by S. M. Parker
And then it visits again, that fear that I’m not good enough, that I don’t know enough to make Alec happy.
I hold my breath, readying. My fingers slide my shirt to the side and roll the cup of my bra under my breast. The air greets this bit of my nakedness. Alec watches my face and I force myself to study his, to not look away.
And the thrill is deep. Like skinny-dipping. The raw, unlawful act of exposing your private bits to the air. I bite my lip, hard.
“God, I love you,” he says.
A screech in the distance pulls my attention, asks me: What are you doing? This can’t be right. I fold in my shoulders trying to hide, but Alec slips toward me with the confidence of a hunting snake. He holds his head steady just in front of me, right in front of my naked breast, but he doesn’t touch me. I reach for his hair then, wanting him to cover me, protect me. My chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. I comb my fingers through his hair, trying to pull him closer.
He hovers. His hot breath teases me. I lean into him. The heat between my legs has become a voice and it’s screaming inside of me. And just when I think I can’t take it a moment longer, he reaches me. His hands explore my body and I pull him closer, deeper.
By the time we get to his bedroom I’m shaking. We lie on the bed floating somewhere between excitement and exhaustion. Alec’s body is pressed up against mine, our shirts off. He strokes my hair at the temple. “I’ll miss you,” he whispers.
“I don’t have to leave for a while.”
He tucks a curl behind my ear. “No, I mean next year. When you’ll be hundreds of miles away.”
“I don’t know anything for sure yet.” Like how I’ll survive without seeing him every day.
He kisses me on the cheek. “I love being with you, Zephyr actually.”
I look through hooded eyes, flirting even now. I want to tempt his tongue to mine, tempt his tongue to my chest, my neck, my arm, my . . . I press into him harder, wrap my legs around his.
He drops his head into my shoulder. “Don’t. I’ll devour you right here.”
Devour? A flush of want heats my skin.
“You have no idea how you make me feel.”
But I do.
“I want to show you something.” Alec reaches for his bedside table. I hear the wood slide of the drawer. “Here.” He hands me a letter. I see the Michigan return address, know what it is. Hate that it is here, now, in bed with us.
I don’t want to open it. I don’t want to read the words. I unfold the paper and I know it makes me a shitty person, but I pray he got rejected. Gregg’s words revisit, justify: We’re all selfish sometimes.
But Alec didn’t get rejected from the University of Michigan. The proof is in my hands.
He watches me read. “Crazy, huh?”
“Not totally crazy. I mean, you kind of knew, right?” I force a smile. It kills me I haven’t heard from Boston College yet.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
Sadness haunts my face, cracks my words. “Nothing. I’m really happy for you.”
He strokes my cheek. “So why do you look like you’re about to cry?”
I sit up, pull a pillow to my chest. As if a square of feathers could protect my heart. “It just seems so real now. Everyone’s hearing about their plans for next year and . . . I don’t know . . . what if I’m the loser who gets left behind?” Gregg’s pep talk is lost to me in this moment and I am rudderless again.
“You’re not a loser, Zephyr, and I would never leave you.”
My exhale sobs, my words rush. “Well”—I shake the paper—“this letter doesn’t exactly inspire a lot of hope that we’ll be together next year. They want you there in July, Alec. July. That’s half a year away. It might as well be tomorrow. God, how can this all be happening? I was fine last night, you know. I was actually dumb enough to believe Gregg when he said I’d hear soon, that I was worthy of Boston College. But I don’t have a letter. You do. You know what your future holds. All I know is how far away Michigan is. It’s so far, Alec. On another planet far.”
“Zephyr?”
I pull in a deep breath, try to calm my rampage. The silence of Alec’s room battles with the cacophony in my head. “Yeah?” I whisper.
“What do you mean about last night?”
I stop, stumble. “What?”
He repeats the question with a hard stare, his posture suddenly too straight. “Did you see Gregg on Thanksgiving? You said you were with your mom.”
“I was, but our families have this tradi—”
“You were with him last night?”
I search his eyes. “Not like that. I mean, yeah, I was at his house, but I wasn’t with him with him.”
“Is that why you didn’t answer my calls?”
“No.” I reach for him, but he stands, begins to pace the room. “I was going to tell you but then we went outside and everything was so perf—”
“Did you have your phone turned off?”
“Yes, but Al—”
“Did he try to kiss you again?” He bends to pick up my shirt off the floor, rounds it into a ball and hands it to me.
“God no! It wasn’t like that.” I scramble to the edge of the bed, shimmy my top on.
“You need to tell me if you’re into him.”
“I told you, he’s like a brother to me. It couldn’t be anything more. Ever.” And then. “And he’s with Lani.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” he says, sarcasm dripping. “How do I know you weren’t taking your tits out for him?”
“What? No! God, I would never.”
His laugh comes hard and quick. “Are you sure?”
What’s happening here? “I don’t want anything to do with him that way. This is so nothing to freak out about. You have to trust me.”
“Trust you?” He runs both of his hands through his hair and pulls at the back, locking his head between his stiff elbows. The muscles in his arms bulge. “How can I? You’re over at his house without telling me, hanging out, doing fuck knows what, lying and telling me you’re with your mom.”
“I was with my mom.”
He turns on me, quick. “You should have told me you were going over to his place. You should have answered my calls.” His voice is almost a whisper now as he paces the floor. “You promised you wouldn’t see him and you did. Then you keep it a secret. How do you think this makes me feel, Zephyr?”
“You asked me to hang back, Alec. I did. I barely even talk to Gregg anymore.”
“You’ve justified all this in your head already, haven’t you?”
“What? No!”
“If you really loved me you would ha—”
“I do love you.” I reach for his arm, but he shrugs me off.
“I need to be alone.”
“Are you kidding?” What about our perfect night? The night to ourselves? God, what have I done? “Gregg is so not anything to me. You have to believe that.”
“You should have been honest, Zephyr. Half truths after the fact don’t count.”
“You’re right. It was stupid. I should have told you right when I got here.”
“No. You should have respected me, told me yesterday. I opened up to you. I came clean about my insecurities.” He gives a harsh nod toward the door. “I have to think.”
“Alec, please . . .”
He points to the door. “Go.”
The one word is a punch to my gut, knocking the wind out of me.
I gather my coat and slip down the carpeted stairs, out the front door. The spotlights blare, accusing me in their own way. Tears bite against my skin but I brush them away as I start my car, wondering if I’ll ever see clearly again.
It is an ache to breathe.
• • •
Somehow I manage to drive home, though tears obscure my vision. Maybe that’s why I’m slow to realize Finn’s in the middle of our dirt drive, spinning in circles, looking disoriented and lost out here on his own. Did Mom leave the back gate unlatched
? I jump out of the car, kneel to him and he whimpers. His eyes are glazed, remote.
“You look like I feel, buddy. Come on.” I take hold of his collar, walk him to my car where I have to help him jump into the front seat. He collapses in a heap.
“You scared out here all alone?” I slip behind the wheel and scratch his head. “You’ll feel better when we get home,” I tell him.
And I want this to be true for both of us.
Chapter 18
I bring Finn into my bedroom and set him onto a nest of blankets on my bed. He folds lazily, curls into himself. I fetch water, but he refuses it. I crawl onto the bed, wrapping his body with my own, and stroke him along the white patch that marks his breast. An occasional gurgle spills from his insides.
“Did you get into something, boy?” I nuzzle against his soft head. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”
I stroke his legs, down to his snow white paws. His fur is so soft and soothing that I close my eyes. When I do, I think of Alec.
It’s impossible to stop picturing Alec in his room, his defensive posture turned away from me. He was so honest about feeling threatened by my friendship with Gregg. So vulnerable and trusting. Why didn’t I just tell him I was going to Gregg’s and that he had nothing to be jealous of? Why didn’t I tell him Thanksgiving night on the phone? Tell him everything?
But I know. I know and I don’t want to know. That parts of Gregg live in that deep, secret space within me too. Last night made me realize that.
I text Alec: Please talk to me.
An alert from HOCKEY BOY pops up almost immediately and that’s something. It is a fragile wisp of hope and I cling to it like a lifeline. Then, I read his response. I need time.
How much?
Crickets build a symphony in the silence. I refresh my phone maniacally, this whole thing making me mental. It’s a miracle I fall asleep, but the morning doesn’t bring me the text I’d been hoping for. I am greeted only by the sun, strangled by sadness.
I roll over in bed, lacking the energy to pull myself vertical, let alone shower or get dressed. I feel hollowed and vow I’ll never keep the truth from Alec again. If I haven’t lost him already, that is.
Finn shares my agony; he remains as mopey and withdrawn as I am.
Until I hear Alec’s engine, thick with power as it approaches the house slowly over our rutted driveway. Even Finn’s ears perk. Alec’s car sounds like forgiveness. Like a second chance. I jump up, pull on a clean hoodie, and smooth my hair. I run to the kitchen. The engine purrs louder. Closer.
My pulse races faster than I can make my limbs move. I’m breathless by the time I reach the door, an apology wrapped in a promise hanging from my lips. I hear the cut of the engine, the whine of the heavy car door opening and then the slam of it closing. I grab at the kitchen door handle and yank it wide as a bloom of cold air rushes in.
My muscles freeze.
My head scrambles.
My heart drops.
“Gregg?”
“Zeph.” He gives me a wink. “Nice bed head.”
My brain empties. I’m only vaguely aware I’ve stepped aside to welcome him in when he crosses the threshold. I stare at the car in the driveway, Gregg’s father’s old truck. The engine too much like Alec’s.
Fading hope shrivels me.
I close the door slowly, taking a deep gulp of the winter air. Finn greets Gregg with a slow but eager tail wag.
“What are you doing here?” My words are tight. Because he is not Alec. He’s not the forgiveness I crave.
“Thought we could go for a drive up into the mountains like we used to.”
“I can’t,” I say, too quickly.
He holds up his hands, surrender style. “Whoa, it was an invitation, Zee, not an attack.”
My head is a mess. “I know. It’s just . . .”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m kind of in the middle of this thing with Alec.”
“Alec’s here?”
I shake my head.
Gregg pulls up a seat at the island. “Then I fail to see how your ‘thing’ with Alec affects me and you hanging out. You and I aren’t complicated, Zeph. I thought we established this on Thanksgiving. That was you at my place, being my friend again, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but I made this stupid mistake and Alec and I got into this huge fight and we’re kind of at a critical place right now.”
“How does your ‘critical place’ ”—he makes air quotes—“have anything to do with me?”
“Because you were the mistake.” I stride along the edge of the counter hearing how awful that sounds. “I mean, not you, exactly, but hanging out with you. I didn’t tell Alec and he’s so hurt.”
“Wait. What? You’re not allowed to hang out with me?”
When he says it like that it sounds impossibly horrible. “No. It’s just that Alec’s really jealous.”
“Of what?” His stare is laser sharp.
“Of you. He’s jealous of you.”
Then Gregg’s face breaks open in a laugh. “Me? That’s a good one. He’s the one who got the girl, Zephyr, not me. Maybe you need to remind him of that.”
I’d remind him if he’d talk to me. “It’s just that you and I have all this history together. Alec feels . . . well he’s not totally comfortable with us hanging out since I told him how you kissed me.”
I should have just slapped him; it would have been kinder.
“Since you told him I kissed you? Huh. Well, all right then. There’s that.” Gregg stands, his palms pressed against the edge of the island. He taps the side of his thumb on the counter the way I’ve seen him do countless times before.
“Well you can tell Alec that my visit was an innocent one. I just came to tell you something but now I’m afraid it falls under the traitorous too much history category you two have so deftly established. I thought—stupidly it seems—that you might like to know a letter came from the coach at Boston College, basically offering me a spot on the team.”
“What?” A shocked puff of air. “I didn’t know you were accepted.”
“I’m not, technically. I have to apply. But it looks like they want me. That’s why I came over. Because you’re still the first person I want to tell news like this to.”
I pace my side of the island, trapped. I smell the fresh earth in the room with us, freshly potted rosemary, too happy.
“I guess it was too much to expect a congratulations, maybe even a hug. Or, I don’t know, let’s just think wild for a minute and maybe, just maybe, you could choke out an ‘I’m happy for you, Gregg.’ ”
“I am.” I am. But Gregg here now, Gregg in Boston next year. It’s all just bad timing. “I’m so ridiculously happy for you and I want to celebrate with you, but it can’t be today.”
“Why not?”
“I just . . .” God, I don’t even know. “I just need a little space right now.”
He plants his thumb at his chest. “You need space from me?”
“I know it doesn’t make any sense and I promise I’ll work it all out and everything will be fine, but for now . . . do this for me. Please.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It’s just the way it is. For now,” I add quickly.
Gregg neatly tucks the chair under the lip of the island before walking to the door. “I’d try to duck out with dignity but I think we both know that’s not going to happen.” He reaches for the doorknob.
“Gregg . . .”
“Bye, Zephyr.” He disappears outside before I can take another breath. Finn whimpers at the closed door, Gregg on the wrong side.
I slide my back down the length of the wall and Finn comforts me as my bottom finds the floor. I’m grateful dogs never know when we don’t deserve their affection.
When the sound of Gregg’s truck disappears, I run down our road. I reach the mailbox and the weight of this moment siphons oxygen from the atmosphere. I flick my fingers over the door and open it quickly as if the me
tal is hot.
I remove the contents. Two items.
A cable bill.
And a letter for me.
But not the one I’ve hoped for. This square envelope is thick with weight. There is no return address so I know the sender instantly. I rip at the flap, tear the card free as the envelope falls to the ground, a scattered leaf among pine needles.
I gobble up Alec’s words. In his handwriting. All for me.
There is never enough time with you, Zephyr Doyle.
Love, A.
I scramble for the envelope, inspect the postmark date. Three days ago.
Before I disappointed him.
I bolt into the house, find my phone. I pace my room as Alec’s voicemail picks up. Just hearing his outgoing message is enough to shatter me.
Then, the beep.
“Alec, it’s Zephyr. Your card came today and it’s perfect. You are perfect. I don’t want to leave this on a voice mail, but needed to tell you that Gregg stopped by this morning and I told him we couldn’t hang out. That was it. I wanted you to know it happened, even though nothing really happened because I don’t want to keep anything from you ever ag—” A heartless beep severs my call and I am not entirely sure if the message was sent and cut off or if rambling-long messages don’t get sent at all.
I am too full of cowardice to redial.
But in this moment I know why Mom let Dad back into her life. I would do anything to have Alec back.
Chapter 19
Lizzie calls me early Monday morning, before I’m even dressed for school. “I have news. Meet me before homeroom.”
“I’m not going to school.” It’s a lie. Sort of.
“Why? Avoiding your coach?”
Shit. I forgot about Coach. She’ll want to ream me for missing the trophy presentation and I can’t take someone else hating on me right now. “Not feeling great.”
“Okay, if I can’t tell you in person, the news must slip over the wire: I got the internship.” She waits a half beat before adding, “At the New York freaking Times!”
There is a skip somewhere deep in my chest. Like this accomplishment of Lizzie’s has happened for me too. “Lizzie, this is huge!”