She held the image out to me. “They look like a peanut.”
I took the image and studied my sibling. I’d done this before. Gotten attached to an image only for it to stop there with Mom’s miscarriage. I thought my mother was strong. In many ways, she was solid like titanium, to never lose hope like that. I prayed this image became a crying infant, or I didn’t know how we’d get through that again.
“It’s a boy,” I muttered.
Her head turned to me sharply and her eyes shone with tears. “You think so?”
I smiled sadly. “I do.”
“Oh, Ava,” she cried, wrapping her arms around me.
And since it had been so long since we’d sat like this, I soaked it up like a masochistic sponge. What hurt the most was that I didn’t trust her attention anymore. I knew what it felt like not to have it when I needed it most and that was hard to forget.
There was a sound from downstairs.
Mom’s head turned toward the door. “Did you hear that?”
I was too scared and too tired to lie. “It’s just Bishop. He’s washing his hockey gear.”
“Bishop? Ava,” she sighed. “We talked about this.”
“And you know how I feel.” Nothing, ever, would tear me from him. Not after tonight. He’d walked to the edge to pull me back and gave me every reason to stay. I got to my feet. “Give him a chance. He’s the most amazing boy I’ve ever met.”
Her angry face turned into a soft one. “Are you in love with him?”
“What? No.” I laughed her question off nervously. “I don’t know. We’re still getting to know each other. Stop looking at me like that!”
She patted her bed. “Let’s have that sex talk again.”
My cheeks burned and I reached over to kick her door closed. “We aren’t having sex. There’s no need.”
“Do I look like a naïve parent?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that. “Naïve? No. Unreliable? Maybe.”
She flinched and true hurt entered her eyes. “I have been a terrible mother, haven’t I? That’s what your father and I fought about this morning after you left. He doesn’t think I’ll be a good mom this time around.”
That pissed me off. “When Dad grows a vagina, he can start dictating how a woman should act.”
A small smile tickled her lips. “It’s in his nature, to study human behavior and pick it apart. It’s what makes him a sports broadcaster and a good dad, but it never made him a good husband.”
“Good dad?” I snorted.
She bristled. “Ava, your father was a good one. We can’t write all the good times off because of how we feel now. I’m not making excuses. At this point, I don’t have any. I’ve been so heartbroken for so long, I forgot what it felt like to feel good. Not until today.” She put her hand to her stomach.
Divorce was hard.
Not just on the couple, and not just on the kids, but on the memories you thought were final and the memories that wouldn’t have a chance to happen.
It’s an ending to a forever.
It’s breaking a promise.
But what could my parents do? They didn’t love each other.
“Do you still love me?” I asked, my voice small, my heart shaking in fear.
Her eyes widened and severe sadness overtook her eyes. “Ava Baby, you are my first love and you will always be. Have I made you think otherwise?” Tears spilled out of her eyes.
They spilled out mine, too. I nodded.
She put her hand over her mouth. “No, honey. I never stopped loving you. I could never. I love you so much. I was lost.” She set the picture down and came for me, wrapped her arms around me so tight the pain felt good. “I’m so sorry.”
I broke open in her arms.
And the worst part was that her apology felt nice, but it didn’t erase the hurt. But maybe that’s how things were sometimes. We couldn’t go back to before, but we could rebuild. There was some hope there.
“I’m going to work on me,” she promised. “Work on putting back our family together. Our new family. Me and you. And our peanut.”
“What about Dad?”
“Dad will have to do the same.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
She held me tighter, and in her hug, I had my answer.
She wasn’t abandoning me.
But she wasn’t sure about my father.
When there was another sound in the house, Mom sighed and released me, wiping off my face and then hers. “Listen to me,” she said in her mom tone.
I soaked it up. “What?”
“You are not, under any circumstances, to do anything with that boy in my house under my roof, do you hear me?”
“So as long as we’re not in this house? Cool. That leaves so many places. My car, his car, and school…” Her eyes narrowed threateningly. “Kidding.”
“I’m going to give him a shot. Wait, did you say hockey? He plays hockey?”
“Mhm. He’s really good at it. The University of Minnesota is interested in him.” I puffed my chest out proudly.
“Huh.” She said it begrudgingly. “I’ll need to talk to him if he’s going to be hanging out around here. His parents, too.”
“Err, that might be a problem. He doesn’t, um, have parents. He’s in foster care.”
Her expression changed. The judgement shifted into concern. “He’s all on his own? What happened to his family?”
“He doesn’t remember. He was really little when he went into foster care. They don’t really take care of him. Not the way he deserves to be taken care of anyway.”
Another sigh fell from her lips. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.” She touched her hand to my face. “You mind if I head to bed? I’m exhausted.”
I shook my head, just as tired. I felt like I was walking on glass that was cracked and threatening to collapse beneath me. I said goodnight and closed her bedroom door, going downstairs to find Bishop eating ice cream out of the container in the kitchen with a huge wooden serving spoon.
Only then did the glass I stood on become concrete.
“Want some?” he asked, mouth full of strawberry cheesecake ice cream.
I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re a special boy, Bishop Manfield.”
His cheeks reddened slightly, and he glared at me. After knowing him a little more, his scowling and gnashing were defense mechanisms. I found his embarrassment unfairly endearing and I wanted him to kiss me again. I bet he’d taste like strawberries.
“It’s just ice cream, Ava. Chill.” He tossed the spoon in the sink and plopped the ice cream back. “I’m going to put my clothes in the dryer.”
He slipped past me to do so. “I’ll be in my room,” I called back.
I was getting comfortable in my bed when he came in. He locked my door and stood there with me peeking through the white iron bars on my headboard. He scratched his head and then glanced down at me. “I’m really tired. You mind if I sleep in my jeans?”
“Wear your boxers,” I suggested.
His eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Why not?” I laughed. “It’s not like I’m going to peek in the little flap in the front while you’re sleeping.”
His brows dipped further. “I’ll just wear my jeans.”
“Suit yourself. But you’re going to be uncomfortable.”
He hit the switch for my light and put his knee on the edge of my bed, crawling over me to fall onto his side behind me. “Is this my pillow from a few weeks ago?”
“Yes.”
“Why is it still in your bed?”
I decided right then and there that the only person I would be bare in front of was Bishop. He was the only person who’d never made me regret being myself. “Because I like to sleep with it, and it smelled like you. Now use it so you can replenish your scent.”
He chuckled quietly and patted his pillow. “You like the way I smell?”
“Mhm.” I scrolled through the movie options. Tonight, I wanted romance. Heartbreaki
ng, real, love will never end, romance.
He was quiet until five minutes into the movie. He kept his distance. I sensed his body heat, but I couldn’t feel it. I didn’t want to push him. I’d made it clear how I felt about him. About his touch, his scent, and his presence, and though I could almost be positive about how he felt about me, I wanted him to want without restraint. The way I wanted him from the moment we started talking.
“I like the way you smell, too,” he relented, and in seconds, his nose was buried in my hair and his chest was pressed tightly to my back. His arm snaked around my waist and held me firmly against him.
His body heat surrounded me in the best way. I smiled into my pillow.
He hummed low in his throat and the sound trembled over my entire body. “Scratch that. I love the way you smell.” His nose skimmed behind my ear.
“I like the way you feel,” I countered, placing my hand over his where it rested firmly against my stomach. I’d never been so close to a boy before. Not just emotionally, but without physical walls. I wanted this closeness. I never had with other boys.
Maybe because I knew those other boys would want more. They’d never lay beside me and respected what I gave them. They wanted more, more, more, and I had this feeling nothing I gave them would be enough because what they didn’t want was me.
“Shh,” he whispered. “Watch the movie.”
I did so for another five minutes until the main characters started playing spin the bottle and ended up kissing. I watched the way he touched her. How strong his grip was, how true his kiss looked. I couldn’t help thinking of our kiss in the restaurant. How my entire body felt weightless. Like I’d float away if he weren’t holding me still. How warm, soft and inviting his lips had been. A flood of hunger rushed through me and I wished I’d said yes to the ice cream.
Behind me, Bishop shifted. “You ever play that game?”
“Yes. Have you?”
He snorted. “Yeah right. Who’d you kiss?”
Like I’d answer him and make things weird. “Don’t torture yourself.”
“Too late. Who was it, Ava?”
“How come you want to know?”
“I just want to know. Was it your ex?”
“No. Henny made me play it at one of her cousin’s parties. It wasn’t a boy who went to our school. He tasted like corn chips and grape soda. It wasn’t awesome. Not like kissing you.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen, I think.”
“He was your first kiss?”
I groaned, rotating as best I could to meet his eyes. His were angry and disgruntled. But not at me. At the boys who came before him. “Stop it.”
He rested his forehead against mine, putting his eyes so close I could see where the ice melted into smooth, cool blue water. “Who was your first kiss?”
His eyes were too blue and too beautiful, and I found myself falling under his spell. “I don’t remember his name. I was eight-ish. Totally innocent at camp one summer.” He didn’t blink, didn’t stop delving into my soul. “Satisfied?”
After a while, he sighed right into my open lips, sending a rush of sweet strawberries over my tongue. “No.”
“What would make you happy?” I brought my hand to hold his face. His handsome, brutal face. “It’s just a kiss, Bishop.”
“It’s not the kisses before me that’s bothering me. It’s the idea of the kisses after me.”
“After you? Who said anything about after you?”
“There’s always an after me,” he mumbled in a sad rush.
I was reminded of his declaration in the parking lot after his game. Everyone left him. I felt even guiltier for bringing up running away to him now. In his mind, everyone left him. In my mind, I never would. “Not anymore,” I whispered strongly. “So, don’t bring it up again. You jerk.” I pushed him back and rolled back to my side, glaring at the stupid happy couple on the screen.
A small chuckle emanated from behind me. The hand he had on my stomach slid up to my hip, and he yanked me back flush against him. “Yes, ma’am.” His nose nuzzled me. “Are you mad at me?”
“Yes,” I hissed, elbowing his abs, but they were like steel and he didn’t even acknowledge the attempt. “It’s not funny. Stop laughing.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You’re smiling. I can hear it in your voice.”
“I can’t help it if you’re being so adorable.” He pressed a kiss behind my ear. “Which you are. Pretty much every second of every day.”
“Bishop,” I warned, in no mood to overlook what he’d said. “You’d better stop trying to change the subject. There is no after you. And you’re going to feel pretty darn stupid when we’re old, gray, and happy, that is if you don’t stop annoying me.”
His entire body froze, and I realized how what I’d just said must sound like to him. Like a mockery of his entire past. A guy like Bishop didn’t look that far ahead. And maybe I shouldn’t either. But I couldn’t help it. “Old, gray, and happy?” he repeated. “You see us, what? Being together forever?”
The way he said it made me sad.
Like there was no way in heck that’d happen. I didn’t have the heart to ask him why.
I tried to shrug it off. “I don’t know. If my parents are a bases, no.”
He sighed gruffly. “Don’t use them as an example. The only thing they got right was you. And you don’t have to downplay your desires. If you see things that way, then you see things that way.”
“Do you?”
“I’ve never looked that far ahead. Even for myself.”
“Not even about hockey?”
“No, not even about hockey.”
I was struck by how fearful Bishop was to hope. To fall for a dream or a girl. And yet, he had already fallen for one and was hopefully falling for another. “Fine then. I’ll do the hoping in this relationship.”
“What will I do?” he asked softly, dragging his lips over my earlobe.
“Eat. Kiss. Hockey. Love. And not in that order.”
I held my breath, waiting for him to laugh at my list. To roll his eyes and glare at my silliness. I couldn’t handle it if he did. Not when the moment that list left my mouth, I realized how much I wanted the last one.
“All right.” He cleared his throat. “I think I can handle that.”
I sagged in acute relief. I rolled over in his arms and snuggled my face against his chest. He pressed my head there with one of his hands and the other pressed firmly to my lower back. He may like the way I smelled, but I couldn’t get enough of his clean, cinnamon-crisp scent. I listened to his heartbeat, beating harder than it normally did, but I equated that to our conversation and the fact that we were pressed so tightly together, his jean-clad legs were wrapped around mine. Mine beat hard for the same reasons.
“My mom’s pregnant,” I mumbled against his chest.
His rose and fell with his sigh. In response, he held me tighter.
Until we’d both fallen asleep.
I was awoken to him trying—and failing—to carefully unwind his body from mine. I groaned, burying my face under my pillow.
“I have to go to work,” he apologized, his voice ultra-deep from sleep. I liked the way he sounded. “You’re still meeting me at the youth center to skate, right?”
I nodded, wondering how he could wake up on time without an alarm. Or fifteen of them…
“I’ll text you the details.” He hesitated for a moment and silence settled as his body hovered over mine. “Look at me, please. I want to see your face before I leave.”
A quiver raced down my spine. I carefully pulled my pillow up. His hair was messy, and his face was puffy and blotchy from sleep. He was so cute… and when he grinned, he went from cute to gorgeous. That or I was dreaming.
“I’ll miss you,” I whispered.
Regret shimmered in his eyes. He swallowed hard and leaned down, pressing a long kiss to my cheek, and then one soft one to my lips. “Have a good day. I mean
it, Ava. Sleep in. Go eat a big breakfast. In fact, here.” He dug in his pocket and shoved the fifty-dollar bill his coach had given him in my hand. “Take your friends to breakfast. Relax. Do whatever it is girls do.”
Man, I was really going to miss him. I sat up and wrapped my arms around his neck, getting in a good hug before he took off.
After he was gone, I unfolded the money he’d given me and smoothed it out on my knee. For a boy who had so little to give, he sure gave his all.
I got an idea.
But first, I took his expert advice and rolled back over and went to sleep, his bill pressed securely in my palm.
I woke up around ten—yay Saturday—and took a long shower, lathering my peach and brown sugar soap all over me. I went downstairs to find Mom at the kitchen island nursing a cup of tea. She looked up when I came in, smiled sadly, and then looked right back down.
Okay… Shrugging off her guilty behavior, I started making breakfast.
“I don’t remember saying Bishop could sleep in your room.”
“It’s not like there’s a couch for him to sleep on.”
She harrumphed. “Your father needed somewhere to sit in his new apartment.”
No one told me anything anymore! I was frustrated with trying to understand their next move and trying to find my place in their lives. “Nothing happened.”
“But something could.”
I turned to her, holding her gaze with nothing but honesty in my eyes. “Nothing happened and nothing will. Bishop isn’t like that. And neither am I. Or did you forget who I was?”
She flinched but still held my gaze. “Bishop is a teenaged boy. They’re all like that. And of course, I know you. That’s the only reason I haven’t raised hell about this. You make good choices. You always have. But you’re also not a little girl anymore. You’re becoming a beautiful, smart, and incredible woman. Sex will happen eventually.”
My face immediately burned. I turned back to the eggs and cracked them into a bowl. “Stop.”
“We should go to the doctor and talk about birth control options.”
I literally felt like exploding into a million different particles, too many for her to embarrass in one sitting. “That isn’t necessary.”
The Rarity of Falling Page 18