The Rebound

by Winter Renshaw

  “You have no idea how much I love you, do you?” He sighs, his hand dragging through his messy hair.

  Sitting up and sliding my hand into the crook of his elbow, I press my cheek against his arm. “No, I know.”

  “Then why are you being like this?” he asks, words quick and tone frustrated. “You’re not this girl.”

  The squeeze in my chest that’s been there most of today begins to throb, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s how it’s going to feel after he’s gone. I wonder if I’m going to get used to it. I wonder if one of these days, I won’t even notice it anymore because it’s become such an embedded part of me.

  “I won’t go,” he says, tossing the envelope to the side and marking the first time he’s let it out of his grip all day. “If it means losing you, I won’t do it. You mean more to me than some scholarship.”

  “Good things are about to happen for you. Amazing things. Things you’ve worked your whole life for,” I tell him, a wistful break in my words. “I couldn’t live with myself if I kept you from that.”

  “Yardley.” He slips his arm around me and pulls me against him. “I know you’re worried and you’re scared, but I promise you, I’m going to finish my four years and I’m going to come straight back here and marry you. I’ll fix up that big farmhouse just off the highway that you always say you love. We’ll have a couple of kids. We’ll be happy. It’ll be you and me, just like we always planned.”

  “I’d love that.” I breathe his cologne into my lungs, realizing that it’s my favorite scent in the entire world, more than red roses and line-dried laundry and the warm, lived-in scent of my grandmother’s house that always makes my heart so full. “I’d love that more than anything.”

  “We can do this. We can make this work. But you have to be all in.” Nevada pulls me into his lap, his hands resting at my hips and a determined expression painting his handsome face. “I love you. I promise you I’ll never love anyone else. And I’m coming back for you. I swear on everything, Yardley.”

  Drawing in a breath of humid June air, I meet him in the middle. “I love you too. And I’ll wait for you.”

  “Promise me,” he says, cupping my face. “Promise you’ll wait for me. That you’ll never love anyone else.”

  I nod. “I promise.”

  I’m not a cynic by nature, but if I had a nickel for every tear one of my friends shed on my pillow after their boyfriends ran off to college and broke every last promise they ever made … let’s just say I’d be driving a shiny new Mercedes right now.

  But I want to believe he’s different, that what we have is different.

  I want to believe it with every fiber of my being.

  Nev cups my face, and the warmth of his lips follows. I could drown in his kisses, each one feeling as new as the first one, sending electric shockwaves throughout my body, igniting the deepest parts of me. His touch breathes life into me, and I can’t help but question what’s going to happen when I won’t have these hands and this mouth at my disposal.

  Our kiss ends with a blinding flashlight in our faces.

  “Got a call about trespassing.” We glance over to find a local deputy standing on the other side of the truck gate, his pale brown uniform glowing in the moonlight. I hadn’t even heard him pull up. “You two lovebirds know this is private property, right?”

  “Sorry, Officer.” Nevada pulls his t-shirt over his head, and I thank my lucky stars that I had the forethought to get dressed the second he climbed off me a little bit ago. He slides out of the truck bed and turns to help me.

  My cheeks are on fire, and I can’t bring myself to make eye contact with the cop.

  “If I get another call about you from Jerry Tate—” he begins to say.

  “We won’t be back,” Nevada says. “You have our word.”

  I make my way into the passenger seat and crank the window down, desperate for a cool breeze. Nev gets in a minute later, after respectfully letting the cop finish his lecture.

  “Well, shit.” He presses his forehead against the steering wheel before starting the engine. The cop waits for us to leave, his blinding headlights pointed in our direction and glaring through Nev’s dirty windshield.

  “It’s okay,” I say, though I can’t hide the disappointment in my voice. “We’ll just have to find someplace else.”

  A moment later, Nev’s truck bounces along the knotted and pitted field until we exit through the open gate for the last time and hit our familiar stretch of dusty gravel road. Once we turn onto pavement, the cabin of the truck becomes quiet. All that’s left is all the excess noise in my head. Worry. Doubt. Fear.

  But his hand finds mine and he gives it a squeeze, and I remind myself that in this moment, we still have each other.

  And this moment is all we have.

  The future has yet to be determined.

  Chapter Eight

  The Bucket List

  Nev

  Two Months Later

  “I made a list.” Yardley’s lips are swollen and red from my kisses and her voice is breathy as she fishes a piece of paper from her bag. Handing it over, she says, “These are all the things we’re going to do this summer.”

  I unfold it and begin to read aloud. “Fishing. Hiking. Picnic. Drive in movie. Dinner at Martini and Prescott’s. Watch at least twenty movies together. Cook a romantic, six-course dinner … bungee jumping? What is all of this?”

  “Kind of like a bucket list,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ears. “All the things I want to do with you before you leave for school.”

  “It’s not like I’m dying and never coming back,” I say. “We’ve got the rest of our lives to do all these things. What’s the rush?”

  “I just want to make this summer count.”

  I chuckle, taking her hand in mine. “Why do you think that it wouldn’t?”

  Yardley shrugs. “And I guess … I just want to be with you as much as humanly possible.”

  “That kind of goes without saying, don’t you think?”

  Pulling her close and slipping my arm around her, I stare into a spread of vacant, undeveloped retail lots on the outside of town. Now that we lost “our spot,” we’ve had to improvise and so far, this place seems to get the least amount of passers-by.

  “I promise you, Dove,” I say. “When I’m not working, I’m going to be spending every waking minute with you.”

  She smiles, exhaling. “I get sick to my stomach when I’m not with you. Just reminds me of what it’s going to be like in a few months.”

  “Me too.” I kiss the top of her head, inhaling her sunflower-scented shampoo. She gave me a bottle as part of my graduation gift a few weeks ago, saying she wanted me to take it with me to college so I could use it anytime I missed her. I told her it’d be gone within the first week. “I’ve been saving up for a hotel room.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Figured we could finally spend the night together one of these nights,” I say. “I hate having to drop you off. I just want to fall asleep with you in my arms, just once, you know?”

  Yardley exhales, her lips curling. “I wish we could just fast forward and skip these next four years.”

  “You know, if you’d consider changing your major, you could go to Grove State too.”

  “I know … I just … they don’t have graphic design. The closest school over there that does is still three hours away,” she says. “Trust me. If I change my mind, Grove State is at the top of my list.”

  I kiss the top of her head again. “I’m teasing. I would never want you to throw away your dreams for me.”

  She’s quiet, and I wish I could read her mind. Seems like ever since that letter came and shit got real, I glance over at her most times and it’s like she’s lost in thought, stuck in her own head.

  It isn’t like her to worry to this extent, but she’s scared.

  We both are.

  No one knows what the future holds. But no matter what happens, I’m always going
to love her and we’re going to be together again.

  I made a promise.

  So did she.

  And promises are something you never break.

  Chapter Nine

  Blue Eyed Babies

  Yardley

  Three Months Later

  He leaves in one week, and every time I think about it, I lose my breath a little, this sense of panic and dread flushing through my body before settling in my chest.

  I think Nev senses it, which is why he’s trying to distract me with little things. Little drives around town. Surprising me with my favorite Starbucks drinks. Stopping and letting me gawk at pretty houses.

  “What do you think it’s like in there?” I ask Nev as we’re parked outside the empty Conrad mansion in the southeast part of town. The gigantic brick estate is named for the founder of Conrad Appliances, the corporation that was once the backbone of Lambs Grove until it was sold and relocated to another country.

  My father’s company now produces t-shirts and sweaters where washing machines were once created. Everyone credits Devereaux Wool and Cotton for saving the local economy and bringing this little city back to life.

  “I heard it’s haunted,” Nev says.

  Jabbing an elbow into his rib, I say, “Stop. No, it’s not. I bet it’s opulent and elegant and breathtaking.”

  “We could climb the fence?” he asks. “Peek into those windows?”

  “I hope you’re joking. You know if you get arrested for trespassing, I won’t be able to bail you out.”

  “We could call the number on the For Sale sign? Ask for a tour?”

  I scoff. “Right, because a real estate agent won’t think it’s strange that a couple of teenagers are interested in purchasing a 1.6-million-dollar house.”

  “Maybe someday.”

  Laughing, I say, “Yeah, right.”

  “No, really. Maybe someday I’ll buy it for you. For us. We can throw big pool parties in the back, fill all those bedrooms with adorable little blue-eyed babies, and live the rest of our life like we’re in some F. Scott Fitzgerald novel … only one with a happy ending.”

  “What about the house in the country?” I give him a side eye.

  He frowns, brows narrowing. “That old fixer upper? Nah. This. This is what you deserve.”

  I roll my eyes. He’s such a dreamer sometimes. “I don’t care where we live. I just want to live with you.”

  Leaning closer, I kiss his full mouth, tasting the cinnamon gum on his tongue and lifting my hand to graze the side of his face.

  How funny would it be if we called this place home someday?

  I suppose anything is possible.

  Chapter Ten

  Five Hundred Texts

  Nevada

  One Week Later

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. I’ve just loaded the last of my things into the back of my truck when Yardley pulls up next to me.

  We spent the whole morning together and we must have said “I love you” a thousand different times in a thousand different ways—none of it ever feeling like it was quite enough.

  Yardley runs to me, the thin strap of her tank top falling off her left shoulder, and she wraps her arms around my shoulders, burying her face in my neck. When she pulls away, I realize her eyes are glassy and filled with tears.

  One falls, and I wipe it away with the pad of my thumb.

  But then another falls, and another, until I can no longer keep up with them.

  “Hey,” I say. “You promised. No tears.”

  She exhales, glancing down at her neon orange Nike sneakers. “I wanted to say goodbye one more time.”

  Cupping her sweet face in my hands, I bring my lips to her forehead. “This isn’t goodbye, Dove. I’m going to see you in four months. I’ll be home for Christmas. And we’ll talk on the phone every single night until then.”

  She slips her arms beneath mine, squeezing me tight. “I didn’t realize how hard this was going to be. Just knowing that I can’t see you or touch you anytime I want … it’s …”

  Her voice trails, and I run my hand through her soft hair. “I know.”

  My chest burns. Seeing her so distraught kills me. But I have to do this for us. For our future.

  “I upgraded my plan,” I say. “Five hundred texts a month. And they’re all for you.”

  She’s quiet.

  “And every night, nine o’clock my time, we’ll talk on the phone for as long as you want,” I add. Though she knows these things. I’ve told her dozens of times. We’ve been through all of this.

  I claim her mouth with one last kiss because I need to get on the road so I can make it to my hotel by eight o’clock tonight. It’s going to be a two-day trip and I’m going it alone, so I need a good night’s rest.

  “Don’t cry, Dove. Please,” I say, my mouth against hers. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

  Yardley sniffs before dabbing her wet cheeks and glancing to the side. “I’m sorry. I tried not to. I really did.”

  “I need you to be strong,” I say, standing tall. I can’t let her see that on the inside, I’m falling apart just as much as she is. I’m just better at hiding it. Call it an art or some shit, or maybe a product of growing up accustomed to constant disappointment and rarely getting the things you wanted. “Life is hard as hell sometimes. And we knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But it’s going to be worth it, Yardley. I promise. Just wait for me. You can do that, right? Just like we promised?”

  She nods quickly. Our eyes lock. “Of course. Yes. I promise.”

  I kiss her again, though it hardly satisfies. Hell, I’d throw her into the cab of my truck and take her with me if James Devereaux wouldn’t hunt me down until he had my head on a spear.

  “I have to go now.” I let her go, as much as it physically hurts, and I hold her gaze one last time—at least for now. “I love you, Yardley.”

  “I love you too.” She drags her hand beneath her left eye then her right, forcing a smile as she steps back. “Drive safe. And call me when you get to the hotel tonight.”

  “I will.”

  She lingers, arms folded across her chest. I linger, feet anchored to the gravel driveway. But there’s nothing more to be said.

  We’ve said it all.

  We’ve made every promise we possibly could, reassuring ourselves that everything’s going to work out. And I don’t doubt her for a second. Her love for me is real. Mine equally so.

  I meant what I said, and so did she, and that’s what’s going to get me through the next four years.

  Someday this time apart will be nothing more than a tiny speck on the timeline of our life together, and maybe we’ll look back at this and laugh at how scared we were to be without each other for a short period of time.

  “Everything’s going to work out,” I tell her as she walks away and I shut the gate of my truck.

  She stops, turning back toward me, her pink lips forming saddest smile I’ve ever seen. “I know.”

  A minute later, I climb inside my truck and start the engine.

  I said goodbye to my mom earlier today, when she left for work. Eden’s at work and Hunter’s at a friend’s house. We all said our casual goodbyes last night, but I saved the best for last. I wanted this morning to be all about Yardley. I wanted her to be the last thing I saw as I left town, and I want her to be the first thing I see the day I return.

  In the rearview, I watch Yardley back out of the driveway and disappear down the street. Taking in the tinny-blue trailer one last time, I punch the coordinates into my GPS, slip my aviators over my nose, and drive east with a heavy ache in my heart.

  I miss her already.

  Chapter Eleven

  The New Kid

  Yardley

  Three Weeks Later

  “Sooners, eh?”

  I glance up to find an unfamiliar face staring down at me, a speckled, mint green lunch tray in his hands. His eyes drop to the logo across my chest, and I’m pretty sure I caught
a hint of an accent in his voice.

  “It’s my boyfriend’s,” I say, tugging on my sleeves before adjusting the collar. This thing is way too big on me, but it still smells like him and it’s the next best thing to wearing his hugs. “He’s a fan.”

  The guy chuckles, reaching up to adjust the knit stocking cap on his head … which also bears the same logo. I don’t ask why he’s wearing a stocking cap in August. Judging by the rest of his appearance—swim trunk-looking shorts, a button down plaid shirt, black socks, and white shoes—he either likes attention or he’s making some kind of rebellious statement about seasonal wear.

  “You must be too?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “I find most Sooners fans to be obnoxious pricks. I just like the color. Mind if I sit?”

  I shrug. One of my friends from chemistry usually eats with me, but of course she’s sick on the first day of senior year. The rest of my friends have different lunch periods. It’s like I’m right back where I started not quite two years ago.

  “I’m Griffin,” he says, shoving a flaccid French fry into his mouth. He chewsa few times, staring at me, and then swallows. “Thing tasted better than it looked.”

  “You must not be too picky.” I glance down at my untouched meal. I can’t believe they charge three dollars for this crap.

  “This is five-star restaurant quality compared to my old school,” he says.

  “Where are you from?”

  “A little town outside Oklahoma City. Doubt you’ve heard of it,” he says.

  “You’re probably right.”

  “What’s your name?” he asks.

  “Yardley.”

  “No, your real name.” He’s teasing. I think. At least judging by the smirk on his tanned face.