Unbound (the TORQUED trilogy Book 3) Page 10

  Mexico was my decision. The night I lost my best friend.

  Not telling him about Lyric was my decision.

  I heard his bedroom door open last night.

  I heard the toilet flush.

  He’s two doors down.

  Just two doors.

  A bathroom separates us.

  My heart aches to go to him, to feel the warmth of his body against mine and the way his pillows used to make me sleepy. If I ever needed a good night’s sleep, I went to his room. There were nights when Lyric was fussy and I’d take him in Rawley’s room and lay him on the bed. He’d fall asleep immediately. Like I said, sleepy pillows or something. Rawley used to tease me it was the weed that put me to sleep, but it wasn’t that. It was him, the way his room and he smelt.

  I could get up and explain everything to him, but would he listen?

  There’s a Rawley I know who would, but I haven’t seen him in a really long time.

  Carefully, I open my bedroom door and sneak across the hall to where Lyric sleeps, which is Red’s old bedroom. Mia let me convert it to a nursery when Lyric was born, and now we have two cribs in there for when Chevy comes over and a bed for Nova.

  It’s Saturday morning, a week until the wedding, and I know I have a ton of stuff to do today but I can’t wait to see my son. They say babies make it all better and I have to agree. I don’t know where I’d be without him these last eight months. He’s even helped Mia. I’ve never seen her so happy since her husband passed away two years ago.

  Lyric’s wide awake, standing up in his crib and chewing on the railing. He literally chews on everything these days since he’s cut two bottom teeth.

  I smile when I enter the room, my voice hushed. “Hey, buddy!”

  He starts jumping up and down with his hands on the rail, smiling and laughing at me as I make my way toward him.

  “How’d you sleep?” I ask, knowing he’s not going to answer me with words but smiles.

  Sure enough, he gives me those bright brown eyes that remind me of clay. I’ve never loved the look of dirt so much on a little boy. Sweeping his crazy blond hair from his eyes, I’ve considered giving him his first hair cut already, but I can’t help but keep it. His hair has a slight curl to it, just like Rawley’s, and I don’t dare cut it because I’m afraid he’ll lose the curls. It’s funny how he can look so identical to Rawley yet has my hair. I would have thought he’d have Rawley’s dark brown to match the eyes.

  With Lyric in my arms, I walk out of the room. The sound of each of my footsteps on the wooden floor as I pass his room echoes in my ears. He’s in that room with the door closed.

  I’m both anxious and relieved when I’m downstairs and he’s not there.

  “Rawley’s not here?” I ask Mia when I’m in the kitchen with her.

  Mia gives me a sympathetic smile and tickles Lyric’s side when I set him in his high chair. Our eyes catch and she looks at me for a long moment. “He said he’ll be back later.”

  My heart pounds in my chest, the subtle shake of my hands going unnoticed, but I can’t help it. “Did he seem upset?”

  She nods, her lids lowering leaving me with nothing but lashes. “Yeah, he just needs some space to think.”

  Space. When we broke up back in high school, he left me sitting in the bleachers at the stadium crying, because he needed to think. Needed space.

  I also know exactly why he needs space. He knows I live here now and he’s going to avoid me at all costs. Not so different than before really.

  Taking the formula from the cupboard, I prepare Lyric’s morning bottle along with a cut up banana for him and his favorite—avocados cut up into tiny bites. “Is he staying for Red’s wedding?”

  “Yeah, that’s why he’s home.” Mia hands me Lyric’s bib. “I told him I’d never talk to him again if he didn’t come home. But I wasn’t actually expecting him to or I would have told you about it so we could prepare. I’m sorry. I feel a little responsible for what happened.”

  Placing the prepared banana on Lyric’s tray, I take the avocado and cut that up in small bites too. “Don’t feel sorry, Mia. I knew when I left Seattle without telling him eventually I’d be forced to. I mean, I’m living with his mother. He was bound to find out someday.”

  She nods. “I know. I just hate that both of you were put on the spot.”

  I’ve seen heartache. I’ve created heartache. I know abandonment. I know pain, love, regret, frustration, tragedy, been so drunk I can’t function, and I know what it’s like to wake up in the middle of the night to a screaming baby and have him smile when he sees me. I’ve been in love and I’ve seen love destroyed right before my eyes. But… there’s never a moment more consuming than when I look at bloodshot eyes and see the broken way he holds my stare.

  Moments I’ve had with Lyric, ones I’ve cherished like that first smile, the first wave and the feeling of him sleeping on my shoulder, refusing to let me go. Rawley has no memories of that because I didn’t give them to him.

  “Lenny’s bringing Nova and Chevy over this morning. Do you want me to watch Lyric for you too?”

  I nod. “That’d be great. Last time I took him into the dress shop, he drooled over everything.” We both laugh, watching him shove banana in his mouth. And then I remember I wanted to go for a run this morning. It took me months to get back to my old size since having Lyric, but now I need some toning. “Can you watch him for about an hour this morning too so I can go for a quick run?”

  Mia’s eyes remain on Lyric, her voice high-pitched. “Of course I can. You want to spend some time with Grammy, don’t ya?” she asks him, pinching his banana and avocado crusted cheeks.

  Lyric hits his hands to the tray, squealing with delight. He loves it when you talk to him. Doesn’t matter what you’re saying, he just likes people talking to him.

  Mia straightens her posture and winks at me. “Why don’t you go now? I got this. That way you’ll have enough time to shower too before Raven and Lenny get here.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t—”

  “I’m sure,” she says before I can finish. “You don’t realize how much I love this. When Rawley and Raven were little, I was with them all day long, every day, and I absolutely loved it. Everyone thought I was crazy, but I wouldn’t have traded a single day of it for anything else.”

  It’s times like this I’m thankful for Mia because despite having a mother, I never felt as though I had one growing up. I had a friend. My mom talked to me like I was her best friend but never her daughter. Sometimes it’s nice to know no matter what, there’s a parent there looking out for your best interest and trying to make your life easier, not harder. There’s a good part of me that always felt like the parent with my mother. I was constantly saying things like, “Do we have enough money for rent this month?” or “Did you pay the power bill?”

  Things a fourteen-year-old should never have to worry about, I did.

  In a lot of ways, it made me more independent but in others, I think it led to the decisions I made in Mexico. The only truth I know is everything comes back to that night and how I ended us.

  After throwing on a pair of sweats and a hoodie, I take to the streets of Lebanon with my running shoes and phone in hand. I listen to Rawley’s music because it’s perfect for exercising, fast beat and heavy. He’s more of a rocker than anything, despite the country roots in this town, and I love it. He was the first person I ever heard sing live. It was prom, sophomore year at a bar we had no business being inside of. Best night of my life.

  “Come some place with me,” he whispers, taking my hand. We’re outside a bar in Portland, too young to get in, too wild not to try.

  Wanting to be anywhere he is, I take his hand as we enter into a world neither of us understand.

  Beck gets us in, and I’m told his uncle has connections with the band playing. I’m standing in the front row, my heart beating a million miles an hour when I see Rawley take the stage with the band, laughing, smiling with those bright brow
n eyes holding me captive.

  I know Rawley can sing but until now, I had no idea what it was like to hear him live, let alone at a bar. As he takes the stage, holding hundreds’ attention, it’s clear he knows exactly who he wants to be, even at sixteen. No one even knows who this kid is, but he does. I do.

  He’s Rawley Walker, my boyfriend, the only boy I will ever love. I’m sure of it. The excitement of being here and the way his voice moves through me, the high it leaves me with is more than I can handle. It’s as if my heart wants to burst with love.

  I won’t ever forget his voice, and I don’t, even hours later when he’s hovering over me, his truck parked in the gravel parking lot behind the football stadium.

  His skin is so warm, his weight pressing into mine and I know in this moment, I want him, all the way. My head’s buried against his neck, his eager hips rocking into mine as he sings words I’ve never heard. Maybe he’s making it up as he goes.

  So many times I’ve imagined this, and though I never thought it’d be in his truck, I don’t care as long as it’s with him. “Please,” I whisper, my hands moving to his shoulders.

  “Are you sure?” he asks, barely able to get the words out.

  “Yes,” I moan between heavy wet kisses, our mouths refusing to part now.

  I don’t remember him pulling away, but he must at some point because the next memory is burning pain as he enters me. I try not to think about anything other than I’m giving him a piece of myself I’ve never given anyone else and this is special.

  I don’t know why, maybe from the memory, but without thinking, I run to the high school football field of all places, three miles from the house.

  I see the bike parked in the parking lot and then I spot him in the bleachers.

  Shit. Do I go up to him or pretend I didn’t see him?

  But there’s a bigger part of me that wants to talk to him, alone. I don’t know how long he’s really in town for and I want to talk to him.

  No, I need to regardless if he’s ready or not.

  The fall air bites at my heated cheeks as I walk. I tuck my phone in the pocket of my hoodie and run my sweating hands down the front of my sweats. “It’s now or never,” I tell myself.

  The walk from the street to the bleachers is rather short. It’s a small town and a large football stadium isn’t something we have around here.

  “Why are you here?” he asks, staring straight ahead, his voice low and rough when I approach, my tennis shoes squeaking against the metal.

  “Because I want to be.” My words tremble.

  He says nothing to that, but his face hardens.

  With a slight twist of his head, he looks at me for a moment, his mouth moving like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t.

  Not knowing what else to do, I sit next to him on the metal bleachers, my hands resting awkwardly on my thighs.

  He won’t look at me, and when he does, the slightest shift in his eyes, it’s the same look I’ve had so many times before. I probably don’t want to hear what’s going to come out of his mouth.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” I finally say, palms sweating so bad I have to run them down my thighs.

  Rawley shakes his head and then draws in a heavy breath. He’s struggling.

  “Do you remember that homecoming game our Sophomore year—”

  “I don’t remember anything but sitting on these very bleachers and you telling me you cheated on me. That’s what I fucking remember about this place.”

  It’s his dismissal. It’s a “leave me alone.” I’m used to this side of him.

  I look at him expectantly, and hold my breath for the briefest moments. “Is it really going to be like this?”

  He looks at the field, almost irritated with himself. “Like what?”

  My lips tremble, vision blurry. “You avoiding me.”

  I watch as a frown deepens the lines of his forehead becoming more pronounced. “I’m trying to.”

  My throat constricts, a noose around my neck he’s constantly tightening without knowing it. His devastation, the realization, it hits him as bitter, hurtful words are on the tip of my tongue, ready to be screamed at the top of my lungs.

  “What do you want to hear, Rawley? I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t trust you to be there for me.”

  His eyes hold mine like the heavy weight he’s been on me. He’s bound by reckless thoughts even he doesn’t understand. His response is shaky. “I had a right to know.”

  “What good would it have done? And I did try. I was nearly six months pregnant and I went to Seattle to find you,” I continue. “If I would have told you that night, you would have called me a liar and told me to leave.”

  “You don’t know that. And when did you ever come to Seattle?”

  “New Year’s Eve. Do you remember that night?”

  He blinks. Repeatedly but doesn’t say anything.

  “I was going to tell you that night but then you sang “Wasted” and dedicated it to the fucking bitch who I believe you said, ripped your heart out. Do you remember?”

  I hear his intake of breath, deep and hard. He remembers. I see it written on his face. “I remember,” he replies, a small furrow to his brows.

  “And that means?”

  His gaze moves to the side, no longer able to look at me. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Of course it doesn’t. It never does with him.

  Patting the front of his jacket, he pulls out a cigarette, cupping the flame as he lights it. He only ever smokes when he’s nervous, and I know by the way he’s biting the corner of his lip, he’s exactly that.

  My attention moves to the bright orange glints of the end of his cigarette and the way his chest pulls in as he inhales. Smoke filters from his nose when he finally looks up at me. He doesn’t look at me directly but my eyes close with that look, my chest heaving as tears slip down my cheeks. Why is this always so hard with him?

  “Why’d you do it?” Smoke filters through his nose and mouth as he speaks.

  “Do what?” I stare at the field of brown grass and the row of trees behind it full of bright orange and red leaves. “Not tell you about Lyric?”

  “No. Why wasn’t I enough? Why’d you have to ruin everything?”

  We’re back to that. And of course we are because when I finally told him I lied, and that I cheated on him knowingly, he wasn’t granted with much in the way of closure. He wasn’t himself that night. He came there with a mission of ending us, completely, and he did just that.

  “You mean why did I have sex with another guy?”

  He flinches, as if my words cause him physical pain and he nods, just once.

  “I was scared,” I admit. “Like I said, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, but I didn’t want to regret it.”

  “And do you now? Do you regret fucking him… or me?” He sounds empty and I try not to care, but I do. Always.

  I don’t answer him right away because, yes, I wholeheartedly regret Mexico and everything that happened there. But there’s parts of my relationship with Rawley I regret too. I think he knows that.

  “I regret Mexico… but I also….” I pause there, because those words, I could regret them too. They carry such heavy meaning I can’t just say them and take them back. We both know that. “I hate what you did to me for the last three years since then. I love you, still, probably always, and I hate that. I absolutely hate it because I shouldn’t love you after everything you’ve done to me since then.”

  He closes his eyes, shaking his head with a small smirk.

  My heart cracks and I know I’m not getting anything out of him today. He’s not ready.

  I’m a foot away when I hear the scrape of his shoes on the metal bleachers and he grabs me by the waist. I’m pulled into his embrace.

  I don’t know why, maybe because he’s familiar and I still love him, but I wrap my arms around him and straddle his lap burying my head in his neck and hoodie. It’s the smell of
him and I miss him so much, cigarettes and cinnamon combined with the mint of his gum he carries in his coat pocket.

  Why did I have to fuck this up in the beginning? Why did I want out so badly? Why couldn’t he have been enough for me?

  It’s then guilt hits my chest so hard I sob. I don’t know how long I’ve been crying, but I know what I’m crying for. Loss. The loss of what we had because regardless of where this goes from here, nothing will ever be what it used to be between us back when we were in high school.

  And he holds me. Like he knows.

  I think I cry because we’re not the kids we were the last time we sat on these bleachers together. I don’t even know who they were, because there’s not a shred of those people left in us that I can see anymore.

  That girl, the one on the sidelines cheering on her boy, she cheated on him because she thought there was something better out there.

  That boy, the one singing to her as he made love to her on the cab of his truck behind the football field, he destroyed her heart because he couldn’t forgive.

  We’re both to blame for the destruction.

  Rawley moves slightly, his arms tightening around me like he’s never going to let go, but he doesn’t say anything.

  It’s the first time in well over a year I’ve had him close and my body reacts to his. Probably for the same reason why after we broke up senior year, any time he came back to me, I let him. My body always responds to him. He buries emotion he may have by kissing me. Sex has always been his answer to this.

  Suddenly my face is between his palms, his lips move over mine. It’s urgent and passionate and everything Rawley Walker is to me.

  He gasps when he slides his tongue against mine, barely able to breathe, but still he can’t stop himself. Though it’s an answer, it’s not what we should be doing because these kisses answer nothing. If anything, it’s complicating our situation. I don’t stop though. I can’t. I don’t want to. I want to live in this feeling of our mouths connected, regardless of the consequence. Despite the kiss being intense, there’s a softness to his lips I remember, and warmth. His tongue slides against mine, his kiss deepening.