Only a Breath Apart

by Katie McGarry

  I want to. If it counts, I sing in my head, but there’s a lost connection between my heart and my mouth.

  At a faster song, Leo pulls Veronica up to dance, and he has an easy way of moving his body around hers. He teases her through most of the dance, cracking jokes, and Veronica laughs, so much that I smile just from the pure joy of watching someone else being happy. The song changes, he draws her close, she rests her head on his shoulder, and for a moment, there’s a pang of jealousy. I want to feel as peaceful in that brief second as she does.

  Leo places his hand on her back, but she jerks then pushes him away. She laughs, but it’s forced. She sits, so does he, neither of them acknowledging that brief moment, and that makes me sad.

  The songs become mellow, the joining in less frequent. Finally, Nazareth plays a song that is slow, that is sorrowful, and he’s the only one who sings. He has a melodic voice, a deep voice. Somehow the beauty is found in the pain of the words. I stare at him, enamored. How is it that every word, every note describes me so well when he’s a stranger to me and I’m a stranger to him?

  Jesse watches the fire and finishes his beer. The twinkle in his eye has been replaced with a bleary-eyed look that causes me to place my hand over his. Jesse threads our fingers together, and my body aches with his gentle squeeze. I don’t know what’s broken him tonight or maybe Jesse is like me, hurting all the time, and puts on a show for the world.

  “You’re cold,” Jesse says.

  I am. The fire’s dying, and the temperature has dropped as the stars have moved. We’ve been out here for an hour, maybe two, but I’m not ready to go home. “I’m okay.”

  “Come on.” Jesse stands and pulls me up with him. “I’ll get you a hoodie.”

  He keeps my hand as we walk past his friends. Both Leo and Nazareth reach up and offer Jesse their fists for a bump as he passes. They tell him that they’ll take care of the fire. Jesse tells them we’ll be coming back.

  When we leave the circle of light created by the fire, Jesse slips an arm around my shoulder. He draws me into the shelter of his body, and I greedily inhale his rich, dark scent. His touch is warm, it’s strong and makes me feel as if I belong.

  The sliding back door isn’t locked and we go in. Jesse releases me and flicks on the kitchen light. I freeze in the middle of the room, lost in a snow globe of a memory. It’s been years since I’ve been here, years since Jesse’s grandmother gave me hot oatmeal cookies with a glass of milk, and the sadness of her passing causes my heart to sink.

  What’s it like for Jesse to walk in here every day knowing she’s gone? “I’m sorry.”

  Jesse’s eyes are red and heavy. “For what?”

  “Anything. Everything.”

  He takes off his cap, tosses it onto the kitchen table and runs his fingers through his red hair, causing it to stick up in multiple directions. “I know I promised you that I’d take you some place special, but I swear I’ll take you on another night. I’m afraid I’ll pass out between here and there, and that would suck for us both.”

  “Because you’re buzzed?” I tease.

  He releases a glorious smile. “Because I’m drunk.”

  At least he’s honest. “So this is you drunk?”

  His smile fades. “I guess so. It’s been a weird day, and that’s left me messed up in the head, sort of like I’ve been hit by the right hook of a heavyweight belt winner.”

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  Jesse closes his eyes then rubs his hand over his face. The answer is no, and I’m mad at myself because I don’t know how to make him better. I turn away, hoping doing so will give me a revelation of what to do, and I’m surprised to find on the fridge a picture of Jesse and me.

  “Gran never forgave me for when I stopped being your friend,” Jesse says. “I think that’s why she picked you for the vote. Her way of forcing me to stop being a jackass.”

  My lips lift up briefly, but then fall. “I miss her.”

  He releases a long breath. “I do, too. Can I show you something?”

  “Sure.”

  He goes down the hall, I follow and when he reaches Suzanne’s room, he pauses. One of his hands is on the knob, and the other is on the closed door. I reach out and touch his arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “No,” he says, but opens the door anyway. He walks in, and several beats pass before he turns on the light. Suzanne’s room is like I remember, down to the crocheted blanket on the bed.

  “I haven’t been in here since she died.” Jesse’s voice isn’t quite his own. Before I can say anything, he moves through the room, opens the drawer of her bedside table and takes out a book. He tosses it to me and then moves to the record player in the corner. “That’s yours.”

  The old, worn book is heavy in my hand and the title steals my breath: Peter and Wendy. “Jesse, I can’t. You said Suzanne used to read this to you.”

  “She did.” Jesse slips a record out of an album sleeve, places it on the record player then delicately drops the needle onto the vinyl. There’s a crackling sound coming from the speakers and then there’s a guitar being strummed. The song is rough yet has a smooth country twang, and it’s a sad song about blue eyes crying and rain.

  Jesse turns up the speakers and walks out of the room, ignoring me as I try to return the book to him.

  “She read me that book because of you. I know she’d want you to have it, and if that’s not enough for you, then I want you to have it. You’re southern-mannered enough to not turn your nose up at a gift.”

  He’s right, I am, and I press the book to my chest, wishing it were Suzanne I was hugging.

  Another click of a light and Jesse walks into the room he and his mother used to share. I lean my shoulder against the doorframe. Jesse stands in the middle of the room, seemingly unaware I’m there, and he strips off his shirt. He’s gorgeous. A pure waterfall of muscle, and his jeans ride low enough that I’m incapable of coherent thought. My mouth immediately dries out, and I’m flustered. I should move. I should stay. I should definitely stop staring.

  Jesse looks up, spots me, and his lips move into a pirate smile. “That’s a beautiful blush spreading across your face.”

  I overly roll my eyes. “You’re half naked, and I thought you were getting me a hoodie.”

  “True, but I had meant to change my shirt earlier then got distracted. V has a way of plowing in and taking over.” He roots through a drawer, not finding what he’s searching for.

  I survey the room, and it’s exactly how I remember except the bed his mother used to sleep in is missing. We didn’t hang much in here, only when it was raining so hard Suzanne refused to let us out for fear of flash flooding. Otherwise, the outdoors was too appealing.

  The walls are still covered with a wallpaper of maps. State maps, county maps, national maps. Maps of foreign countries, maps of highway systems, maps of mountain ranges. I step into the room and brush my fingers along my name in second-grade print alongside Jesse’s on the map of California. Putting our toes in the Pacific Ocean—that was our dream.

  “I can’t believe you still have these,” I say.

  Jesse looks over at our names on the wall then at the other maps overlapping each other. “When Mom was crashing here, she used to sit with me in the dark and point a flashlight at each map and tell me the places she wanted to visit. She knew every town, every route and every sight to be seen along the way.”

  “She visited them?” It’s odd. I know only a little about his mom, and even less about her death.

  “Not a one. Mom left the state once, and doing that killed her. It nearly killed me, too.”

  Jesse turns his back, and I suck in an audible breath. There’s a scar running along Jesse’s right shoulder blade. It’s not long, and if I weren’t this close, I probably wouldn’t have seen it, but the scar is thick, it’s rigid and it causes a chill along my spine. “What happened to you?”

  “Don’t guess you’ve seen that before, huh?”

  “No.
” My voice is a combination of a whisper and a croak.

  “That happened a few weeks before I cut you out.” Looking dead on his feet, Jesse drops onto his bed. He appears so emotionally and physically drained, like he could sleep for years.

  “Do you want me to go?” I ask.

  “No, but I understand if you do.”

  I don’t want to go so that means I need to do something. Steeling myself against the nerves tickling my stomach, I weigh the pros and cons of standing in front of Jesse or sitting on his bed. I choose his bed because my own fatigue is catching up. I don’t sit as if I own the place. Instead, I’m perched on the edge of the bed, a few inches away from him, and my heart beats so hard I can scarcely breathe.

  “How did you get the scar?” I ask.

  “My dad hit me with a chair.”

  My stomach surges to my throat. “Your dad hit you? I…” My forehead wrinkles. “I didn’t even know you saw your dad.”

  “I didn’t, not much. I’d see him for a weekend here and there. Maybe once a year. It turns out Mom had been seeing him on and off between the guys she was dating. Part of their sleeping arrangement was for her to leave the kid with Gran. Not sure if you know, but I’m a downer.”

  He tries to smile at his joke, but he fails, and I reach out and place my hand over his. He laces his fingers with mine and nudges me closer. I give in to the gravitational pull and rest my head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

  “I know, but it sucks all the same.”

  Jesse’s mom was an in-and-out type of parent. She’d leave a guy, show up here at Suzanne’s with Jesse in tow, find a new guy, leave Jesse with Suzanne, then come and get Jesse to live with her. Jesse would never be gone longer than two weeks. As a child, I never thought to ask what was going on. I was happy my best friend was home.

  “Your dad hit you?” I whisper-ask, and I hate how I hurt for him, yet at the same time I have this strange hope that there’s someone else who could possibly understand my life.

  “Once.”

  I lift my head. “Once?”

  He raises one eyebrow. “Isn’t once enough?”

  Blood drains from my body, leaving me dizzy, and Jesse’s eyes flicker over my face. “What’s wrong?”

  I shudder from the ice overtaking me. “I’m just tired.”

  Jesse lifts his hand and tucks my hair behind my ear. His hot fingers graze my cheek and my skin tingles with his touch. “Someday, you’re going to trust me enough to let me in.”

  I’m terrified to trust, yet I’m terrified not to. I’m terrified Jesse’s going to touch me again in the same way, that causes every cell to spark to life, and I’m even more terrified I’m never going to feel his hands on my body again.

  “Do you want me to walk you home?” he asks.

  “Do you want me to go home?”

  “Scarlett, there are two times that I can breathe in deeply without wincing in pain, and being with you is one of them. If I could, I’d keep you here forever.”

  Jesse stares at my lips, and his attention there causes me to lick them. His eyes darken and butterfly wings flap wildly in my chest.

  “You’re saying things that don’t make sense.”

  The rebellious spark to him returns. “You know you’re beautiful, right?”

  Heat floods my cheeks, and Jesse brushes his fingers along my face again. They linger along the skin of my neck, causing pleasing goose bumps to form.

  “You’re definitely drunk,” I whisper.

  He lightly chuckles and tugs on my hand, which he still holds. Jesse slips up his bed, tempting me to go along with him. “Lay with me, Scarlett.”

  Just when my cheeks couldn’t get much hotter, they do.

  “I swear on my land that laying with you is all I want.” His green eyes soften, and I melt. “For a few minutes, I want to feel okay, and when I touch you, it’s the closest I am to being whole. If you don’t feel the same, I promise I’ll back off.”

  Warmth at the idea of lying next to him, of touching him and of him touching me. “If I lay with you, then what does that make us? I don’t think friends do this.”

  “Do you want to lay with me?” he asks.

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

  “Do you need us to stay only friends?”

  I glance down because … “I don’t know.”

  “How about you lay with me tonight, and then we’ll go back to friends tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” That I can do. At least, it’s what I think I can do. I scoot up the bed, and as Jesse rests his head on his pillow, I allow myself to place my head on his chest. My arm goes across his stomach as he wraps me tight to him.

  Every nerve ending is on fire, so aware of his hands on my body, so aware of his legs brushing against mine. Jesse nuzzles his nose into my hair, and when his breath caresses my neck, my skin becomes insanely sensitive.

  A part of me wants so badly to lift my head and allow him the opportunity to kiss me, to allow myself the opportunity to kiss him in return, but I can’t. I’m too afraid.

  Jesse rubs his hand along my back, slowly, methodically, and I hold on tighter to him, wishing I never had to let go.

  JESSE

  “Jesse.” The voice sounds far away, in a tunnel, but it’s urgent. My sleep was heavy, deep, and every inhale was of honeysuckle—of Scarlett. I don’t want to wake up, but there’s a warning siren screaming at me to wake up.

  “Jesse.” The voice again. “It’s four in the morning. Scarlett should go.”

  My eyes snap open, and I glance at the beauty sound asleep in my arms. Scarlett’s completely out, peaceful, and I hate that I had fallen asleep and missed seeing her like this.

  I rub my eyes and look over at the form standing in my doorway. It’s V, giving us space by not walking in, but she wouldn’t be waking me if she wasn’t concerned.

  “There are lights on in her house. I may not have a normal family, but I watch enough TV to know that lights on in a fancy house and a girl who snuck out a few hours ago is bad.”

  Crap. “Give me a sec.”

  V leaves, and I shift so I can touch Scarlett’s face. “Scarlett.”

  She stirs, but she doesn’t wake. I run my hand through her hair and try again. “Tink.”

  Her eyelids flutter open, and the edges of her lips tug up. “I was dreaming of you.”

  Best words I’ve ever heard, but … “You need to go home.”

  Realization strikes her like a lightning bolt, and she jumps out of bed. “What time is it?”

  “Four. V came in because she said there are lights on in your house.”

  “Four?” She starts to shake. “Oh my God. What if they know? What am I going to do?”

  “Don’t panic. The lights on could be unrelated.” I swing my legs off the bed and stand, ignoring how the room sways. I guess there’s still some alcohol in my system. “I’ll walk you home.”

  “N … no, please don’t,” Scarlett blurts out, and the fear on her face causes a rumble of concern. “I can get myself home.”

  “I’ve walked you home before.”

  “Yes, but what if Dad is up and he’s waiting for me and he sees me with you and…” She trails off as I watch her, wishing I could somehow crawl into her brain and understand what’s going on in her world.

  If her dad is watching, he’ll see her leaving here. Me being with her won’t change that trouble is trouble, but I respect her and her decisions. I gently take Scarlett’s hand because this is not how I want her to leave after laying with me in my bed. “It’s okay. Someone probably forgot to turn off a light before going to bed. The light on doesn’t mean anything.”

  “You promised we’d stay friends.” Scarlett searches my eyes, and I hate how she’s pulling away.

  There’s a sinking in my gut because I want more than friends, but I’ll take her in any capacity I can get her. “Whatever you need.”

  “Then we’re frie
nds.” And with that, she grabs the book and leaves.

  SCARLETT

  I’m hot, I’m cold and my brain can’t process thought. My father is awake, and I’m not home. This is a real-life nightmare.

  Leo is passed out on the couch in the living room, and Nazareth is in the recliner watching TV. It’s weird how calm they are. How is that possible when my father is awake? Nazareth looks at me as I pass, nodding his head at me as if we’re friends. I nod back like a robot and randomly wonder if somehow tonight made us friends.

  I walk out the door, and Veronica follows.

  Confused, I stop at the bottom of the trailer steps. “What are you doing?”

  “Walking with you.” She offers me an adorable and disarming grin, yet I’m still full of anxiety.

  “Thank you,” I say slowly because it’s a sweet offer, but I really don’t want the company. “But I can do this on my own.”

  “I’m sure you can, but me and you need to talk.” And the kitten-grin is gone.

  The light is on in my father’s study. The room right by the tree. I shiver so hard my teeth chatter.

  “Are you going to be able to sneak back in?” Veronica asks. It’s nice how she sounds sympathetic to my plight.

  “Yes.” I don’t have much of a choice. I start walking and she joins me.

  “Did you find out what was wrong with Jesse?” she probes, and that catches my attention. And here I thought she and Jesse were the best of friends. I don’t answer, and she continues, “Unlike all the rumors, he doesn’t drink very often, and if he does drink, he doesn’t do it to get drunk. I brought you here, the least you could do is tell me what’s going on.”

  Jesse didn’t open up to me either—at least not with why he is in pain. “Jesse’s private.”

  “Yes, he is. If I asked you to stay away from him, would you?”

  I glance over at her to see if she’s serious. Unfortunately, she is.

  “No.”

  “If I threatened you?” It’s strangely intimidating how she appears super cute as she flutters her eyelashes in a menacing way.

  Being threatened by Veronica doesn’t sound like anything fun I’d choose to partake in, but she fails in comparison to my father’s wrath so I have a hard time fearing her. “No.”