by Keary Taylor
We all wait on the curb as they check the rest of the building. Half an hour later, someone who looks to be in charge comes out.
“The unit the fire started in is going to need some extensive repairs but the fire hasn’t caused any structural damage. We’ll talk to your building manager about the fact that the building’s sprinklers didn’t turn on. The entire building is smoked out. We’ll get the windows open, but you all are going to have to find somewhere else to stay tonight.”
A collective groan jumps into the air.
The firefighters talk to people a while longer, but now everyone is on their phones, calling for a place to crash tonight.
I grab my own phone from my purse and am mentally thinking of who to call.
Dick and Skyler were going on a scout camping trip this weekend. They’ll have the house locked up and I don’t have a key. Mom’s place will be locked up too while she’s on her business trip.
I dial Armando and hold the phone to my ear. It rings five times and goes to his voicemail.
“Crap,” I mutter as I hang up. He’s probably with Anthony. They’ve gotten really serious lately. They spend pretty much every waking moment with each other.
“Kaylee!”
My heart drops into my stomach and the world grows very quiet as I turn.
Drake darts out of his car, his face utterly terrified looking. He runs right up to me, his hands grabbing my arms as he looks me over.
“You okay?” he asks, out of breath and high pitched. “I saw on the news there was a fire and I could see the smoke from my place.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, still not sure if he’s actually here or if I’m having a really bad dream about my apartment catching fire and him coming to rescue me. “It started before I got back from the dance. They’ve got it out now.”
“Oh,” he says, his hands dropping away from me. He shoves them in his pockets and his eyes drop to the ground. His adrenaline reaction of coming to find me seems to be wearing off. “’K, I’m glad. I kind of freaked for a second.”
We stand there awkwardly for a moment, neither of us knowing what to say.
“So,” he says after a while. “Can you go back into the building yet?”
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly freezing. It’s the beginning of November, and thinking I’d only have to go from warm building to car, I didn’t bring a jacket. “No,” I say, rubbing my hands over my bare arms. “It’s too smoky in there. They said probably tomorrow.”
“Do you have a place to stay?” he asks.
I’m not sure what that is there in his eyes and I can’t bear to analyze it.
“Dick and Mom are both out of town,” I say. Drake strips his jacket off and wraps it around my shoulders. I give him an appreciative smile and tug it closer to me. I nearly cry though when I’m enveloped in his scent. “Um…Armando’s out with his boyfriend, I think. He’s not answering.”
“Want me to give you a ride to the hotel down the street?” Drake offers. He’s stuffed his hands in his pockets again, holding his arms stiff and tight to his body against the cold.
I shake my head and try to ignore the sting at the back of my eyes. “I don’t have the money.”
“Right,” he says with a little bit of a breathy laugh. “Teachers don’t have money for that kind of thing.”
I try to laugh back, but it comes out harsh and awkward sounding. “I’ve been poor all my life, but I’ve never quite been homeless.”
Drake looks at me a long moment and I wish I knew what he was thinking.
Does it hurt for him to breathe too whenever he’s around me? Does he feel a little part of himself die every time I meet his eyes?
“You can stay at my place,” he says quietly. Almost too quiet. I barely hear him over the noise from the people that surround me. “I can sleep on the couch.”
The sting behind my eyes grows worse and I give the smallest shake of my head. “I think that’s a really bad idea, Drake.”
Just saying his name is like a knife in the heart.
He’s quiet for a moment and he stares at me. His eyes redden just slightly. I’m sure he can see in my own how hard this is.
“I know,” he says, his voice a hoarse whisper. “But where else are you going to sleep tonight?”
“The back seat of my car is pretty comfy,” I try to joke.
But Drake doesn’t smile. “A car is no place for a princess to sleep.”
“And a couch is no place for a prince,” I say without thinking.
“I’m no prince,” he says as his eyes drop away from mine.
“And I’m not a princess.” And this isn’t a fairy tale, I think to myself.
“Come on,” he says as he turns. He doesn’t wait for me to follow as he heads for his rusted out car. I hesitate for a moment. Something feels different when he walks away. Drake’s presence and something I can describe as nothing else other than him starts fading away instantly the further he gets. And I am an addict who can’t resist it.
I follow him to his car.
The inside of the cab has grown chilly by the time we climb back inside. Drake blasts the heat and pulls away from the curb.
Neither of us says a word as we drive the few blocks to his apartment. He parks in the parking lot, walks around to my side of the car, and opens the door for me. I climb out without looking at his face and we head for the doors.
When Drake and I were together, we were always out doing something. Dinner, movies, hikes. Something. We didn’t spend a ton of time at either of our apartments unless I was making dinner. I’ve only been to Drake’s apartment once.
This building is even older than mine and the stairs groan and creak as we walk up the three flights. The halls are dimly lit and the wallpaper on the walls is peeling. Drake pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks a door.
I remember back to what feels like forever ago, Drake saying his place was only barely bigger than mine, and it is. The wall his bed is pushed up against is all exposed brick. A couch is pushed up against the foot of the bed. It’s worn out and saggy. A small kitchen and an even smaller dining table occupy one corner. There’s a door leading to a bathroom. It’s cluttered with books, and a skateboard, and clothes are strewn about random places.
But the thing that bothers me most is the pack of cigarettes sitting on the table.
“You smoke?” I ask, my voice accusatory sounding.
Drake closes the door and his eyes fall to the pack.
“Uh,” he stutters as he slips his hands back into his pockets. “I used to. Pretty much all through college. I thought it helped me focus. I kept telling myself I’d quit when I got my first teaching job. So I did.”
“And you picked the habit back up?” I ask. I have to admit to myself that I’m looking at him a bit differently now. I’m a harsh judge of people who willfully put harmful things into their bodies.
He shakes his head and gnaws on his lower lip. “It’s been tempting. I went to this gas station when I first found out and everything fell apart.” His voice is rough and shaky. “I walked out and was going to light up. But then I looked up and saw you drive by. And I put it in my pocket, went home, and then set it there on the table.”
His eyes are pained and still a little red. This, being this close to him, knowing how we both feel, it’s more than I can bear.
“The last four weeks have been hell,” he admits. “I’ve grabbed that box and headed outside with a lighter more times than I can count. But I keep turning around and putting it back there on the table.”
I give a little nod, feeling too exhausted for words.
Drake takes this as a cue and turns to the rest of the apartment. I take a few more steps inside and watch as he pulls some sheets out and puts them on the couch and grabs an extra blanket and pillow.
He opens a drawer of his dresser and pulls a few things out. He turns and extends them out to me. “You can sleep in these. They’ll drown you, but they should be comfortable.”
“Thanks,” I say with a sniff. My nose always tries to run when I get emotional. I take the clothes from him and head into the bathroom.
The light is dim, but the space is clean and fairly organized. I lock the door behind me and observe so much of Drake that surrounds me. His shampoo in the shower. His razor and shaving cream on the shelf. His towel on the hook. A blue toothbrush in its holder.
I brace my hands on the counter and stare at myself in the mirror.
This night here will break me. I’ve been going through life the past four weeks as a broken mirror, with tape holding me together. I splinter and grate as I move, but I’ve been moving. I’ve been learning how to be a person existing like that.
Tonight may undo it all.
I pull the zipper and slip out of the dress. The cold air hits my bare breasts and goosebumps flash over my exposed skin. I kick off my heels and inspect what Drake gave me to wear.
There’s a pair of well-worn sweat pants and a The Frey t-shirt.
I recall the second day we met, when we listened to music in the library. We listened to that song Happiness. It said that “happiness damn near destroys you,” and ain’t that the truth.
I pull on the shirt and it has to be too big for Drake as well because I am swimming in it. It hangs clear down to my knees and the sleeves go to my elbows.
I scrub at my teeth with my finger and a bit of toothpaste. I use his bathroom and then walk back out.
Drake looks at me. Some men’s eyes might automatically drift down and sweep over my legs, or search for certain places on a woman who isn’t wearing a bra. But Drake just stares into my eyes and there are a billion unspoken words that pass between us.
The moment passes slowly and irrevocably. And the space between us renders me unbelievably lonely.
The ping of rain on a metal roof sounds loud and quick. A storm rolls in, the wind picking up and whistling through the windows.
Like all the most painful moments do, this one comes to an end when Drake walks past me and goes into the bathroom. He locks the door and I faintly hear him swear.
He turned down the bed, an invitation to know I am welcome to sleep there. I climb on in, noisy springs squeaking as I adjust positions to get comfortable.
The sheets smell like Drake and that nearly undoes me. How I keep it together and don’t melt down to that blubbery, numb mess I was just after we found out we could no longer be together, I have no idea.
Three minutes later, the door to the bathroom opens and Drake steps out and turns out the light. I watch him as he crosses toward the door and flips the switch that turns off every light in the apartment. A faint orange glow comes through the window from the streetlights below.
While in the bathroom he changed into a t-shirt and the sweatpants I decided to forgo. His shoulders are stiff and tight as he walks back across the apartment toward the couch. I hear him settle into it, tossing and turning to get comfortable. And finally, he’s quiet.
“Drake?” I say through the dark.
“Hm?” he responds.
“Thank you for giving me somewhere to stay tonight,” I say.
“Of course.”
We’re quiet on the outside, but oh so loud in unspoken feelings. My breathing picks up and keeps catching in my throat. Electricity starts waking in my veins, fireworks begging to be lit.
I listen to the sound of the rain, the howl of the wind. The storm raging outside matches the one going on inside of me. Every fiber of my being knows I shouldn’t be here. My presence here is only making things harder, more complicated. I think of Diana and the baby and how in just about four weeks they’re going to find out if they’re having a boy or a girl. It’s pathetic, but I’ve been keeping track of roughly how far along she is.
But being here ignites something in me again. Knowing Drake is only inches away makes me feel warm for the first time in so long, like my blood and heart haven’t really been turned to the frigid tundra of Antarctica. I don’t feel quite so dead anymore.
I can’t be here.
I shouldn’t be here.
Something bad will happen if I stay here.
I scramble from the bed, nearly tripping as I do. I grab my things I set on the nightstand and start for the door as my eyes well and I feel as if I am going to suffocate.
“Hey,” Drake says and I hear him get up from the bed. “Where are you going?”
“I shouldn’t be here,” I say as I stub my toe on something, trying to make my way through the extremely dim light. The crack of thunder sounds outside. A single tear makes its way past my lashes onto my cheek.
“Wait, stop,” he says as I finally make it to the door. He crosses the space without trouble and grabs my wrist. “Where are you going to go?”
“I don’t know,” I say as I shake my head. My hand grips the doorknob with everything I’ve got. “But I don’t belong here.”
Drake tugs on my wrist gently, pulling me away from the door. His other hand rests lightly on my hip. The distance between us closes and I feel my chilled form warm with the heat coming off of him.
“You always belonged here,” he says quietly. His hand lets go of my wrist and comes up to my cheek. His breath brushes across my face, warm and sweet. My eyes slide closed and my heart betrays me by breaking into a soaring sprint.
“You always belonged here,” he breathes again as a bolt of lightning flashes across the night sky outside. His words brush across my lips, he’s so close. The hand on my hip slides around to my back and he pulls me closer. My breath hitches slightly when my stomach touches his.
Drake brushes a thumb over my cheek, his other fingers tangling in my hair. He touches his forehead to mine and two more tears push out onto my face.
I feel him breathing, fast and quick.
“Drake,” I get out. My voice is strangled and rough. “This hurts so much.”
“I’d say you have no idea, but I think you know exactly how damn much this hurts.” I barely feel his lips moving against mine as he speaks. I’m sure I’ll melt from the heat and intensity between us.
I nod slightly.
“I wish there’d been no one else before you, Kaylee Ray,” he says. I can’t fight it when my arms wrap behind his neck. “You’re the only one I want for there to ever have been.”
The knife in my heart gets a good twist and the fire deep down in me gets gasoline poured onto it.
“I love you, Kaylee,” he breathes into me.
I’m a horrible, horrible person. Because I can’t fight it any longer.
I take his lips with vengeance. My fingers knot in his hair. His hands come to my hips and he hoists me up and my legs apart, pinning me to the wall as he presses into me. He is hard and his want aggressive. My lips part and his tongue invades my mouth. A panicked and relieved sigh erupts from my chest and my center pushes into him quickly and franticly.
One of Drake’s hands holds me up at the hip, the rest of me supported by his body. His other hand comes to my cheek, sliding down to my neck, my collarbone, and on downward.
I push us away from the wall, pulling him with me to the couch. I shove with as much force as I can and push him down on to it. I straddle him and let my lips take his again.
There is something grand here. Something heavy as the earth and as endless as the universe. Something Ra and Zeus and all the other gods could never have dreamed up. Drake and Kaylee were always meant to be the greatest love story ever told. This was meant to shame all other loves before us.
“I love you,” I breathe against his lips. He shifts his focus, sliding down to my neck and igniting a whole new kind of wonder in my body. “I love you, Drake.”
Tears slide down my cheeks. Tears of loss, tears of hope, tears of love, and tears of uncertainty.
“I never want to let you go,” he pants into my skin.
But we both know, that come morning, when the sun comes up, this storm stops, and reality sinks in again, that he’s going to have to.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Drake and I have one blissful night together. We lie wrapped around each other in his bed, legs tangled tight, my face buried in his neck, his cheek on the top of my head. Our arms grip each other so hard surely there will be bruises.
We don’t have sex, no matter how bad we know each other wants to. Sex is what got us into this ripped apart mess. There will be no more mistakes, other than the fact that I am here when I know perfectly well that I am not supposed to be.
I wake in the morning to the scent of Drake. He smells like sunshine and fun summer nights. He smells like home and love. I don’t open my eyes for a long time. I just lie there, pretending this is the real world. This is the way things are and always will be.
I hear Drake’s heartbeat, slow and steady. His chest rises and falls, my head going up and down on it. He’s dead asleep, most of his body perfectly relaxed. But his arms hold tight around me, promising to hold me forever.
It’s pure instinct when there’s a noise from the next apartment down, and my eyes open. And the reality of what we did last night slaps me across the face. There, on his nightstand, propped up against a book, is an ultrasound picture.
Ever, ever so careful, I slip out of Drake’s arms, somehow not waking him. The morning has dawned a dull grey, left over from the storm that raged all night. Drake’s apartment is dimly light and feels cold.
I grab my dress from the floor where I dropped it by the door and the jacket Drake lent me and go for the bathroom.
I’m a panicked mess. I’m too scared to even pee, fearing the sound of the toilet flushing will wake Drake.
I just want to slip out and not have to face what we did.
I change back into my dress silently. I fold his shirt and set it on the counter. I slip back into his jacket because I know it’s going to be freezing outside and it’s going to be a long walk, even the few blocks it is to my apartment. And I still probably won’t be able to get inside. But my car is there.
The door to the bathroom squeaks just a little when I slowly open it. I peek around the corner and look at Drake, still sleeping.
He looks concerned, sad, even in his sleep. There’s a little line between his eyebrows. His lips are turned down slightly.