by Cindy Miles
I knew what he meant, and I nodded. “They sure are.”
He brushed a kiss over my lips, then guided me to the small table and sat me down.
We ate. Joked. Teased. Flirted. All of the things new couples do during Cupcake Phase. For some reason, though, it didn’t have a very strong phasey-type feel. It seemed more…natural. And by God, the boy could cook. Best apple cinnamon pancakes I’d ever put in my mouth. Ever.
We were still teasing and flirting as I located my clothes—panties included—dressed, and headed out into the early morning air. It was brisk but not cold—the ever-changing Texas weather going from cool to hot in a day’s time during winter. We pulled down my lane, bypassed the house and parked by the shop, where Little Joe trotted over to the fence, threw back his head and let out a loud whinny. We passed knowing looks—the kind lovers pass—and Jace helped me load all the scrap metal inside. Once we finished, he pulled me close, kissed me fully, and buried his lips against my throat, then my temple.
“I’ll text you later,” he said against my skin.
I smiled and wrapped my arms around him. “I can’t wait.”
As I watched his truck bump back down the drive, I heard the screened door creak open on the porch, and I knew my dad had walked outside. I also knew without looking that he had a cup of coffee in each hand, and both would have trails of steam rising from their depths. I turned, jogged up the porch steps, and relieved him of one of the cups. We both sat on the swing, sipping silently.
I knew what was coming.
“Honey, what are you doin’?” Max Thibodeaux said quietly.
I sipped. Glanced out over the early morning meadow. Played dumb. “What do you mean, Daddy?”
“Aw, Memory, look at me,” he said, and I didn’t at first. “This is different, yeah? Not your, what do you call them? Casualties?”
I looked at him then. “No, Max. This is definitely different. Not a casualty at all.” I smiled, leaned my head on his shoulder. “I’ve never felt this way before.”
We were both quiet for a moment or two as we swung. “Don’t you think he deserves to know? Or do you just plan on letting him fall for you, only to find out later? Do you think that’s fair?” Dad asked.
I didn’t want to hear this—not now. I didn’t want reality to ruin my mood. I wanted to savor last night with Jace for as long as possible. Not remember it tainted by that kind of conversation.
“None of this is very fair now, is it Daddy?” I finally said. “None of it is. Not for me. Not for you.” I looked at him. “And it just won’t be for Jace, either. We all have to deal with it at some point. And it’s my choice not to deal with it just yet.” I closed my eyes for a moment, then looked at him. Pleaded. “Just let me...live, Daddy. Just this once. Please?”
I got up then, before he answered. Before I saw the fear and sadness in his eyes, and walked into the house, and showered. Took my goddamned Experimental Magical Fucking Medicine. And when I jogged down the porch steps, Max was still on the swing. I stopped, jogged back up, threw my arms around his neck, and kissed him on the cheek.
“I love you, Daddy,” I said.
“I love you too, baby girl,” he replied.
Even though I’d been determined not to allow reality to taint my newfound joy, I’d had a sneaking suspicion it would anyway. Not in the most obvious of ways, mind you. I went to school. Met Claire and the gang for lunch at our usual spot in the quad. Laughed as Conner, Crisco and Bentley kicked up a game of panty tag. Watched as Claire, Sugar and Brie’s eyes widened as I told them about my Amazing Day With Jace as he flew me around in a 1929 Bi-plane.
But it was there. Underlying. Waiting to make its appearance.
Just like the cancer.
And on that day, I realized my world was about as happy as it had ever been.
And that it was slowly going to spiral out of control.
Dear Diary,
So, that just about sums everything up until now. You are up to speed on My Life Thus Far. I’ve introduced you to everyone who matters the very most to me in life: My father. My best friends. And Jace Beaumont. Do you see the predicament I’m now in, Diary? Why, after all this time, would my brain be healed and cancer-free?
I’ve had fifteen years of annual MRI’s (actually, more than that for the first three years following my Incident) and there has been nothing. My life was running on High-Octane and filled with crazy-as-hell fun and games, only so that I could meet Jace Beaumont and turn completely Upside-Down Serious. I had no idea that another person was capable of making someone else feel the things I feel for him. To have the slightest touch, the gentlest of kisses, or even a goddamned sweet text message make my heart skip a beat? It must be medically dangerous. Perhaps even A Very Serious Condition.
Sorry, this is all just so over-fucking-whelming. Jace is…well, I’ll admit he might not be perfect. I haven’t found his imperfections yet, but I’m sure there must be one or two there. Still, he’s perfect for me. We are completely in sync. I mean, were you paying attention when I told you about the movie in the park? Come on—The Ghost and Mrs. Muir on Big Screen in an Open Park. What guy besides The One would pull that off? And how he’d sung ALL the words to “My Heart Will Go On”? How freaking hilarious is that? Very few guys, Diary, will even watch Titanic (the Jack Dawson/Rose DeWitt Bukater/1997 version), much less know the lyrics of the Song Meant For Them. And what pair of twenty-something year olds in this day and age knows all the words to “Bohemian Rhapsody”? I’ll answer that for you. Not too many. And while that might not be as big of an indicator of Perfect Match to some, it speaks volumes to me. Our playlists were nearly identical. What are the chances of that, Diary?
He makes me feel a certain way, too. Not just…beautiful. Not only desired. I’ve felt those things in simpler terms before. But when Jace Beaumont looks at me, and his green eyes go all soft and warm, and he gives me that crooked, easy smile? It’s like the bones go out of my knees. My heart feels like someone is squeezing it from the inside. And when I know he’s coming over, or I’m meeting him at his place, or I get a random phone call from him, the breath literally catches in my throat.
I won’t even go into how he is with Jasper. He adores the old guy, and I do, too, now. Jace is spontaneous. He is meticulous. And I’ve watched him open up like a flower that needed full sunlight but had been placed in the shade. He’s so easy now. The stick has promptly fallen Directly Out of His Ass. And the idiotic grin that Will Not Leave My Face? What is all that, Diary? Is it the L-word?
What I’m saying is, here we are. Here is how I feel. And here is the predicament that I’m in. I know what’s coming. I know I have more than one decision to make. Both will impact not only my life, but many lives. That’s a lot of responsibility, FYI.
Just so you know, in case I lose my mind and fuck everything up.
For now, I’m flyin’ high, and I don’t really want to come down. Someone or something, though, is yanking the string. Trying to pull me out of the clouds. Trying to pull me right back to where I seriously don’t want to be.
Reality.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
Until whenever, Diary.
PS…Thanks for listening.
XO,
Memory
I don’t think I remembered ever being more drunk on life than I was with Jace Beaumont. Every day I woke ecstatic. Excited. Anxious for the next time we’d be together, or the next call or witty, flirty text. The next time I’d feel his mouth on mine, and the possessive way his touch felt. I’d be working in the shop on an order, and Jace would stop by, just long enough to melt me with a hot gaze and hold me against the wall and kiss me until I saw stars behind my eyes, then hold my gaze with his in that soft, sexy way that sent shivers down my spine. We studied together, and Jace hit it off with my dad in a big way. Jace helped him work on one of Max’s old tractors he’d wanted to get running for some time, and well…they just clicked. But I’d always notice a look in Max Thibodeaux’s eyes when he’d look at m
e whenever Jace was around. He really liked Jace, and that was the problem. Max always kind of subtly let me know I was not doing the right thing. But, as usual, I ignored him.
Once a week we’d go have supper with Jasper, and we’d sit and listen to the tales of his glory days, and I had a sneaky feeling that ole Jasper McGillis was a big fat ladies’ man back in the day. I could see it in his eyes, that wild-ass gleam that had probably led many an unsuspecting girl straight down The Broken Heart Highway. He’d married once, he told me. And when his Ellie had passed away in ’94, he’d vowed never to wed again because he would never have a love as great as the one he’d had with his wife. And, he hadn’t married. I imagined it had been quite some love affair between Jasper and Ellie.
Valentine’s Day rolled around and, if I hadn’t realized by then that Jace Beaumont knew me almost better than anyone, I discovered it that weekend. He didn’t show up at my door with a bouquet of roses, a box of candy, or even a card. He hadn’t taken me to a fancy restaurant for dinner, either.
I’d have been sorely disappointed in him if he had.
Instead, Jace Samuel Beaumont had instructed me to dress outdoor comfortable, and bring a jacket. So, I did as I was instructed, and was standing on the porch when Jace pulled up that Saturday afternoon.
He wasn’t the only one with surprises, though.
Jace’s grin met me as he climbed out and threw his hand up at my dad. “Mr. Thibodeaux,” Jace said. He was probably the most respectful human being I’d ever encountered. I grinned at my dad and glanced over my shoulder. “Bye, Mr. Thibodeaux.” Max just shook his head and gave me That Look.
I slid past Jace, my bag on my shoulder, and he smelled so good, freshly showered and a little like pine and soap and the clean outdoors, and his hair was still a little damp, which made him oh, so sexy.
I’d worn a red and blue plaid long-sleeved shirt over a navy tank, jeans and Converses, with my denim jacket stuffed in my bag and my hair pulled into a high ponytail. Jace had on a navy thermal Henley with a dark green long-sleeved tee underneath, the worn jeans that hugged his hips just right, and boots. His Carhartt was thrown over the seat.
“So, Mr. Beaumont,” I purred. “Where’re we going?”
He just smiled, reached for my hand, and lifted it to his mouth. “You’ll see,” he said, and pressed his warm lips to my knuckles. I glanced behind me, and there were two coolers in the bed of his truck. My eyes snapped.
“Oh! Another movie in the park?” I asked with excitement.
He laughed that soft, sexy laugh. “You’re not going to guess it, Memory.” He glanced at me, a wicked glint in his eye. “Not in a million.”
That didn’t keep me from trying. As we rode out of Killian, past Covington, Foreigner’s “Urgent” came on and I half-turned in my seat and pointed, sang along with the band to Jace and he laughed, shook his head, and refused to give up one scrap of information on Where We Were Headed.
“Parasailing?”
“Nope,” Jace said.
“Go carts?”
“Nope.”
“Paint ball? Knitting class? Panning for gold?”
Jace laughed. “Not even close.”
“Jace!” I growled.
He just grinned.
Almost an hour later, Jace turned down a long winding road off of Route 80 that led to the fairgrounds, where hundreds of cars and trucks were parked in the open field. “No,” I whispered as it dawned on me. I craned my neck, trying to see, and once we parked and Jace killed the engine and opened the door, the sound of a screaming guitar hit me.
“No,” I said again slowly, as the whole thought processed. “No freaking way!” I gasped, and hurried Jace out the door. I jumped out behind him, raising on tiptoes to stare in the direction of the outdoor stage. I spun around as realization hit me.
“Jace Samuel Beaumont!” I gasped, and jumped up and down, then flung myself into his arms. “Aerosmith? Oh my god!” I pulled back and looked into his smiling eyes. “I thought the tickets were sold out!”
He simply shrugged, grabbed my hand, and we hurried with the rest of the crowd, and when we finally reached the gates and Jace pulled out his phone and flashed the screen, we started in. And when he led me to the pit directly in front of the stage, I started screaming.
Front row standing room only pit passes to Aerosmith!
I screamed and jumped until Steve Tyler and the band emerged to an epic intro, and they all strutted out singing “Walk This Way,” and I threw my hands above my head and danced and sang to the top of my lungs. Steve Tyler was Right In Front Of Me! My insides hummed with excitement, I’d never felt so alive! When I looked at Jace and he was watching me with a wide smile on his handsome face, I threw my head back and laughed, and he laughed, too. I sang every song, and Jace’s strong hands were on my hips, my waist, and we sang and danced together to “Sweet Emotion.”
I looked up during “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing,” and Jace’s eyes met mine, and he smiled that smile that left crinkles at the corners of his eyes and my heart a pool of mush. He kissed me.
“You look so beautiful on Valentine’s Day, Ms. Thibodeaux,” he said against my mouth, then pulled back, his eyes shining. “And I don’t want to miss a damn thing.”
And for the first time since knowing Jace Beaumont, I found myself speechless. I grasped his stubbled cheeks with my hands and fell into his kiss, turned and rested my head against his chest as his arms went around me, and beneath a dusky Texas sky, allowed Steve Tyler to sing all the words I felt. Jace’s body led mine, we swayed, and I never wanted the night to end. I fished my phone out of my pocket, and we turned, making sure the band was behind us, and took a selfie.
I’d had quite a collection of very unique pics so far. And I knew just what to do with them all.
In the parking lot, we climbed into the truck, and I dug into my bag and pulled out Jace’s surprise. “Close your eyes,” I instructed.
“What did you do?” he said, then closed his eyes.
“It’s just something I thought you’d like,” I said, and set the prize in his lap.
Jace opened his eyes, lifted the small bi-plane I’d brazed with small scraps of metal, and he fingered the propeller. He looked at it for a long, long time before raising his gaze to mine. He smiled, and studied me for a moment. “You made this?”
I nodded.
“I’ll keep it forever,” he said, and then he kissed me until someone drove by us and honked the horn.
Afterwards, we drove by Jasper’s long enough to say hello, then we made proper use of his hay field. Jace parked the truck in the dead center, spread out the quilt he’d brought in the truck bed, and we ate turkey sandwiches and wedges of cheddar and sipped Jasper’s homemade blueberry wine. Then Jace took me in his arms and we watched the stars, and he rolled me onto my back and braced his weight on his forearms, and traced my nose, my jaw, and my lips before lowering his to mine.
“I’m so in crazy with you, Memory Catherine Thibodeaux,” he said softly, and kissed me long and sweet, and my heart quickened as I kissed him back.
“I’m pretty sure I’m in total chaos with you, Jace Samuel Beaumont,” I whispered. His head lifted, and the star shine was just bright enough to illuminate his features, and I gently brushed his lips with my fingertips, and his mouth pulled into a wide smile, and it was at that moment I realized something that I’d known all this time, but had denied as long as I possibly could.
I loved Jace. I felt it clear to my core, through the tissue and cells and muscles to the very center of my body. I loved him.
It was the beginning of the end of our perfect nights. The last of my denials. And the last of my pretending that the tumor inside of my brain would simply disappear. Because the more I realized how crazy in love I was with Jace, the more my own personal disaster glared at me as I popped experimental drugs in my mouth each morning. And whether or not it was all connected or just sheer coincidence, or just the most perfect timing known to man, my he
adaches began. More frequently. More debilitating. And a helluva lot more difficult to hide, and I wasn’t just talking about from my dad, or Jace, or my friends. Difficult to hide from me. From the inside out, they began to consume me.
They, or the fear they caused.
Two weeks later marked the first of March, and I was in the shop standing on a fifteen-foot ladder, welding the wind blades onto the top of the base, and I’d been at it for a couple of hours. As was typical of Texas weather, it had been cold the week before, and was now in the high seventies during the day, which made the shop warmer than usual. I’d shucked out of my welding jacket and had only a black tank top on, and my work jeans, when suddenly a pain out of nowhere stung me in my skull. It came on so fast and so powerful, I flipped my visor, turned off the torch and, still gripping the blade in the other hand, I rested my weight on my forearms. Hoping the pain would ease. It didn’t. My skin grew clammy, and my legs felt weak as I started down the ladder. Each wrung jarred my head, and the floor felt miles away.
“M-Cat, I thought you’d need…” my Dad’s voice trailed off. “Memory!”
My head grew lighter, and I thought for second I would fall, but my dad was suddenly there, catching my weight with one arm and my torch and blade with the other. He set them down, held me. His blue eyes scanned me as though he had X-ray vision. “It’s your head?” he asked quietly.
I gave a weak nod. “I just need to lie down, Dad.”
Max Thibodeaux scooped me up in his big arms and walked me all the way back to the house. Once he settled me onto the sofa and pulled my boots off, I turned and crammed my head into the pillows. I pushed, hard, harder, trying to dim the pain. Any second now it would ease, right?
“I’ll call Dr. Cates,” Dad said.
“No—please, Dad, just…my medicine. Under my bed.”
He disappeared, his heavy footfall retreating to the back of the house like dull, blocks of cinder thundering against the floor.
“Which one?” he asked.
“Fiorcet,” I answered. “Zofran.”