I'll Be Yours

by Jenny B. Jones

  Dad stole a furtive glance at Mom. “I’m not sure. You’re going to be hearing a lot of things on the news, around town, at school. What I want you to know is that I made a mistake. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I love you guys.” He turned his attention toward me. “Nothing will ever change that.”

  “Are you still seeing her?” Michael asked.

  I held my breath and waited for Dad’s answer. Could I even survive if this family fell apart? Was I some sort of curse on a home? I wanted to wake up from this, to realize it had all been nothing more than another one of my nightmares.

  “I’m getting my act together,” Dad finally said. “I want to be the man and father I should be. This family is everything to me.” Dad had gone through years of media training. He knew how to answer a sticky question, how to spin it until it was manageable and threw him in a better light.

  I was watching the expert in action right now. The master of talk.

  The evidence was damning. And my heart desperately wanted to believe my father.

  I had no idea where the truth really was.

  The counselor had poked and prodded at my past, thinking my life with Becky Dallas was the source of all my angst. But she was wrong.

  The one who had hurt me the most had never laid a hand on me. Never abused me a day in my life.

  That honor fell to my dad.

  * * *

  By ten thirty I had eaten six cookies, flipped through two People magazines, and gone over my homework three times. I even called Mavis to see if there might be another dog in need of rescue, but no such luck. Where was a desperate animal in need of saving when I needed it?

  The mattress bounced as I flopped on my bed and stared at the ceiling.

  And remembered my promise to Ridley.

  I had to tell him about Dad.

  I pulled my hair into a ponytail and brushed my teeth. I leaned closer to my bathroom mirror to sweep some more eye shadow across my lids. It wasn’t that seeing Ridley necessitated more makeup. It was just . . .

  Okay, seeing Ridley made me want to get fixed up. That wasn’t good. Not good at all.

  I hastily removed my best pushup bra and traded it for the running bra that gave me the uniboob, throwing a plain gray sweatshirt over that. Nothing sexy to see here, boys.

  “Where are you going?” Michael asked as I walked past the living room.

  I held up my car keys. “Out.”

  “Where?” He sat alone on the couch, a bowl of popcorn beside him.

  I looked over my shoulder for signs of Mom. I could’ve lied to my brother, but that skill hadn’t exactly served me well lately. “I promised Ridley I would tell him when word came on Dad.”

  “You can’t text him?”

  Yes, I could’ve. That would’ve been the logical thing to do. “I think he needs to hear it in person. It’s over. Dad was his last shot with the Eagles.”

  Michael took a bite of popcorn, chewing slow. My cat sat in his lap, something my brother never allowed. He couldn’t stand Laz. “I’ll cover for you. But if you’re not back by midnight, you’re on your own. And I jumped your battery this afternoon.”

  I smiled. We’d had our moments, but Michael had never treated me like anything but a real sister. Even when I was the weird girl howling in the middle of the night, huddled in a corner on the floor of my bedroom. He never treated me like I wasn’t part of the O’Malley team.

  “I love you, you know,” I said.

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “Back at you.”

  “I don’t care what the girls at Washington High say about you.” I reached over and gave him a quick hug. “You’re not the worst thing ever.”

  “Girls love me!” my brother hollered as I sailed on by.

  The drive to Ridley’s took longer than it should have thanks to a family of deer crossing the road and getting behind a person driving so slow, he stepped on the brake more than the gas.

  Finally I parked my Civic in Ridley’s drive and ran up the steps of his porch. I knew it was late. The kids would be in bed. But the lights were on, and Ridley didn’t strike me as the early to bed type.

  When I knocked on the door, a white-haired woman pulled it open. “Yes?”

  “Hi, is Ridley here?” Her frown was not the most welcoming. “I know it’s late, but it’s important.”

  “He’s at work.”

  Work? “Where?”

  “Blue Mountain Lodge.”

  “Are you sure? He’s there now?”

  “Every Tuesday night.”

  I looked past her into the dim living room, the TV casting colorful shadows on the wall. “But what about the girls?”

  “What do you think I’m here for, to steal their cable? I’m telling you, Ridley’s at work.”

  “What time does he get off?”

  “He’ll be there ’til two. Maybe later. Way too late for a kid to be up on a school night, but does he listen to me? No, he does not. Now I need to go. You interrupted my movie.” She shut the door in my face without so much as a good-bye. I wondered if she was distantly related to Mavis.

  The Blue Mountain Lodge was a good fifteen minutes out of town. It sat on a hill overlooking Avalon Lake, a beautiful lake Dad liked for fishing and boating with the family. The lodge had been many things throughout the years, but it was now a restaurant and inn that drew tourists and locals who wanted an evening or weekend retreat in the midst of nature while still enjoying the elegance of the posh lodge. I drove my Civic, and the closer I got, the windier the roads became.

  I entered through heavy oak doors and walked on the native stone floor to the front desk. “I’m looking for Ridley Estes. Is he here?”

  The woman behind the counter barely looked up from her computer screen. “In the restaurant. Probably in the kitchen.”

  Following the direction of her vague finger-pointing, I went down a hall, passing a banquet room that clearly was having a good time from the sounds of their eighties music and loud laughter. Rounding a corner, I finally came to the restaurant. A Closed sign hung in the window. The door unlocked, I went inside anyway.

  A man turned off his vacuum as I approached. “I’m sorry, miss, we’re closed.”

  “I’m looking for Ridley Estes.”

  “Ridley!” he yelled into the quiet room. “Your girlfriend’s here to see you!”

  “No, I’m not his girlfriend. I’m just—”

  “What are you doing here?” Ridley strolled from the kitchen, that angular jaw tight, as if he were considering escorting me right back out.

  “The university made their decision.” I did a terrible job of keeping the quiver out of my voice. “My dad got fired tonight.” Had I sucker punched Ridley, his face would’ve held the same mix of hurt and shock. “You told me to let you know. I’m sorry.” I turned to leave, and with each step, I felt more alone, more hollow than ever.

  “Harper, wait.” Ridley met me in the hallway. “Stop.”

  I took in his blazer, his white button-down, his khaki dress pants. The name tag pinned to his chest. “How many days a week do you work?”

  His frown was quick, confused. “A few.”

  “How many?”

  “Depends how often my uncle calls me in. Sometimes three or four.”

  The music from the banquet room pulsed and pushed at the doors beside us. “This is why you roll into school looking like you’ve spent the entire night partying with the Kappa Sigma boys at the university.”

  He was through discussing his job. “Is your dad going to appeal?”

  “No. He knows he screwed up.”

  Ridley dropped his head and stared at the brown and gray rocks beneath his feet.

  “I’m sorry.” My words were a tiny offering, so lame and useless.

  “I was so close, Harper. I had it all planned out.” He shoved his hands over that short, dark hair and finally lifted his face. This was a guy in need of some sleep. “I’d get college paid for, be close to my sisters. Still work when I needed to. And
now . . . nothing. It’s all gone.”

  “Maybe you just need a different plan. There must be options.”

  “It’s over.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  His voice was heartbreakingly hoarse. “You gonna save me, too, O’Malley?”

  In that moment, I wanted nothing more. “You’ll get other offers.”

  “None that I can take.”

  “Ridley, your sisters need more than a brother as a parent.”

  He didn’t even acknowledge that. “What about you?” Ridley’s sad smile had me blinking back tears. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’d hoped for something else.” I really didn’t know how I felt. My heart was one big black hole at the moment.

  Ridley stepped closer and rubbed his hand down my arm. “You’ve had quite a day.”

  I pulled a tissue from my purse and dabbed at my leaky eyes. “Let’s cancel tomorrow’s lesson.”

  “Dancing 101?” Ridley turned as a man in a suit stumbled out of the banquet room, a busty blonde under his arm and a drink in his hand. They laughed as they made their way down the hall, as if life were one big party.

  “Yeah, forget it,” I said. “I need a day off.”

  “I guess we both do.” Ridley nodded his head to the beat of a tune that signaled the group within had now moved on to the nineties. “Or,” he said, taking my hand, “we get to that dancing lesson right now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “You’re too stiff. Relax.”

  Ridley had patiently tried to show me some moves for thirty agonizingly long minutes as we crashed the revelry in the banquet room. None of the partygoers seemed to even notice us. Who would’ve thought Ridley could dance? He was a bulky football player. He attributed it to his Latin roots, but I was the one who knew music and rhythm. Yet he had this instinct for the beat, as if his body just knew when to move an arm, where to place a leg. He didn’t attempt anything complicated. Ridley wasn’t ready to star in his own music video, but his low-key efforts were the type that blended in perfectly in a crush of dancing people. My attempts made me look like I was mid-seizure and in need of medical attention.

  I wanted to shout with relief when the rap song ended. “I need a break. Gonna get some water.”

  “Hold up.” His dimpled smile curved as the first ballad of the night began to play. “My tutorial wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t cover the slow dance.”

  “I think I got that one. He puts his arms around me, I wrap my arms around him. He thinks about making out. I think about puppies. Is that about it?”

  “Are you sure you actually like this Andrew guy?”

  “Yes, I do.” I sighed and righted my ponytail. I must’ve dislodged it when I was headbanging, something Ridley said I should never again do in public.

  “I’m starting to doubt.” Ridley reached for my hand. “Let’s take this out to the terrace.”

  “Andrew’s perfect,” I said as he pulled me through the dwindling crowd and past the double doors that led outside. “Did you hear me?”

  “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

  Andrew was perfect. Everything about him was right. Though my initial manic butterflies had faded to monarchs floating on a spring breeze, I knew it was just the pressure of all the romance material I was learning—plus the mess my life had become.

  “Here.” Before the evening chill swept over me, Ridley shrugged out of his jacket and eased my arms into it. I tried to imagine it was Andrew’s, but for some reason I couldn’t even bring up a memory of his face. All I could see was this boy in front of me.

  “If the guy is the right one”—I sucked in a breath as Ridley pulled me to him—“and if he’s holding you right, you won’t be thinking about stray dogs.”

  Those eyes. So dark, a brown that held mysteries and promises I knew better than to think were for me. Yet when they were trained on me like they were now, my insides melted like gooey Nutella.

  “This seems to be more your thing,” Ridley said, his voice near my ears as we swayed to the slow-moving song. His body was warm, and I had the strongest urge to rest my head on his shoulder, to shut my eyes and let all my problems disappear in the fog that swirled around me. The terrace was empty, save for the two of us. Gaslit lamps stood on iron stands, giving the look of rustic candlelight. Crickets harmonized to the music that poured from inside. The chilled lake air slid across my skin, and I moved closer into Ridley’s embrace.

  I did not have feelings for this boy.

  I couldn’t.

  We were barely friends.

  So different.

  He dated beauty queens and cheerleaders. Usually at the same time.

  And I wanted Andrew.

  “Did you hear me, Harper?”

  “No.” Holy trumpets, he smelled nice. “Did you say something?”

  His laugh tickled my ear. “I think it’s time we took the next step . . . in your tutorial.”

  Ridley leaned closer. His face hovered inches from my own. His eyes searched mine, and his challenge levitated in the sliver of space between us. “Kissing.”

  “Kissing,” I repeated dumbly.

  “That’s right.” His gaze dropped to my lips. “You’re going to want to take notes.”

  “Is that so?” I wondered if he could hear my heart thudding in my chest.

  “The lesson’s already started, in case you’re wondering.”

  “I don’t know that this is really necessary.”

  “Oh, kissing is very necessary. And I recall it being your idea.” Ridley had yet to retreat. If anything, he had somehow gotten closer. His left hand reached out, slid up my stiffened arm. It slowly journeyed back down. Rested on my hand. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He gave my fingers a squeeze. “Do you believe that?”

  My answer left my lips before I had time to think. “Yes.”

  “Have you noticed you don’t totally recoil anymore when I touch you?”

  I had noticed. He had somehow made the short list of people who could handle me without making me want to barf on their shoes.

  “Do you want to proceed?”

  I nodded. Then let out the air I didn’t know I’d been holding.

  “You stay stop, I stop. Got it?” His smile was kind, heartbreaking even. “It’s just a kiss.”

  Just a kiss.

  He was in my space in every sense of the word. But it was . . . different. I could hardly draw in oxygen, but it wasn’t that same sensation. The fear still pulsed, but instead of shackling my limbs, it seemed to push me forward. It became something else entirely.

  “Let us continue.” That gentle smile turned a little wicked, lifting his cheeks, lighting his eyes. He picked up my hand, and his skin, roughened from football, was an electric abrasion on mine. He waited a long moment, as if letting me adjust to the feel. Lifting my fingers to his lips, his eyes now on mine, daring me to look away, he turned over my palm. And pressed his lips in the warm center.

  “Lesson twelve.” His breath was a caress on my hand. “An amateur goes straight for the lips, stays there.”

  Good heavens, I couldn’t move if a tornado screamed into the room and spun us about.

  “But someone who knows what he’s doing,” Ridley continued, his voice gravelly and deep, “he knows there’s more ground to cover. To explore.” Ridley’s gaze dipped to my hand then back to me. “Just part of the fun.” And with that, he pressed his open mouth to my palm again. As if the nerve endings were directly connected to my heart, my chest fluttered and jumped. My thoughts tripped over themselves, caught as a new heat wrapped around me and filled my every cell. I couldn’t think. All I could do was . . . feel. This was so going in the diary.

  “And then,” he said, “you might use that hand to pull the person in.” He did just that. So close my hand landed on his chest to keep my balance. A prayer couldn’t have fit between us. “You getting this?”

  Words eluded me, sentences beyond possibility. “Yes.”

 
He looked at me as if I were a mystery he wanted to solve, a present he wanted to unwrap. “Then you focus on your target.”

  His attention on my mouth had me sucking in my bottom lip, worrying it with my teeth. With a faint laugh, Ridley framed my face with his hands. He rubbed his thumb over that same lip. “You might say something complimentary at this point.” That thumb teased my lip again in a slow, excruciating slide. “Like how I love the scent of you. Or how I think about your lips. Too often.” He began to close the distance again, his head tilting, leaning.

  “Ridley—”

  He lazily lifted his eyes to mine, his mouth hovering so close. He quirked a dark brow in question.

  “I . . . I don’t know where to put my hands.”

  His thumbs now aimlessly caressed my cheeks. “Lots of places for hands. It’s like a multiple choice test you can’t get wrong.” He waited. Smiled. Watched. “Give it a try.”

  “Right,” I breathed.

  I thought of every romance novel I had ever read, every movie makeout scene I’d watched.

  My hands seemed to be detached, almost robotic as I lifted them.

  Started at Ridley’s chest.

  Wondered about his back.

  Considered his neck.

  Stayed away from his butt.

  “You’re thinking too hard.” Then, as if trusting me to figure it out, he pressed a featherlight kiss to my cheekbone. Then two more just like it, creating a trail of shivery sensations. “Go with what you feel.” He continued to kiss. And when his lips closed on my neck, I sucked in a breath and slinked my arms around his waist and pulled him tight. Whatever he was doing, it was heaven.

  His laugh vibrated against my chest. “Good girl.”

  Was it okay to move my hands? What were the rules? I hesitantly walked my fingers up his back, felt the muscle, traced it through his shirt.

  “O’Malley?”

  “Yes?”

  His lips moved from my neck to the space near my ear. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  “I thought that’s what you’ve been doing.”

  “Just the warm-up.”

  Ridley’s mouth descended, and I lost all sense of time and space. Gravity eluded me, and my heart floated about. I felt just the slightest touch, his lips on mine, his—