The cool conditioned air alleviated the stickiness I felt. My father sat on a barstool near the island. The smile on his face was one I could never forget. There was something in his eyes that told me he was proud.
“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted me. "How was dance?"
“Hot," I complained and tossed my duffle bag on the counter.
"Something came in the mail for you today,” my father said in a tone that sounded excited and hopeful all in one. I stopped dead in my tracks and looked back at him. He used two fingers to push a large envelope a little closer. By this time, my mother was at his side, her hands resting on his shoulders. Her eyes were kind, and it seemed as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.
“Open it,” he said, and there was a faint smile in his eyes. My gaze moved from my father to the envelope to my mother. There was a look in her eyes, one I had never seen before. A look of joy, excitement and honor all wrapped and tied with a bow. I stepped closer to the envelope. My legs were wobbly, and I knew it wasn't because of my recent dance practice. My eyes landed on the word Juilliard. The envelope was bigger than I imagined it, eight and a half by eleven inches.
“Go on,” my mother prompted.
I swallowed back all the fear that consumed me in that moment, and slipped my finger under the paper and tore through the flap. My hands were shaking by the time I pulled out the sheets of paper.
Dear Leslie,
Congratulations! It gives me tremendous pleasure to inform you . . .
Unable to read the next line, I jumped up and down. “I got in! I got in! I got in!”
My mother rushed to my side. Her arms clung to my small frame in a vice grip. “I'm so proud of you,” she whispered into my hair, and I felt her body shake as though she was crying along with me. This was as much an honor for her as it was for me. She had been by my side through it all. She was my coach, my leader, my best friend, and my worst enemy. I wouldn’t be the dancer I was if it weren’t for her.
Slowly I pulled out of her grasp and looked up at her. “Thank you, Mom.” She cupped my cheeks and kissed my forehead.
My dad was still sitting nearby, a wide smile plastered on his face. “You did it, kiddo.”
I rushed into his arms. I had done it. I had spent my entire life preparing for this moment. I was going to New York. Ethan and I were going to New York. I needed to tell him.
“Come on.” My mother tapped my shoulder. “Go get in the shower and I'll make us some dinner. We need to celebrate.”
I nodded and rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Taking them two at a time, I darted into my room and opened the window. My gaze landed on his house. The lights were on but I couldn't see him. Leaving the window open, I ran to the guest room. It was the only room in the house that gave me a direct view to Ethan's bedroom. I had asked my mother to switch my room to that one but she forbade it. She knew as well as I did that it was in direct sight of his room, and that would only cause trouble. My parents were aware Ethan and I were friends, but none of our parents knew we were dating. I was afraid my mother would say he was a distraction and keep him away from me. And Ethan never wanted his father to know he was dating me. He constantly said it was the only way to keep me out of harm’s way.
The light in his room was off, but I left the guest room window open as well. It was our own version of the bat signal; an SOS of sorts.
Once I showered and changed, I made my way back downstairs. Walking past the living room, my father called me over to him. “Come here,” he said in a hushed tone.
I strolled into the living room. On the coffee table there were three other envelopes similar to the one from Juilliard. “I know Juilliard was your first option, but I wanted you to see these as well.”
In the beginning of my senior year, my dad and I decided that besides Juilliard, I should also apply to a few other schools. Juilliard was my first choice, but I needed a backup plan. There were thousands of applicants who applied yearly, and only twenty-four applicants were accepted.
Twenty-four.
Twelve men.
Twelve women.
I knew it was the reason my mother had instructed such an intense regimen my whole life. She knew what it took to get in to Juilliard. She had once been one of those twenty-four.
There was always the chance I wouldn’t get in, and for that I needed a backup plan. Behind my mother’s back my father and I applied to some other schools. I sent applications filled with an essay and recommendation letters to Michigan State, UCLA, and Northwestern University. Aside from dancing, I figured a degree in business would be my fallback. If I couldn't be like my mother I sure as shit wanted to be like my father.
Glancing down at the coffee table, I saw all three envelopes: UCLA, Northwestern, and Michigan State. The envelopes were identical to the one that came in from Juilliard. “Go ahead, Les, open them,” my father said with such pride in his voice.
Each of the letters read like the other.
Congratulations . . .
The smile grew on my face. I had accomplished so much. Juilliard was where I was going. I had been training for that school since I was three years old, though I couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment when I saw that the other schools wanted me, too. Dance notwithstanding, I was qualified to go anywhere I wanted.
“I'm really proud of you, kid,” my dad said when I laid the last letter down.
Once dinner was over and the kitchen cleaned, I sprinted up the stairs and headed straight for my room. I expected Ethan to be there, waiting for me by my bed like he normally was, but when I pressed the door open, the window was still open and there was no sight of him.
My heart pounded in my chest. I could hear it in my ears, and when I finally caught my breath, I heard the scream next-door. I ran to the window and couldn't find Ethan in my backyard. Jerry’s voice bellowed again, and chills ran up my spine. He was pissed.
I darted out of my room and ran to the guest room. I kept the lights off so no one could see me. Inching ever so slowly toward the window, I spotted Jerry. He was angry as he paced around Ethan’s bedroom. My heart sank to the floor when I spotted Ethan sitting on the edge of his bed. His head was crouched over as his father continued with the verbal abuse.
My hand rushed to my mouth to muffle my screaming. My mind ran a mile a minute wondering what the hell was going on. Jerry’s words were muffled since Ethan’s window was closed, and Ethan never replied. He never made eye contact with his father. He simply sat there, his head lowered and his arms resting on his knees. Unable to help him, I stood behind the curtain. Tears streamed down my face.
Ethan looked so helpless. So vulnerable.
I lost track of how long I stood there, but when Jerry walked out of the room and a few minutes later got in his car and drove away, I did the one thing Ethan made me swear to never do. I ran back into my room, slipped my feet into sneakers and climbed out my bedroom window.
I needed to be by his side.
I needed to comfort him and tell him no matter how terrible his father was it would all be okay.
I slid down the extended roof that covered the living room the way I had seen Ethan do, then walked over to the corner and climbed down the gutter. Barring a few scrapes on my legs, I safely hopped off and landed on the deck. My parents were in the living room and luckily hadn’t spotted me. Not that they would have been able to stop me, anyway.
With shaky legs, I ran across our yards, and climbed into his house the same way he climbed into mine each night. I jumped on top of the garbage cans, anchored my foot on a loose brick and pulled myself up to his window. I tapped gently until he looked back at me.
The lights in his room were still on and I gasped when I saw the swelling around his right eye. Briefly, I closed my eyes to stop the pain in my chest. Fuck you, Jerry.
Ethan ran to his window and lifted it open. "What are doing here?" he asked as he pulled me into his room. His voice was filled with fear, something I had never he
ard from him before.
“Your eye,” I whispered as I tried to catch my breath. I was hyperventilating. I reached out to touch it and Ethan grabbed my hand.
“It's fine, Leslie.” He brushed my touch away.
“Don't do that.” I couldn't stop the tears that filled my eyes.
“Don't do what?” He moved over to the wall and flicked off the light.
“Don't push me away.” I ran my fingers under my eyes. “I saw your father in here. I saw him yelling at you, and I saw him leave.” I walked over to him and grabbed his hands. “Don't push me away because I'm not going anywhere, Ethan.” He lowered his head. Slowly I lifted my hand to his unharmed cheek.
“Tell me what happened?”
He shook his head and pulled me closer to him. Our bodies collided in a tight embrace, and he kissed the top of my head. "Talk to me,” I pleaded.
“I got accepted into NYU." His voice was low and hoarse. I blinked away the tears that wouldn’t stop and let him continue. "I didn't want to go to New York with you and weigh you down. I wanted to be someone you were proud of. We could go to school together and live there. You'd have your goals and I'd have mine. But my father arrived home before me. He grabbed the mail and all hell broke loose when he saw the acceptance letter." His voice cracked and I hugged him tighter. "No son of mine is going off to some fucking college, he said. And when I tried to say I didn't need his help, that I had managed to get a few grants and I was planning to apply for student loans, the blows came crashing down.”
“Oh, Ethan,” I cried into his chest. “Where was your mom?”
“With Charlie at therapy.” Ethan kissed the top of my head once more. “I'm sorry, Leslie. I just wanted to make you proud."
"Hey." I pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. "We will get through this, I promise. And I'm so proud of you. You can be anything you want to be, and if your heart is set on NYU, that's where you'll go. Your father can go screw himself." Ethan chuckled and I kissed his lips. "No matter what, you and I are getting out of this town."
"Promise me I'll never lose you, Freckles."
"I promise,” I whispered and met his lips again. This time I kissed him with wanton, desperate hunger. I wanted to show him he would never lose me. That he was the only person I ever needed in my life. He growled when I bit down on his lower lip. I pushed our bodies together and lifted the hem of his shirt.
“Make love to me, Ethan,” I whispered against his lips.
He pulled away slowly, his eyes staring deep into mine. “Leslie . . .” It almost seemed painful for him to say my name.
“I want this. I want you forever. Make love to me.” I pulled his shirt over his head.
“Not here.” He shook his head.
I knew he wanted to make our first time beautiful, but as long as I was with him anywhere would be beautiful. Grasping his hand, I placed it over my heart. “You are the only thing I love in this world. It doesn’t need to be hearts and flowers, all I need is you. It’s all I’ve ever needed.”
Ethan sighed and pressed his hand to my heart before he wrapped both arms around me. His hands slid down my back until they found the hem of my T-shirt. Slowly, he pulled it off, and then his hands trailed down my body. Goosebumps rose on my skin.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
“More sure than I am about anything else." The words came out like a beautiful melody.
Ethan lowered himself and wrapped his hands around my thighs. In one quick motion, he lifted me off the ground and carried me to his bed. Ever so slowly he laid me down. His body towered over mine and his lips met mine with so much love. He took his time kissing me. His lips trailed every inch of my body, and when he moved down to my stomach, he gently tugged on my tights and lowered them.
I wasn't embarrassed. I wasn't nervous. I had waited for this for as long as I could remember. There wasn't an ounce of hesitation in my mind. Ethan lowered his pants and walked over to the nightstand.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked me again.
There was no way I was backing out now. Not ever. It was me and him always. “I'm sure.”
Ethan removed his boxers and took the condom from the nightstand. He walked over to the bed, laced his fingers around my panties and gently pulled them off. His eyes were glued to mine as he climbed on top of me. We didn't speak. He simply gazed into my eyes and I opened my legs for him.
I whimpered from the pain and Ethan kissed my forehead. My fingernails dug into his back as he pushed inside of me.
"Do you want to stop?" he asked. I knew he hated that he was hurting me.
"No." I shook my head and found his lips. "Kiss me,” I said. “It doesn’t hurt when you kiss me.”
And he did.
“I love you, Leslie.”
“I love you, too.”
I cried from the pain. For his pain. For the love we shared. Inch by inch, as slow as humanly possible, Ethan made love to me.
It was painful.
It was beautiful.
It was us.
It was everything I had ever dreamed of.
I cried.
I laughed.
I fell even more in love with Ethan.
Once we were done, he held me in his arms. His hands traced my bare back. "Why didn't you tell me you applied to NYU?"
"I wasn't sure I'd get in."
"Why not? You’re smart, you get good grades. Of course they would want you."
"I guess it was the fear of getting your hopes up and then letting you down."
"You can’t possibly let me down." I glanced up at him and his lips kissed mine.
"I'm going to call them and let them know I’m going." For the first time since I crawled into his room there was confidence in his voice.
"Yeah?"
"Yes. I'm eighteen and my father can go fuck himself. I'm not staying in this town."
"Nine more months and we'll be on a plane to New York,” I whispered in bliss.
Ethan brought me closer to him and kissed the tip of my nose. “Nine months and we’ll be out of here.”
It was a promise. It was a definite plan.
At least that's what we thought . .
15
PRESENT
Every article of clothing I came with is scattered on my bed. I quickly realize that nothing I packed is appropriate for a date with my first boyfriend, slash the love of my life, slash the guy who broke my heart.
Jeans and T-shirts and one casual dress are all I brought. Nothing screamed, “I need to have you now!” or, “My God, I lost her once and I won’t lose her again! Not when her legs are so fucking hot!”
After trying on everything I had, plus everything my mother owns, I resort to Plan B. Pulling my phone off the charger, I send Stephanie a message.
Me: SOS! I need a little black dress to wear tonight.
She replies within seconds.
Stephanie: I'm on my way.
Twenty minutes later Stephanie knocks on the door with a suitcase at her side.
“Are you moving in?” I ask her.
“No.” She shakes her head and tugs on the handle. “But I brought you every dress I own. You’ll find something here for sure.”
“You’re my fairy godmother.” I hold the door wide and she wheels the oversized suitcase in through the foyer.
“Where's your mom?” Stephanie asks as we both take hold of the suitcase and clumsily walk it up the stairs.
“She popped an Ambien after dinner.” I sigh and pull the suitcase up another step. “Sometimes I feel I need to be more concerned about her pill popping now that my father’s in rehab.”
“That bad, huh?”
“I think she's really depressed. My mother used to look at my father like he walked on water. Him being so fragile and helpless has really taken a toll on her.” I exhale as we make it to the top step. “Do you think he'll get better?”
I sigh and let my shoulders slump. “The doctors are hopeful, but we really won't know for
a few more months.”
Stephanie gives me a kind smile. “If you ever need anything, Les, you know I'm always here for you.”
I nod and force a smile. “Thanks. I hope once he's out of rehab things will go back to normal and I can get back to my life.” I lead us to my room.
“You're not gonna stay?” Stephanie asks when we enter my room.
“My life is in Chicago.”
“Yes, but your parents need you here. And Ethan is here.”
“I won't leave until my parents are okay. I have a job that I need to get back to, though. I have responsibilities.” I shove all my clothes in the hamper. “And Ethan and I don't exist anymore. We're having dinner as old friends.”
“Dinner as old friends?” Stephanie crosses her arms over her chest. “Ha!” She throws her head back dramatically before she eyes the only decent bra and panties I had packed and lifts them. They’re nothing fancy; a lace black bra with a matching lace thong. “This definitely screams dinner as old friends.” Her lips purse together in amusement.
"Shut it!” I snatch it from her hands. “It's not even that cute, and it’s the only thong I have,” I lie.
“Fine, so the bra and panties are old, but why did you text me with an SOS telling me to bring you hot dresses?” Stephanie shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “If it's just dinner with an old friend, why aren't you wearing jeans and a T-shirt? It’s what you wore when we had drinks.”
“You know, I really hate you sometimes.” I stick my tongue out at her. Stephanie is no help as I drag the suitcase onto the bed. “And this is Ethan we’re talking about. I've been with him before and it didn’t end well,” I add in a strained voice.
Stephanie laughs even harder this time. “You don't hate me. You just hate that I know you better than you think.” She winks and pulls out a dress. “And you were with childhood Ethan, the eighteen-year-old boy who lost his virginity to you. Not the twenty-seven-year-old man he is now.” She lays another dress out on the bed. “Call it what you want, but you’re looking to get some. Who knows, maybe in Chicago old friends means fuck buddy.”
Broken Dreams (Fatal Series Book 3) Page 11