Jules’ brows draw together. “Share the shirt. You don’t have to put your head in the dirt.”
She immediately slides over, making room for me. I chuckle because I certainly don’t care if my head is on the dirt or not when she’s this close to me, but I move because she asked me to. I angle closer to her. If I roll my head to the right, our foreheads would touch. Our lips would touch. It’s reminiscent of how close we were while we were trapped.
“And?” she asks.
God, she’s impatient. I sigh, closing my eyes and forcing myself to relax as my hand searches for and locates hers. “Now we breathe.”
I wait for her to pull away, to sit up and tell me I’m crazy or to ask what I’m smoking. I don’t open up this way to anyone. Vulnerability comes in different forms, and for me it comes in the form of sharing myself. To lay in this field, taking deep breaths and enjoying the peace, that is a West Rutledge no one knows.
When my mother died, I searched for peace. I missed her terribly and nothing filled her void. So one day I did something she loved. I lay in the grass under a tree at the park and simply listened. My mom loved the quiet; she was always getting onto us about turning off the television when we weren’t watching it or asking us to turn off the music and be still. She loved simply sitting in a quiet room and thinking.
I imagine that’s where her appreciation for staring into the fire came from. She would sit quietly with a book for hours by the fireplace. I can’t count how many times I’d heard my father tease her and ask if she was truly reading her book or watching the fire. After that day in the park, seeking a peaceful place became my thing too, but only mine. My brothers don’t know, my dad doesn’t either. Finding quiet is for me and me alone. Until today.
Tilting my head sideways, I open my eyes curious at how Jules is reacting to this odd request. She’s facing me, her eyes closed, her face relaxed and soft. Her free hand rests on her stomach, rising and falling with each breath she takes. I could stare at her all day. I want to stay her with her and forget everything waiting for us back in Tyler. Thoughts of funerals, and rebuilding, and nightmares of being trapped—these things fade away as my thumb caresses her palm and my heart falls harder and harder.
When her sleepy blue eyes open and meet mine, I finally decide to ask her the one question nagging at the back of my mind since the moment I stepped into Grier house and saw her standing there Friday night. “Why did you wait for me? At the house, when you were inside and safe. Why did you wait for me?”
I hold my breath. I didn’t realize how important her answer to this question is until I ask it. It’s the one thing I haven’t been able to figure out since it happened. I know why she followed me when we ran from The Ice Shack. Hell, she didn’t have much of a choice, I dragged her along. She followed me and she helped break into Grier house because those things saved her. But standing there at the window inside when everyone else was heading for the basement and seeking refuge, waiting to be sure I was inside and safe?
Mark told me he’d tried to pull her to safety, but she wouldn’t leave. She put herself at risk, for me. Why?
Jules’ eyes fill with tears. “I don’t know. Standing there, all of a sudden it was like—like the thought of anything happening to you wasn’t something I could live with.”
Her confession draws the oxygen from my lungs while my body demands I lean forward and kiss her.
“. . . I’d kiss you right now if I could.”
“I’d let you,” she says, “cause I—I want to live too.”
“If you’d let me, I’d fall in love with you, cheerleader,” I whisper in the dark.
The memory from Friday night assaults me. I’m already falling in love with her, she didn’t have to let me. It’s happened, and I’m so screwed because she’s not mine to love. She has Stuart Daniels, she’s sunshine and light, the peppy cheerleader, and I’m dark and misery, the brooding guy who walked away from everything. We’re no good, and yet everything tells me we would be amazing together.
Jules’ parents thanked me for saving their daughter that night. Little do they know, their daughter is saving me with every word, every touch, every moment. Sometimes the things you thought you knew are completely wrong. For so long I thought I didn’t want anything to do with the West I was, then Friday night happened and now all I want is what I once had.
Thirteen
“Why did you speak to me that night?” she asks, as though she can read my thoughts.
Sitting up, I look away as answers whirl around in my head. I miss football, I miss my old friends, I want to go back, but I can’t. Damn, why now? The words are loud and clear, but I can’t speak them. I pull a knee to my chest, resting my arm upon it. My other hand doesn’t leave hers; I don’t want to lose contact yet.
Her lips press together. “You all but slammed the door shut on everyone when we started back to school in the eighth grade. Why?”
Do I have the guts to tell her how I feel? I pick up a rock and throw it into the crops as I work up the courage.
“A lot of things changed back then,” I say with a shrug. It’s the truth, but a copout too.
Jules releases my hand as she sits up next to me. “I remember the last time we talked. I mean really talked.”
Though I’m facing forward, I catch her grin out of the corner of my eye. She scoots around, situating her skirt as she tucks her legs beneath her. When she’s settled, I take her hand back in mine. She’s wielding a powerful weapon over me right now and she doesn’t even know it.
She chews on her bottom lip, looking at me as though she’s waiting for me to guess the time she’s remembered. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Karen Wade’s going away party, July before eighth grade started,” she says.
I turn my head and chuckle. “You remember that night?”
Karen is Melody’s cousin. How strange life is. First, I run into Melody on Sunday night and now here I am talking about Karen, someone I haven’t seen since the summer after seventh grade when her family moved to Georgia right before my mom died.
Jules’ skin flushes, a peachy tint, coloring her collar bone and creeping up her neck. “Of course. You were my first real kiss.”
“No way. I call B.S. on that.”
Her face twists into mock severity. “You can’t call B.S.”
I’m completely taken aback. “There is no way I was your first kiss, Jules Blacklin.”
Her flush grows into angry splotches as she attempts to pull her hand away. “Yes there is, and you were, West Rutledge.” Her voice rises as she mocks my tone. “Gimme back my hand if you’re going to call me a liar,” she pouts.
Not on your life, I think, but instead I respond with a simple, “No.”
“No? Damn it, West, let go of me.”
“I can’t.”
The moment I spit the words out between clenched teeth I know I have an admission to make. I hate it and yet I have to. I have to get these feelings off my chest.
“I can’t seem to let you go, Jules. I can’t stop thinking about you, and about those hours we spent trapped together.” My voice breaks. “Your hand was an anchor. You were an anchor. I had you to keep safe, and it kept me focused,” I admit on an unsteady breath as her eyes fill with tears.
I rub my palm across my eyes, attempting to cover the tears welling up. I admitted my feelings. Shit. I can’t do that. I can’t keep going back and forth with her.
“Man, this sucks.”
Jules leans forward, stopping me from hiding my tears as hers fall freely now. “It does suck,” she agrees. Her hand lingers as her fingertip brushes across my cheek.
Her touch shreds my resolve. Releasing a harsh breath, I haul her against my chest. She sinks into me, not fighting the embrace as our arms wrap around each other. Jules rubs her cheek against the soft cotton of my shirt and I set my jaw against the top of her hair.
“I spoke to you that night because I was tired of pretending to ignore you. I’ve never truly ignored you, Jules.
Never,” I admit, because I don’t want her to think that’s ever been a possibility.
Jules Blacklin can’t be ignored. Small shudders roll through my body and I ride them out, taking in deep breaths of Jules as I do. She smells like flowers, something summery and light, and candy. So feminine.
As my emotions flow through me, I work at burying the memories of Friday night. I need to change the subject. I want to talk about the past, our past, but not the tornado. For a few minutes I want to remember us, Jules and I, as we were when we were young and happy. Before my mother’s death, before Stuart Daniels, before the storm.
Jules sniffs in my arms and her breathing wavers as she continues to cry. When she regains control, I clear my throat and smooth my palm over her hair.
“So,” I say. “I was your first kiss, huh? How is that remotely possible?”
She giggles into my chest. “I don’t know. I mean, I never paid much attention to boys back then.”
“You’ve never paid much attention to boys,” I argue.
“What? Sure I have.”
“Ha.” Jules leans back in my arms and looks up at me as though she’s challenging me to prove her wrong. “Not since Mr. Football moved here. Stuart had your attention from day one.” I work hard not to roll my eyes as I point the truth out to her.
Two lines crease her forehead and I wonder which is more infuriating to her: the fact that my comment is true or the fact that she doesn’t want it to be.
“Whatever.” She waves her hand in the air; a Princess making something unpleasant go away. I chuckle at her superiority. “What? Were you stalking me or something?”
“I noticed you.” It’s not the same thing.
“Creeper,” she teases, crinkling her nose. “Besides, that’s not true. I went on dates before Stuart.”
“Everyone knew those were mercy dates, Buffy. We all knew you were biding your time, waiting on Stuart.” A thought strikes me and I laugh. “He’s your Angel.”
“What in the world? You’re so weird. What’s up with you and Buffy the Vampire Slayer? You’re a guy. Where did you learn all this Buffy talk anyway?”
Maybe the Angel mention was too much, I realize too late as my neck burns in humiliation.
“Oh. Don’t answer that, I already know—Carley,” she says, doing a little dance in her spot. She’s adorable with her cocky smile and teasing, and I reluctantly confirm her guess. “Your little goth girlfriend made you watch it, didn’t she?”
“Oh, shut up. It was tenth grade. What’s your point?” I nudge her with my shoulder.
Jules falls back to the ground giggling and I’m not sure if I should join her or walk away out of complete embarrassment. Enduring Carley’s love of Buffy the Vampire Slayer won me a lot of boyfriend points, and when you’re a sixteen-year-old guy that’s what you want. That hot slayer got me lucky, more than once. I don’t regret it; Carley’s a great girl. It was fun when we both needed fun, and now we’re friends.
“Let me clarify things.” Jules lifts her hand, popping up her thumb. “First, the guys I dated before Stuart weren’t ‘mercy dates’. Second,” her index finger pops up next, “Stuart is not my ‘Angel’, whatever that means.”
She obviously doesn’t know the show. “You guys have been together for, what, two years? He’s your Angel; the guy you’re hopelessly in love with. Whether he’s right for you or not,” I add.
“Why would you say he’s not right for me? You don’t know him.”
“Forget it. Sorry.” I should keep my mouth shut when it comes to Daniels.
“Forget it? Tell me what you meant.”
Ignoring her, I get to my feet and walk away. “I should get you home. I don’t want your parents to worry about you.” My hand swipes at the cornstalk in front of me.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Bracing myself for an argument, I bury my hands in my pockets and face her. “What?”
As though she’s remembering something, her eyes glaze over as she looks at me from her spot on the ground. She gasps softly, focusing back on me, and I feel my muscles tense.
“Wow, I can remember it so clearly, yet I haven’t thought about it in years.” She shakes her head as her mouth curves into a strange smile. She stands and brushes the dirt from her legs.
Curiosity gets the best of me. “Remember what?”
“My first kiss.”
Our first kiss, my mind corrects her as I stand my ground. I rub my arm restlessly to prevent myself from going to her, but she apparently has no intention of letting this go. She walks to me, placing her hand on my forearm as she looks directly into my eyes as if she’s willing me to remember too. But I could never forget . . .
The dark closet and a childhood game.
The way she wiped her palms against her skirt as the door closed behind us.
The way she blurted out a question about my dying mom, then sank to the floor in an apology.
The way I touched her forearm, how she is touching mine now, and told her it was fine.
The way my cell phone cast a soft glow on her face before it went out and I leaned in.
“You held my hand back then, too,” Jules whispers as her hand slips around mine.
“I know. There’s something magical about your hands.”
Jules leans closer, rising on her toes as her free hand closes in on the hem of my tee shirt. For a moment I wonder what it would be like to kiss her again. Hell, twenty minutes ago I was lying next to her on the ground forcing myself not to do it. One kiss, maybe two, what harm could there be in that? Just . . . one . . . stolen . . . kiss . . .
I curse and pull away, shaking my hand loose from hers.
“Let’s get you home.” I return to my shirt on the ground, scoop it up, and continue on, heading back the way we came.
Jules eyes me miserably as she climbs onto the back of my bike again, but she doesn’t speak. Neither of us do. I’m sure she’s angry with the way I pulled away so abruptly. I feel the daggers burning into my back all the way to her house.
Once there, I shut down the engine and lean forward over the handlebars as Jules climbs off and removes her helmet. She stands there, helmet in hand, and I ignore her as she hangs it from the handlebars and turns away. I stare at the ground, counting slowly in my mind to keep me from saying things I shouldn’t say. She takes two steps and stops. Her back may be to me, but her deep breaths reach my ears. She reminds me of me and I know exactly how she’s feeling right now. We’re both fighting the need to say and do things we have no business thinking about. Not until . . .
“Where’s Stuart?” Idiot. Why can’t I keep my mouth shut? If not for him this would be simple, wouldn’t it?
She faces me again. “His parents freaked out and took him to his grandparents’ house in Houston for a few days.”
“You’re still together, right?” I know the answer, but I need her confirmation so I can force myself to shut this down once and for all.
She nods. Only she doesn’t seem happy about it; in fact, she seems as sad about it as I am. I run my hands through my hair, at war with myself, before I slide off my bike with determination to set her straight.
I take her hand again and I study the look in her eyes. I imagine I have the same look. Need, want, pain, longing, hope. How can so many emotions be conveyed in a single stare?
“I won’t mess with what you have with him, Jules. That’s not my style. But—” I sigh.
Stop talking, West. Do not tell her things you have no business telling her. You’re not ready. My internal voice is wreaking havoc on my emotions. I stop myself from another admission of feelings.
“I don’t know if I can stay away from you. Can we be friends at least? I can’t imagine not being able to look at this hand, even if I can’t hold it again.” It’s such a bald-faced lie. Friends. I don’t want to be her friend, but I don’t want to lose what we’ve found. Stuart will be back in a day or two and I imagine he’ll want his girlfriend’s full attention again.
<
br /> Jules nods and I ask for her cell. She fishes it from the purse strapped over her chest and hands it over. I enter my number by texting myself before I drop the phone back into her bag for her. She looks a bit shell-shocked, so I give her a reassuring smile. “My number, in case you ever need anything. You know, since we’re friends and all.” I grimace as I say the word ‘friends’, as though it’s a dirty word, but it’s better than the alternative.
“Thanks,” she replies in a shaky voice.
“Tomorrow is going to be hard for you. Will he be there?” I ask, thinking of Tanya’s funeral in the morning.
“He’s supposed to ride with me and my parents. He’ll be back in the morning.”
Of course he will be. I bend down and press a kiss to her cheek. “Okay then. I’ll be there too. I’ll be the one mentally holding this hand.” I can’t stop myself from lifting her fingers to my lips and kissing them. I’m so messed up right now.
“The magical hand?”
“Yeah, the very magical hand. I told you it was my anchor.” If only she knew how much truth my words hold. If only she knew how hard it is for me to be the bigger man and not take what she offered at the farm. What she’s offering me now. I step back, keeping her hand in mine as I do. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Buffy,” I promise.
I’m restless as I leave Jules. Every word spoken and every look we exchanged replays as I ride through town. Spotting my dad’s truck on the main drag in midtown, I decide to park behind him, thinking a few hours of hard work could be a good way to bang out my frustration.
The road is littered with dumpsters and piles of debris as I walk along. The street front stores along this area were all hit in one way or another by the storm. Remington’s, the restaurant Ms. Kathy worked at, sustained the most damage. The roof collapsed, the windows were blown out, equipment and furniture is strewn about every which way. Next to the restaurant are various retail and office spaces: gift shops, a boutique clothing store, a salon, and a realtors’ office. They all have minimal damage. I throw myself into the fray, asking anyone with a hard hat how I can help.
West Page 11