’re a genius. Who cares.”
“Bye, Natalie,” I call out as she stomps away, heading back toward her car. I turn around and face the wooden fence, looking right into Park’s helmet camera. “That’s the truth, Bayleigh. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
I swallow, walk over to the camera and turn off the recording. I’ve done everything I can to clear my name, but I know it’ll never make up for the heartache I’ve caused my wife. If she hates me forever, I’ll understand. But I had to do something.
As I walk back to my truck, the camera in my hand, it feels like a million pound weight has been lifted from my chest. Confidence flows back into my heart, knowing that I would never purposely cheat on her. I would never hurt her. I knew it all along, but now I am sure of it. I have proof.
I only hope it’s enough proof to get her back.
Chapter 32
Park takes us back to his newly purchased home, a rundown Victorian right next to our land. I’ve noticed, although I think he’d rather that I didn’t, that he’s ignored three calls from his girlfriend. She’s probably pissed at him for hanging out with me. She should be—she’s Bay’s best friend and best friends stick together. Which is what Park is doing for me.
He leads me up the three steps to the porch that wraps around the entire house. I gaze up at the massive two story home which looks like it might have a third floor that doesn’t stretch across the whole house. I can see the potential here; add some paint and spruce up the flowers around the porch and this place could look good.
“It has good bones,” Park says, throwing a smile over his shoulder as he puts his key into the front door. “I’ll get her fixed up and it’ll look awesome.”
“This is a lot of house for one guy,” I say, admiring the foyer that leads us into a massive living room with faded baby blue paint. “You plan on renting out the rooms or something?” Tightness fills up my chest, threating to suffocate me. “Hell, maybe I’ll be renting a room here soon.”
Park shakes his head, leading me into a small office down the hall. It has two massive bay windows on two walls, a perfect view of the unkempt front yard. His laptop rests on top of a box that claims to have a computer desk inside of it, but he hasn’t bothered opening or assembling it yet. We sit on the floor next to his computer and he uploads the video. I look away, not caring to relive those minutes.
I stare at my phone, once a device used to talk to my girl whenever I wanted. Now it’s being ignored and blocked. She’s one phone call away and yet it’s like she’s in another galaxy. I know I don’t deserve her. I never did, really. I lucked out and met her on a random night in a random small town that neither one of us wanted to be in.
If life had gone according to plan, we would have never met each other. I’d have never been in Texas, cooling off from a fight over another girl who wasn’t worth it. She’d have never had her phone taken away, never been stuck at her grandparent’s house. If everything had been like the way we once wanted it to be, I wouldn’t have her.
And now I don’t have her.
Tears tug at my eyes again and I don’t even care that I’m tall and muscular and strong and most of all—a man. I don’t care that I’m not supposed to cry. My heart is shattered and held together by poisoned barbed wire. It hurts with every merciless beat that keeps me alive. I am nothing without her. I miss her and my son more than words can explain.
There’s a little click sound and a DVD slides out of Park’s laptop. He hands it to me and fishes around the clutter on the floor to hand me a Sharpie. “You want to write something on it?”
I stare at the items in his hands. “Like what? She’ll never watch this.”
He puts the disk and the marker in my hand. “So write something that will change her mind.”
I take them outside, to Park’s front porch. There’s an old wooden swing hanging from two rusty chains and I take a chance and sit in it. The wood groans but it doesn’t give out. I look at the disk, trying to think of something to write to her.
Birds sing and dance throughout the massive oak trees in Park’s front yard. I look up, trying to catch a glimpse of them but they’re too fast, darting quickly from one branch to another. An old truck drives by and I look at the road. I try to picture the future of this land next door—our land. I imagine a big sign perched out by the road announcing the entrance to whatever our business will be named. We still haven’t thought of a good name for it.
I think of the baby room and the mom’s lounge, all planned pieces of the massive puzzle that is starting a business. I can’t do it without her, I just can’t. I swallow and pull the cap off the Sharpie, turning the disk over to the top side.
I try to make my handwriting neat, but it comes out sloppy as always. Then I climb off the porch swing and have Park take me to my truck. He begs to ride with me but I assure him I am capable to drive myself. I may be a broken wreck, but I still have hope, however small, a little flame of hope that flickers in my chest and it’s enough to keep me going.
Bay’s car isn’t hard to find. When I drive past her mom’s house and then Becca’s house and can’t find her, I head to the only other place her best friend would be: C&C BMX Park. Becca still works there part time while she’s at college.
I find Bay’s car parked near the front of the shopping center’s parking lot and I pull up next to it, hoping just a small bit that she’ll be sitting in her car and I can hand this to her in person. She’s not. And it hu
rts but I’m a little relieved. If I see her, I might break completely.
With a shaking breath, I take the DVD, now housed in a paper sleeve and walk over to her empty car. I try the handle but it doesn’t open, not that it should, I’m always harping on her to keep her car locked so no one crawls in the backseat and kidnaps her. I glance around and find the place fairly empty. A mom pushes a baby stroller a few cars away but she’s not looking at me.
I lift her windshield wiper and slide the disk underneath it, right in the middle so she’ll see it when she gets in her car. Then I swallow my heart back down and slip into my truck, hoping she finds it sooner rather than later. And when she does, I hope my words will convince her to take another chance on me. Hope and love are all I have now. And the greatest of those is love.
If this changes your mind, meet me at the land.
Yours until I die,
Jace
Chapter 33
I’ve lost all sense of time. Birds chirp all over the place, unaware and uncaring that someone is in their midst, preferring to be alone and quiet. I sit on an old beach towel I found in the back of my truck. It’s purple and pink with some stupid black design on it. Bay and I had bought it for five dollars at a grocery store one day when we went on a date and ended up playing in the beach. We hadn’t expected to get more than our feet wet, but a playful shove and one long make out in the water later, we needed towels. And we found these nearby.
I’ve walked several yards into the square field that is our land. I had spread out the towel and sat down, my back to the road. I sit with my knees pulled up, my elbows resting on them as I stare out at the line of woods that borders the back border of our land. If I look at the road I’ll be waiting for her, watching for her blue car, hoping against all hope that the sound of each passing car will be hers. The anticipation of that is enough to kill me.
So I face the woods. And I hope all the same.
I stop checking the time after three hours have passed. The sun slowly begins its descent in the horizon, so it’s probably around eight at night. She isn’t coming. The words flow through my mind, a mantra I can’t avoid and I can’t kick out of my thoughts.
She isn’t coming. She isn’t coming. She isn’t coming.
She hates you Jace.
You deserve to rot without her.
I don’t want this land. I don’t want a business or an office or a name for myself. I don’t want any of it without her. There is no point. I’ll go back to my parent’s house in California and rot away until no one remembers my name. There is simply no reason to live without her. And my son doesn’t need a dad he can’t be proud of. She’ll find someone else, someone who treats her better than I do.
Pain sears through my heart at the thought of another man loving my wife. The idea of her being happier without me is enough to rip out my soul from the inside out. Why did I let myself get so drunk? Why didn’t I just tell her to stay home with me?
My shoulders fall and my head dips between my knees, my forehead resting on my arms. I might never leave this field. The earth can swallow me whole. I’d be grateful for it.
The sounds of the outdoor creatures and the wind rustling through the tall grass nearly block it out. I hold my breath, refusing to let the air in my lungs take away from the sudden sound.
Of footsteps.
Slow, steady and approaching.
I lift my head but I don’t turn around. I am too scared.
The smell of her perfume crushes into me. The towel shifts and Bayleigh Adams sits on the other end of it, just a few inches away from me. I watch her from the corner of my eye, not knowing if I should speak first. Not knowing if this is a forgiveness or a condemnation. A hello or a goodbye forever.
She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. Suddenly the sky is darker, twilight turned to dusk within a few seconds. The summer air fades into a cool breeze. I dare a glance at her and find her auburn hair blowing softly in the breeze. God, she’s so beautiful. Her eyelids are a little swollen as she gazes into the woods.
“Park wrote me a letter,” she says, her voice a soft melody in the dead air. “He told me everything about that night and where he found you the next morning.”
There is no emotion in her voice, no hint at what’s to come. I am too frightening to say anything. I want to touch her, to kiss her lips and pull her close. I want all of the liberties I once had with her; trust, love, friendship.
She clears her throat and swallows, then takes a ragged breath. “And I watched the video.” She turns to me, her face a porcelain angel in the glow of the setting sun. I meet her gaze and the seconds feel like a thousand eternities.
Just when I feel that I can’t take it anymore, she reaches up a hand and touches my cheek, a soft caress that sends warmth flowing through my whole body. “It wasn’t your fault, Jace. I see that now.”
I still can’t say anything. There are no words that would convey what I feel.
Her eyes look into mine and I might die right here with her hand on my skin. “I hate that this happened, but I can’t be mad at you.”
“Does this…” I stop. I can’t find the words. Does this mean you forgive me? Does this mean we’re okay? Do you still love me?
And then I realize I don’t need any words. She leans forward, throwing her arms around me. Her lips brush mine, soft and timid at first. But then she deepens the kiss and I’m digging my hands into her waist as if she could disappear at any moment. I fall backward, half on the towel and half on the grass, her arms tangle into my hair and I hold her close to me, refusing to give even an inch of space between her body and mine.
She kisses me with more passion than every kiss we’ve ever shared combined. I kiss her back, my lips on her lips, my tongue grazing across her tongue. She tastes like heaven. She tastes like happiness and bliss and forever.
And then her shirt is off and mine gets tugged over my head and her flesh is on my chest, her soft perfect skin melting into mine. She is mine and I am hers and I will never in my life disappoint her again. I feel my heart mending itself with each new kiss, all of the pieces sliding back where they belong.
“I love you,” I whisper into her lips.
“I know,” she whispers back.
###
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About the Author
Amy Sparling is the author of The Summer Unplugged Series, The Devin and Tobey Series, Deadbeat & other awesome books for younger teens. She also writes books for older teens and adults under the name Cheyanne Young.
Connect with Amy online!
Website: http://www.AmySparling.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Amy_Sparling
Instagram: http://instagram.com/writeamysparling
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/Amy_Sparling
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
About the Author
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