Igniting the Wild Sparks

by Alexander, Ren

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I’ll try again.” I lifted my knee and dropped the ball. I did pop it twice that time, but it hit my knee at an angle and bounced toward Finn. I put my hands over my mouth and laughed.

  Without a smile, he picked the ball up and said, “Nice job, Hadley. David Beckham should be scared.”

  “Did you know he’s married to a Spice Girl?”

  “I guess.” Finn rolled his eyes as I giggled more.

  I asked, “So, he soon might be out of a job then?”

  He bit his unsteady lip and I noticed he was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “Yep. I’ll have to interview you instead.”

  I teased, “Like I’d talk to you.”

  Is that right?” His eyes slid over me as his bottom lip disappeared into his mouth to keep from grinning.

  “Yep.” I was already stealing his words then.

  Regaining his stern composure, he cocked his head. “Not at all? Would you at least wave to me in the press box?”

  “Maybe if you were in charge of getting me a refill on my drink.”

  He completely lost his unruffled composure and laughed. “Thanks!”

  Stepping forward, I patted his stubbled cheek and greatly struggled not to laugh. “I’ll make sure to remember the little people.”

  Still brightly grinning, he handed me the ball back and said, “Come on, Becks. Try again.”

  “Becks?”

  “Yeah. Becks. His nickname. Get with the program!” His smile was contagious.

  Enlightened, I nodded. “Oh. Aren’t you funny?”

  “I don’t know, Becks. Am I?”

  “Nope. I changed my mind. You’re pure smartass.”

  He heartily laughed and threw his hands out in defense. “What?” His eyes widened and he declared, “Hey, it even goes with your last name!” Overjoyed at his observation, he laughed again, his handsome face gleaming with humor. “That’s perfect!”

  I tried to fake a frown. “Sure.”

  “Aw, Becks. Don’t get discouraged. One more time, please?”

  “One more time,” I huffed. I bounced the ball and it again dashed away. I dodged after it, but so did he. As I went to dive for it, he grabbed me instead and we fell to the ground. When I tried to escape, I couldn’t because he was too strong and I was giggling so hard. He hovered over me, his brown eyes ensnaring me. Though I wanted to wait, I so much wanted to make love to him and to feel his love for me in return with our shared passion.

  I faux pouted, “You’re mean.”

  He smiled and whispered down to me, “And you’re so beautiful, Becks.”

  “I’m not. You must need glasses,” I teased, not yet knowing he did indeed wear glasses. He shook his head as his eyes glided over my face.

  To deflect his intent stare, I playfully asked, “So, you’re sticking with that name?”

  Drifting closer to me, he nodded as his smiling lips grazed mine. “You’re my Becks.” My hands went into his dazzling, blondish hair, and he kissed me on the chilly ground.

  I pulled back to tease, “So that makes you my Spice Girl wife?” I laughed and something filled his eyes. Panic? Dread?

  He abruptly stood up, helping me up, as well. “I forgot I have a phone call to make. Can you handle the ball by yourself for a minute, Becks?” He slanted his head and grinned.

  “Definitely a smartass.”

  “And don’t you forget it.” He leaned down to kiss me, whispering, “You have no idea what you’ve done to me. I love you so much.”

  I smiled against his lips. “I love you, too. Maybe even more than soccer.”

  His lips skimmed mine. “Smartass.” I giggled at him for stealing my remark before he gave me another kiss.

  As I watched him swiftly walk to his car, I realized right then that I wanted to marry Finn Wilder, to put a ring on his finger and vow to him my love and fidelity for eternity. I just wondered if he felt the same way about me.

  I guess he didn’t.

  I may never forgive him, but I’ll never stop loving him. He’s in my blood, as Morgan said. He’s a part of who I am and I’ll never forget him.

  Trying for three years to find a nickname for him, only to come up with Sparks on a whim. His coming to my rescue when I was lying on the ground after I was hit. How he kissed me on our first date before asking me to be his girlfriend. Then asking me to be his girlfriend again when he gave me his class ring and jacket. His magical color-changing hair that mystified me to no end. The feel of his fingers possessively sliding in between mine. How he put me up against the wall and kissed me after our fight at the club the night before. Giving himself as an Easter gift. Our interview on the softball field when I kissed him. Our phrase-stealing game and his one-upping me with lighthouses. The way he hid behind his sunglasses. The way he hid me from everyone. Daydreaming about sailboats and playing on the beach at Bethany’s. His surprising me by showing up to Morgan’s reception and dancing with me. Giving me my ring the night we conceived True. Kissing me or giving me sweet, secret smiles while he was supposed to be working. How he swept me up after his race and enthusiastically kissed me. Slow dancing at Chimborazo and in the dugout at his high school. Kissing in the rain. His astonishing tattoo dare that he’ll always have. The feel of his full lips kissing mine. When he gave me the key to his heart for my birthday. Having loud sex with him at the hotel. How he told me he was in love with me on our second date. Laughing together. How he finally confessed his secret to me while we made love. Kissing my bruise and our baby. Watching him drive as I drove him crazy. The way he and my dad would bond, watching games together on TV. Teasing me about my warped pancakes. How he looked like a bad-boy college professor wearing his glasses. Calling him Finnigan and cranking him up. The feel of his scruff beneath my fingers. My Rocky Steps dare and how he danced at the top. His love for Black Veil Brides and how every song reminds me of him. His cool cockiness fused with unadulterated insecurity. His unwavering love and devotion…or so I thought.

  “Do you think she’d like some water?” Hearing a man’s voice, I stopped crying to look up at him. He was the familiar-looking, handsome man sitting diagonally from where we were sitting, and who I noticed when we came into the ER. He had been watching TV as we took our seats in the waiting room.

  I wiped the tears from my cheeks and the man smiled at me. I’d seen him somewhere before, though I couldn’t place where.

  “That’d be nice,” my dad replied. “Thanks.” He took the cup and said to the guy, “I’m not from around here, but I’ve seen you on TV. Don’t you do Sports on one of the News channels?”

  “Yeah. I do.” He held his hand out. “Finn Wilder.”

  “Adam Beckett,” my dad replied, taking Finn’s hand. Finn looked right at me with big, shining brown eyes. Oh. Finn Wilder, sportscaster. I remember seeing him on the News. My dad nodded at me and said, “This in-pain, young lady is my daughter, Hadley.”

  Finn’s eyes sparkled as he looked at me. “Nice to meet you, Hadley. I’m Finn. How’d you break your wrist?”

  I sniffed and tried pulling myself together. “I fell. It was stupid. I wasn’t watching where I was walking.”

  “You slipped on ice, pumpkin pie.”

  I asked Finn, “How do you know it’s broken?”

  “I can tell how it’s swollen. I’ve been there, three times. Twice on my left, once on my right.”

  I noticed the cast on his arm. “How’d you break your wrist this time?”

  “It’s actually my arm this time. Snowboarding. I took a left instead of a right and slammed into a tree. Oops.”

  “That had to hurt.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not the first time breaking my arm, so I knew what to expect. Have you broken a bone before?”

  I shook my head. “Virgin.” I cringed at how idiotic that sounded.

  He beamed a sexy, lopsided smile at me and I was hooked. He was gorgeous. His brown eyes had me captivated, his smooth, deep voice was hypnotic, and his smile was bright and g
lorious. Looking at him distracted me somewhat from my pain.

  His phone rang and suddenly frowning, he apologized and answered it. My dad leaned over to me and whispered, “I think he likes you.”

  “Shut up,” I grumbled.

  “Listen to your old dad. I know some things. He can’t stop staring at you.”

  “Maybe he’s a deranged stalker.”

  “Maybe I should give him your phone number.”

  “Right. Like he’d want to waste his time. Isn’t he the one guy on the News who does those stunts and dares?”

  “From what I’ve seen while here.” He chuckled and said, “How much you want to bet that you just met your future husband?”

  “Now you’re insane.”

  He laughed and whispered, “Finn Wilder will be my son-in-law. How about that?”

  I glanced over at Finn, who was hanging up his phone and watching me. With my wrist throbbing, I still smiled at him and blinked away.

  What did Adam Beckett know?

  I toss the red rose into the water and whisper, “I want to breathe again. Someday, I might. Until then, I’m twisting in the wake of what you left behind when I dared you the ultimate dare and lost. You win. Goodbye, Finnigan Robert Wilder. Even though I can’t understand how you could hurt me the way you did, I’ll forever love you, Sparks. Beyond the stars. That’s the bane that I must live with, along with the scars I bear. Somehow, I’ll find a way to go on without you.”

  I hope.

  Outside, there are children playing in the parking lot. Playing what? I have no idea, nor do I care. I lie here waiting for something, but nothing ever comes. Just more minutes. More hours. More days. More loneliness.

  The sun still shines the same; the air I breathe is the same. I do the same mundane routine without fail. Every day. That’s all. I live my life. I get by day to day. Nothing more. Always less.

  My light is gone.

  My spark is gone.

  Yet, the world keeps on a spinning around and all I can do is wish it would stop, so I can jump off.

  Getting out of bed is a chore every damn morning. Often, I wish I didn’t wake up at all, but I do. Every damn morning. How is this fair? How do I go on with my life? My phone rings, but I don’t answer it. My doorbell rings, but unless they have a key, nobody gets in here. They all see me at work, so why must they bother me at home, too?

  Killing my alarm clock, I rise, but no shine. Not anymore. I sit on the edge of my bed until I find the passing strength to stand; though, I’ve been late for work plenty, or I give up and don’t go in at all, much to the chagrin of my boss and coworkers who call me incessantly, leaving me messages of concern and love. Love. Who needs it?

  I know they care, but that doesn’t put the life back into my soul, in my heart or inside my womb, or at least, near it.

  I heavily sigh and robotically walk out of my room. Going into my bathroom, I flip the switch and the stark light buzzes my mind like angry bees in a hive. Squinting, I hesitantly peer into the mirror. It’s been months, yet feels like years, since I’ve been able to look into a mirror. I’ve aged. My cheeks are sallow, my skin is pasty, my hair is limp, my eyes are even duller than usual, and the lavender bags under them could hold a Buick.

  Leaning onto the sink, I intently study my reflection. What happened to me? The life has literally been sucked out of my body, surgically and otherwise. I remind myself of old, faded wallpaper that nobody pays attention to, and if they do, it’s only to say it needs replaced.

  As I was.

  I stare for a long time, assessing. Deciding. Executing.

  It’s time to get rid of the dried up wallpaper. Death is just a heartbeat away now. My existence is barely a step above. I’m just a shell of what I used to be.

  If I ever was anything at all.

  Something has got to change.

  Reaching for a rubber band, I put my hair up, and I sigh at the pallid face that emerges from the veil of hair.

  I open the vanity drawer and grab what I need. Lifting my ponytail up, I assess my face this way for any differences I may not have noticed.

  Raising the scissors, the blades reflect the light before I cut through. When I’m finished, I’m left with a long bundle of light brown hair.

  What have I done?

  Looking up from the ponytail in my hand to the mirror, I see a different person. I don’t recognize the woman standing here.

  Then the reality of what I just did sets in.

  And I slowly smile.

  I am Hadley Beckett.

  Hear me fucking roar.

  About the Author

  Ren Alexander lives outside Detroit, Michigan with her husband, two daughters, and two cats. Originally from Wheeling, West Virginia, she has a degree in criminal justice from West Liberty University, where she also took a creative writing course. She always dreamed of being a writer, but never thought she could actually do it.

  “Igniting the Wild Sparks” is her third novel.

  You can visit Ren @:

  Facebook: facebook.com/RenAlexanderAuthor

  Twitter: @wild_renalex