by Lila Felix
A growly, frustrated sound came out of his throat and I had just decided to tell him he didn’t need to answer when he said, “Yeah. I was definitely relationally-resistant. I dated… well, I don’t even know how to say it. I dated a girl for a long time and she just didn’t turn out to be who I thought she was.”
“What do you mean?”
“She cheated on me.”
I popped back off his chest again and my fist clenched unconsciously in his t-shirt. I wanted to know who this horrible skanky shrew was so I could destroy her! I wanted to take her picture and make Herpes ads out of it and then tape them up all over campus. I wanted to duct tape her to a chair and make her watch Bridger take me on a date just so I could rub it in her face how much she’d given up!
Who was this idiot?
And did she not have a common sense thought in her head?
“I hate this girl,” I told him.
He laughed at my honest anger. “I might hate her too. Not so much now though as a few months ago.” His finger ran over the curve of my jaw. “She wasn’t right for me. Even without the cheating. I think I was always trying to be someone I wasn’t, trying to be the guy I thought she wanted me to be.”
“But why? This guy is so much better. This guy is so much hotter!”
He smiled affectionately at me and his eyes warmed with liquid heat. They glittered like bright emeralds in the low light of my room.
“I think you’re right,” he told me. We did some deep, soul-sharing staring for long, endless moments before he said, “But she messed me up for a while. Maybe I’m still a little messed up. It’s hard for me to trust other people after she betrayed me like that.”
“I don’t blame you.” The words were a forced whisper from a mouth that didn’t want to admit them. Guilt and shame punched me in my weak stomach. In my sickened state, tears pricked at my eyes and I felt the weight of my sins electrify through me. Gosh, why did he have to have trust issues? He was going to hate me.
Now I couldn’t tell him.
I mean, I knew I had to… But I couldn’t.
I physically couldn’t.
My heart felt too heavy and my lies sunk to the bottom of my soul like a concrete block to the depths of the ocean.
“I thought I would never find another woman worth spending my time and energy on,” he continued. “I never expected someone like you.”
“I hope that’s a good thing.”
“That’s the best thing.”
“I’m human, Bridger. I’m… I’m fallible. I’m going to make mistakes. I’m going to let you down and break your trust.”
His eyes narrowed and I saw the thick pain flash behind his careful mask. “Are you saying you might cheat on me?”
“Never!” I gasped. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other ways to break your trust. I can let you down in other ways.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.” His thumb rubbed my bottom lip as if to take away the warning I’d given him. “And I know you’re not perfect, Tate. Neither am I. But as long as we stay faithful to each other, I think we can work through all the other stuff.”
“You have a lot of faith in me. Maybe more than I deserve.”
My words were true, but I wished I could take them back. I hated the look of paranoia he now wore. I hated that I’d sparked suspicion in him when he’d been so trusting with me. So open.
But my lies were too heavy to keep hidden and too horrible to confess. I had trapped myself in this place. Dug my own grave. And now I had to find a way out. I had to figure out a way to tell him the truth or he would hate me forever.
“I trust you, Tate. And you trust me. This seems like a good place to start. Let’s go from here and take it one day at a time.”
Tears wet my bottom lashes, but I refused to let them spill. “I would like that. I like taking it one day at a time.”
“Good.” He smiled at me gently and I breathed easier at the way his tension seemed to melt away. “You don’t need to be nervous. I promise we can work anything out.”
I gulped, but kept my mouth shut this time. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
He leaned up on his elbow and looked at my bedside clock. “Do you need to get ready for class?”
I glanced over my shoulder and groaned. Damn class. If I had known I was going to go through all this crap, I would have postponed this semester. Or maybe not. It was a pain in the ass to stop and then start again. I didn’t necessarily have the energy now for it, but I wouldn’t have the energy right away at the end of my treatment either. One semester would have turned into a whole year off and then I would have been really far behind.
And there was always the fear that I would never come back.
No, I would juggle school and chemo and cancer. And Bridger.
To hell with everything else.
I only got this one life and I was bound and determined to make it count for something. Even if that meant going to General Psych 101 when all I wanted to do was cuddle with Bridger from this moment until the end of time.
I groaned out an annoyed, “Yes.”
He chuckled at my lack of enthusiasm and shifted on the bed so we could both get up. He helped me to my feet and then placed the sweetest kiss against my lips. “This was by far, my most favorite morning of classes yet.”
I smiled up at him. “I’m sorry I have to kick you out now. I’d much rather stay here with you than battle textbooks and pretentious professors.”
Laughter brightened his already sparkling eyes. “What about later? After all your higher education wars? You busy?”
“I have to work tonight.” I stuck out my bottom lip and pouted.
“Tomorrow then?”
I held back a cry of frustration. Tomorrow was the start of another treatment. I had three left to go and this one was definitely going to be brutal. I planned to be out of it for the rest of the week.
My mom and little sister were headed up too. They had called, begging to come see me and I hadn’t been able to say no. Weakened by drugs and lacking willpower to stay away from my mama, I’d reluctantly agreed to spend the weekend with them and let them help me recover.
“I can’t tomorrow either. In fact, I’m busy the whole weekend.”
His expression fell and he took a step back. I hated the distance. I hated disappointing him. And I really hated keeping something from him. “The whole weekend?”
I nodded. “My mom’s coming to town with my little sister. I told her she could have all my time and attention.”
“Oh,” he said. But he didn’t sound convinced. “Well, family’s important.”
“Right.” I didn’t sound like I believed him though. I did, I knew my family was important. But I wanted Bridger more than anyone right now. I wanted to follow this attraction and let our souls wrap up in each other while we got to know each other on deeper levels. I wanted this… whatever it was to become a real, solid, secure relationship. I wanted to be his. And I wanted him to be mine.
“Why don’t you just call me when you have time for me?”
“Bridger, it’s not that-”
He pressed his fingers to my lips. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean it like that. Just… just call me, yeah?”
I nodded and then watched him leave as quietly as he could. My heart sank to my toes and my skin itched with frustration. Why did this have to be so difficult? Why couldn’t we just meet and fall in love and be healthy like normal people?
Ugh!
Freaking cancer!
Three more treatments to go. Just three more. I would be done the first of the year and then all of this would be over.
Or… at least this part.
I supposed it could only be beginning if the treatment didn’t work.
No. I couldn’t think like that. I couldn’t get bogged down with negative thoughts or predictions. For my health, I needed to keep my mind and feelings positive.
So, when I got healthy, when treatment ended and I went bac
k into remission, I would be able to enjoy all the perfection of a relationship with Bridger. It would be like my reward for surviving cancer.
Twice.
I could be with him and be as honest and happy as I liked.
And I had a feeling Bridger Wright would make me happier than I ever dreamed I could be.
As long as he stuck with me through three more treatments.
Chapter Nineteen
Bridger
My head was always in the clouds after seeing Tate. She burst into my life like a giggle in the middle of a prayer meeting—unexpected, but a welcome retreat.
I never thought I’d get a second chance with her.
I thought my shot at loving Tate had been buried with those messages in bottles.
That Thursday morning had been amazing and I’d let it carry me through the moments of the day.
I could feel the heat of her hands on my face and against my chest. The subtle lull of her breathing still rocked me to sleep nights after. When I closed my eyes, I could feel the contours of her body as they fit right into the concaves of mine.
Like she was made to be held by me.
Like I could hold her forever.
I could still smell her on my hoodie, vanilla and honey. It reminded me of the honeysuckles that grew on the hills.
As stupid as it sounded, Tate Halloway tasted like the finest honeysuckle jelly that my mom used to make in the summer.
I felt open and alive.
Maybe for the first time.
She’d cracked through my core.
I would spend the rest of our lives thanking her for not giving up on me.
I missed her even before I left her.
Thursday and Friday I hit the books, for no other reason than boredom. The room was actually quiet now that West had bob-tailed his quest to be the rowdiest student on campus into the most studious. It was eerily quiet.
I was probably too worried about West. He’d probably just grown up and realized that it was now or never with college. Stockton wasn’t going to pay for him to fart around forever.
By Saturday afternoon, I was reeling for something to do and some fresh air.
I intended to make my way onto the field and people watch. It was a perfect day for it. Sometimes, I felt like I knew people well just by watching them. The way they looked at others, the way others looked at them. How people act and the words they say when others aren’t watching often reflects their true character.
That’s when something hard and sharp hit me in the jaw.
“Sorry, man.” A guy yelled after me.
“That’s okay.”
I picked up the object of my demise, a Frisbee, and pathetically tossed it back to him.
“Wanna join in before the serious players get here?”
The guy was dressed like an athlete, built like an athlete, but talked like he was straight out of a comic book.
“There are serious Frisbee—ers?”
“Yeah, man. Ultimate Frisbee.”
The only ultimate thing I liked was an ultimate cheeseburger.
“No thanks.”
Deciding that the field was more dangerous than I thought, I went to the student union instead. A postcard in my mailbox told me I’d received a package from Cami.
“You have to sign for it.” The girl behind the counter pointed to a line with an X.
I didn’t want to sign for it. If I signed for the package, then Cami would know I received it. And if she knew I received it, I would have to lie about how good the contained baked goods were.
“You know,” the blonde girl whispered as she leaned over the corner exposing a lot more than her knowledge of postal codes. “The policy changed. They only allow pre-packaged food now. No homemade treats.”
I jerked at her statement.
“How did you know?”
She blushed and took her place again on the other side. “I’ve seen you here before. You open the box and throw out the food—cookies mostly.”
“I do that.”
“Open it. I bet there’s nothing that didn’t come from a store.”
Graciously, she handed over a box cutter and I sliced through the layers of tape. Cami might not be able to cook for shit, but she could duct tape a box like nobody’s business.
Looking inside, I breathed a sigh of relief. No burnt bricks, only store bought cookies, chips and candy. And Stockton, because he’s an ass, sent the bracelet I was working on. The charms were almost done. The only one left was a rose gold Christmas tree I intended to put on the bracelet at our first Christmas together.
Christmas needed to be special for her—for me.
I don’t know why he felt the need to send that.
Because he was Stockton and he was nosey.
On my way back to the dorms, my path back was blocked by the university police. They’d blocked off the sidewalk and the common area for tailgaters.
A smile took shape on my face. I knew that the way I had to go back home rounded the corner by Tate’s dorm.
My chest warmed as I thought about sleeping next to her again. It wasn’t something I wanted—or knew I wanted.
I did. I wanted all of Tate—always. For once, with a girl, I could speak my mind and not be chastised for being too sappy or too clingy. My heart could open up and let loose all the things I felt for her—without fear of her stomping on them later.
“Hey!”
West rounded a corner with a backpack slung lazily over his shoulder. I didn’t know West owned a backpack. Yes, I did. That was a lie. But the only reason he owned one was because Cami brought him back to school shopping like he was entering the third grade.
He drew the line at the lunchbox.
“Cami sent us cookies.”
“Why did you accept it? Throw the damned things away before someone hurts themselves.”
Some passerby students chuckled at our exchange.
“They came from the store this time. No harm.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Back to the dorm. They’ve got everything blocked off for the game.”
“Me too. Give me the chips.”
West went after the chips like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. People fluttered all around campus with their school colors on, faces painted, and war cries ready. I could smell the telltale bar-b-que fare all the way from the stadium. We had never been a football family. We spent Saturdays working. My dad had always said that the Lord gave us six good working days and only guaranteed us one day of rest.
Plus, football would require cable.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized we weren’t really a sports family at all.
The way around was a long one. We had to walk all the way around the girls’ dorms, as well as the art museum, awkwardly sitting on the side of campus.
“Oh, so convenient that this path takes us right past your girl’s dorm.” He waggled his eyebrows at me suggestively.
“It is convenient. I didn’t do this on purpose. She’s spending the weekend with her mom anyway. It’s not like I can even see her.”
“Her mom?”
West asking questions seemed off. He was never this inquisitive unless it had to do with him directly.
“Yeah, her mom and her sister too, I think.”
In one swift movement, West jumped in front of me and got so close to my face that I could smell all forty-seven seasonings on his cool ranch chips. Most of said seasonings were stuck in his teeth. “Let’s go to the union. I need something to drink.
I pushed him out of my way. “Shut up. Get a drink from the machine in the dorm.”
“No, I hate drinking from a can. Let’s go back to the union. You’re pissing me off. You just want to walk past her dorm so you can yell at her window like a love struck fool.”
Love struck fool? There was a fool all right, but it wasn’t me.
“Fine.” I turned around and he threw his arm over my shoulder like we were seven and six again and he’d put a dead toad
in my pocket.
That’s when I heard it.
It wasn’t her voice—it was her laugh. I could pick her laugh out of a crowd at a comedy club. It came from deep down inside her. She had no shallow one. There was her true laugh or none at all.
I turned around, desperate for the sound to reach my ears again and my eyes scouring the grounds around me for one glance. I was in that deep. One glance would satiate me for a while. A glimpse. That’s all I needed to quench the ever growing thirst for Tate.
A bass sound, resounding and unnerving, replaced her laugh in my ears when I saw her. It blocked out all the noise around me and cut off my other senses.
She was wrapped in a blanket and my legs’ and arms’ first instincts were to run to her. Then I saw two hands, one curled around her dainty waist—the other encasing both of her legs. Someone was holding her. The dead grip of the bass pounded harder and soon evolved into a piercing beep.
I could barely contain the shaking that wracked my chest as realization poured its icy knowledge down my back.
It was a man holding her—the way I had.
It was a man whose words had caused the laugh I’d so selfishly claimed she only gifted me.
It didn’t matter—he was holding her and I wasn’t.
Because she said she couldn’t see me.
Because she said she would be with her family.
The bastard was my age, his hair shaved so close to his head. I could only tell that it was light in color. He smiled down on her like she was the sun. She was the sun. She was the planets and the stars and the galaxy itself.
He stumbled, almost dropping her and she slapped his shoulder with the same hand that had, not two days before, laid on my chest while I promised her that we could get through anything.
Anything.
I promised her we would work through anything.
Her laugh rang true. It was the only thing I could hear clearly.
He dumped her into the passenger seat of a worn pickup truck. It was the most beat up truck I’d ever seen, worse than Stockton’s old piece of crap. She rolled her eyes while he put on her seatbelt and kissed her cheek. With great care, he swiped a piece of untamable hair from her face.