by Shen, L. J.
Knight wanted to keep me small and his, and the dumbass that I was—I’d let him have his way.
But not anymore.
I was drained from collecting small pieces of romantic moments like shattered glass, tired of brief encounters with my best friend: half-finished kisses, friendly hugs that lingered. His hot erection pressing against my leg one dawn, shortly before I went to college, while we slept together. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt his erection, but it was the first time he hadn’t pulled away. We’d both opened our eyes at the same time and stared at each other for a beat, his penis twitching against the side of my thigh. He’d thrust once before he turned away from me with a lazy smile. Stretching. Yawning. Denying what had just happened.
But Josh wasn’t like that. Josh didn’t have enough baggage to keep an airport busy.
I jammed my hands into the pockets of my blue All Saints hoodie (the only thing I’d found that was relatively clean) and jogged to the barn. I closed the door behind me, relishing the warmth of the animals, so big and hot in their stalls, radiating heat.
The minute I entered the barn, I heard something crunching and released a breath. I knew it was Josh’s way of showing me he was here. He couldn’t talk, but he still found ways to communicate with me. He stood on the other side of the stable, next to the stall of a beautiful, black Arabian horse named Onyx. He was the youngest horse in the barn and always requested extra petting time whenever I was there cleaning or feeding the horses.
I surprised myself by launching at Josh, suffocating him with a hug. Only when I was in his arms did I realize how much I needed that hug, how I craved to be put back together after being broken by a simple picture.
When I pulled away, I blinked.
Josh lifted his hand between us, holding a bottle of Everclear.
“Say hello to your date.” He winked.
“That’s it? Not even dinner? Straight to business?” I signed, grinning.
“What are you implying?” His eyes bulged.
“Nothing. What are you implying?” I chuckled.
This was fun. Easy.
He laughed and shook his head, producing a bottle of cranberry juice from behind him and two Solo cups. He poured a shot of alcohol into each, then filled them with cranberry juice. He unlocked his phone and put on a tune. The band was called Drum Kithead. The singer had a voice like liquid lava, and Josh bobbed his head with a small smile, not an ounce of bitterness in him, clinking his glass with mine.
“We’re riding this evening.”
I didn’t want to refuse him—not when he was the only person I could stand to be with right now. I took a sip of my drink. It was horrible, but I ignored the burn scorching my throat.
“Bareback,” he added, causing me to choke on my drink.
“Because it’s more natural and stuff,” he explained.
“I don’t know how to ride.”
“I’ll teach you. You’ll be a natural.”
“How do you know?”
He looked at me with eyes so full, I didn’t doubt he really saw me through them.
“Because you’re always on your bike. You already have the balance. The core.”
We finished our drinks and led Onyx outside. I knew what we were doing was wrong, and that if the owners found out, they’d behead Josh and fire me from my volunteer work. But it was difficult to deny ourselves things when we already felt so robbed—robbed of our voices, our ability to speak our minds, robbed of being normal.
He mounted me on the horse and climbed atop, settling behind me. Josh communicated with Onyx by pressing his boot to the horse’s side or tapping its head. Adrenaline rushed through my veins. Onyx was huge, but gentle. Josh’s chest bumped into my back as Onyx galloped forward, and I heard my friend hissing voicelessly behind me. Josh’s groin bumped against my behind. Again and again and again. Until it stopped bumping and started…grinding. Not on purpose, I don’t think. I swallowed, trying to decode what I was feeling.
Offended? No.
Annoyed? Not that, either.
Scared? Not by a long shot.
Instead of being mortified of jumping from no-base to third-base, I was…enthralled.
It felt good. Him. Hot. Hard. Pressing against me. At first he tried to scoot back, give me my space. But when I wiggled my butt on purpose and looked over my shoulder with a smile, he deserted his inhibitions and ground into me with delicious intent. Heat burst in my chest, trickling down to my lower belly, exploding between my legs. I found myself leaning forward so my butt pushed against him, grunting as silently as I could. Josh and I had never discussed the circumstances of my muteness. He had no idea there was nothing wrong with my voice, but with my head.
When we got off Onyx, we were both panting. I pulled the hem of my hoodie down to cover lower body, because I didn’t know if my jeans now had a lust stain the size of my head. Josh led Onyx back to his stall and returned, looking down and shifting from foot to foot. I felt like I needed to somehow apologize to the horse for what had happened on top of him. Not that it was intentional…but, still.
“Hug?” Josh asked, probably as a peace offering more than anything else.
“Please.” I smiled.
Josh squeezed me again. Hugging like a parent. A hug that wasn’t to take, only to give.
“What do you want to do now?” his heart whispered as his hands signed.
I could read Josh fluently, because I understood his struggle. And he was a wonderful, open book I wanted to drown in.
I closed my eyes, hearing Vaughn’s words again. Edie’s. Dad’s.
Move on.
Use teenage as a verb.
He is happy. Be happy, too.
There was no menace in my next move, not an ounce of bad intention or vindictiveness. Still, I took Josh’s hand and pressed it against my breast, holding my breath and bracing myself. The world tilted, turning upside down, and as my stomach flipped, even I had to admit—he felt almost as good as the real thing.
I popped one eye open, the dull pain in the back of my head seeping through my skull. Wincing, I remembered the Everclear. I wasn’t even drunk, so I couldn’t blame whatever had happened between us on that. I was relatively sober, and a lot heartbroken, and Josh was…Josh. Perfect and safe and beautiful.
God. What have you done?
Rubbing my face tiredly, I examined my surroundings. My walls, my desk, my navy blue-sheeted bed.
Wait…blue?
I bolted upright in an instant, stifling a groan when my body reacted by sending a ball of nausea to my throat. Again—this must’ve been my lack of experience with any type of booze, in any quantity. I glanced to my right, and there lay Josh, bare-chested, snoring softly. His arm was flung over my thighs, and when I looked down, I realized I was naked, too. I scanned the rest of the scene frantically as I pieced last night together into a full picture. I remembered watching in awe as my nipple disappeared inside Josh’s mouth, imagining Knight doing it to Poppy. How, to shake off the infuriating visual, I’d pulled Josh closer, spreading my legs for him. His hands had stopped fumbling with my hoodie to ask me if I was sure. I’d nodded.
“I’m a virgin, but I want this.”
“Luna…”
“I’m tired of feeling precious, Josh.”
I hadn’t wanted to be left alone with my thoughts, and Josh’s mouth and hands were the perfect distraction. He’d sneaked me into his dorm room, and when we’d walked in, he’d taken off his shoes and stared at his socked feet, like he was trying to decide something, locked in an internal battle.
He’d shaken his head a little, chuckled to himself, and walked over to the door, taking one of his socks off and slipping it on the door handle.
We’d started kissing. Then he’d backed me to his bed, and we fell into it and started doing other things. He’d asked me if I was sure again, and I’d rolled my eyes, pushing down the light-headedness and queasiness I’d been feeling.
I’d wanted to wash Knight Cole off of my bo
dy after what I’d seen. Wanted to fill myself with Josh. Safe, sweet Josh. Josh, who I would come back to after Thanksgiving. We’d ride Onyx and study at Starbucks and be a couple. A normal couple. I would never have to wonder where I stood with him.
“I take this very seriously,” he’d signed between us.
Suddenly, I’d taken it very seriously, too. Us. Things were fresh and crisp and uncomplicated. I hadn’t seen him kissing other girls, or flirting with them, or texting them. He wasn’t the town’s football hero, the knight every princess wanted to be saved by. He was simply…Josh.
The first time he’d entered me, I’d closed my eyes and squeezed the muscles of his shoulders. The second time, my mind glossed over, and all I could think about was the moment we were sharing. The third time, I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’d rewritten my fate by doing this with him. That Knight would know. That whatever we had shared would cease to exist.
And it felt morbid. Like I’d lost a part of myself—a huge part that anchored me to the ground. But I also felt…relieved, empowered by a decision I’d made all on my own. Without Knight holding my hand. Without seeking silent permission in his cool gaze.
Back in reality, in this strange room, with the strange boy-smell of socks and aftershave and physical sports, my eyes traveled to the trash can next to his door. I peeled off the blanket, tiptoeing my way to it and peering inside. I saw the knotted condom, with traces of blood, and white, thick liquid swimming inside it.
I’d done it. I’d had sex. Here I was being sexual, and daring, and normal. I’d never gone that far back at home. Not with Knight. Not at all.
Then the full realization of what I’d done hit me, and that it wasn’t with Knight.
It should have been Knight.
I closed my eyes, mouthing the word no so loud I was pretty sure Josh would hear me if he was awake.
No, Knight doesn’t get to intrude this moment, too.
No, he doesn’t want me. He wants Poppy. Beautiful, put-together Poppy.
No, I can’t believe I did this.
No, no, no.
My phone pinged on Josh’s nightstand. His dorm room was so much bigger than mine. He and Ryan had nightstands and even shared a little closet.
One missed Skype call from Knight Cole.
Three new text messages from Knight Cole.
Knight: Finger feeling better. Heart’s still feeling trash. We need 2 talk.
Knight: No more fucking games. Time to face the music.
Knight: I can’t wait to hold you. x
What was he talking about, hold me? Why did he sound like he didn’t have a girlfriend? Like the kiss with Poppy had never happened? Was it my imagination running wild? No. April had seen it, too.
I opened Poppy’s Instagram again, and sure enough, the photo was still there. Three hundred thousand Likes, no less. Way too much for a high school kid. She only had about ten thousand followers. Nothing about this whole situation made sense.
I scribbled Josh a note, telling him I needed to catch my flight home—which wasn’t a lie—and I’d text as soon as I landed, which I promised myself wasn’t going to be a lie, either.
On my way to my dorm, I passed the cafeteria adjoining the different housing sections of the college. I spotted Ryan napping on a table, probably because he’d given Josh the room for the night. I bought him a croissant and a huge cup of coffee and asked the barista to give it to him. Then I got myself the greasiest grilled cheese ever made in the history of bread and cheese and chugged two gallons of water to try to fight my hangover from hell. I sneaked into my dorm and locked myself in the showers, not coming up for air until I was sure my body didn’t smell of anything other than soap.
But it did smell of something.
Something I had no business feeling.
A sour, tangy scent I couldn’t shake off.
A mistake.
I’d been watering the plants for forty minutes.
The fuckers drowned some time ago. If I wasn’t careful, we’d have a second pool in our front yard.
It had rained all of yesterday, and the field had been muddy as fuck during the game. But none of it mattered, because Luna was coming home tonight. I’d been watching the Rexroths’ empty garage for nearly an hour, hoping to catch Trent’s Tesla rolling in with his eldest child, to spot Moonshine getting out of the car so I could do the casual oh-fancy-seeing-you-here-it’s-not-like-I-fucking-waited-for-you-for-the-entire-semester-or-anything.
I’d never gone longer than two weeks without seeing Luna—even that had been a one-off vacation—and by fucking God, it had been a form of torture we should apply to child molesters. But not seeing her for months on end? That shit sucked the life out of me.
Her choosing North Carolina came out of left field. I’d been so unprepared, I’d spent the first month too angry to even acknowledge her absence.
Amazingly enough, everyone else seemed to be on board with this bullshit.
Vaughn had shrugged her decision off, and my parents reported she was doing great.
Great.
She was fucking doing great.
Awesome for her.
Not.
Me, I wasn’t doing so fresh. Luna was my center. My fuel. I was running on an empty tank. I’d self-destruct if it wasn’t for Mom. But I couldn’t do it to her. So I ran on autopilot, acting like everything was fine, but as soon as the weekend rolled around, I was all about drinking myself to death and popping whatever pills were available at parties.
Look, I was mad.
Okay, fucking furious, more like.
Luna had left. She’d just left.
I bailed on her ass one miserable night to show her that, in fact, it wasn’t cool to slap me because she was a Jelly Nelly, and she’d. Fucking. Left.
Like my biological mom.
Like Val.
Like the people we hated.
All right, Debbie Downer, time to shut down the pity party before the fun police throw you in the can.
“Just a sec,” I growled, answering Mom when I saw her face peering from the kitchen window.
She was probably wondering what kept me in our front yard. Come to think of it, Mom never called out for me. My bad. But she was here now, leaning against our doorframe, wearing a brown polka dot dress and looking beautiful with her hair twisted in a loose chignon. Rosie Leblanc-Cole offered me a pumpkin cupcake from an orange tray. I shook my head, turning off the hose.
“You are so transparent.” She dipped her finger into a half-baked cupcake, sucking the batter.
She loved half-baking shit. Lived for the batter. I liked that she liked imperfections. It made believing she actually loved me easier.
“Oh, yeah?” I tore my eyes from the Rexroths’ open garage to her.
Normally, I wouldn’t entertain that type of observation, but Mom had more leeway. I wish I could say it was because I was a good son. Truth was, it was because I was a guilty one. Not that I’d done anything overtly wrong, but with Mom’s situation and everything, being a shitface felt excessive and wrong.
“She’s going to be here any minute.” Mom grinned, calling me on my bullshit.
I dug through the pockets of my gray Gucci sweatpants. “Shit, Mom, I think I ran out of fucks to give.”
“Funny, you look like you’re full of them. Why else would you be standing here for four hours straight?”
Forty minutes, four hours. Who was counting? Not this asswipe, that’s for sure. Apologies to California were in order. I might have created a drought.
“Didn’t you tell me to take care of the front yard? Practically begged me, in fact?”
She didn’t need to beg. For better or worse, I was motherwhipped. I hated people who took their parents for granted. My thirteen-year-old brother, Lev, and I didn’t have that luxury. Lev was Mom and Dad’s biological child. I wasn’t. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting, that I didn’t wonder if they loved him just a little more. That I’d become a quarterback for All Saints
High just because I wanted to, and not because I’d wanted to continue my father’s legacy. That the clothes, rowdy reputation, and destructive smile weren’t calculated moves to look and feel like Dad.
That was the real kicker, by the way.
Fate had a twisted sense of humor, because I even looked like my adopted parents. I had the same green eyes as Dean Cole, the same shade of light, copper brown hair as Rosie LeBlanc-Cole. The loss of a parent was a concept I was familiar with, seeing as my birth mother had given up on me. So the idea of losing Mom was…yeah. Not a place I could ever let my mind go.
“What about Poppy?” Mom arched an eyebrow.
Man, Mom was on top of her shit.
“What about her?”
My parents showed up at all of my games. So did Lev, although he sat with Jaime and Melody Followhill because he had the hots for Bailey, their daughter. I didn’t have the heart to tell my little bro that falling in love with your best friend is trash. Akin to sentencing yourself to life in prison. I’d be better off never knowing Luna Rexroth existed.
“That kiss seemed real,” Mom pointed out.
I dropped the hose and headed toward her, to the door. “Hate to piss on your parade, but it wasn’t. I barely know Poppy, and sure, it’d be nice to catch up with Luna, but I’m not waiting for her ass to make a royal entrance.”
I tramped back into the house, peeling my clothes off on my way upstairs and throwing them on the floor. I didn’t want to admit how weak I was for Luna. It was pathetic. And unstoppable. I’d tried getting over her plenty of times, especially the last few months. I wasn’t such a saint that I’d enjoyed twiddling my thumbs and waiting for her to realize we were the real deal.
After taking a shower, I plopped on my bed and tried to ignore the fact that the light in her window was turned on. Instead of peeking into it (bad form), I checked the emails on my phone. There were a bunch from a few colleges I was considering—all close by. Being near Mom was imperative. That meant waving goodbye to college football, but that was a small price to pay. I was good at football—great, even—but my parents were more than capable of paying my way through higher education, and I didn’t want to take the space of someone who needed that opportunity. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to play ball. I did. I just didn’t want it enough to rob someone else of a chance to get out of their shitty ’hood.