The Path We Take (Young Love Book 2)

by Kylie Key

  I turned, hopeful of a smile because, really, there was no reason for us to be enemies. And I didn't want to spend the year tiptoeing around whenever I was in his presence, which seemed might be frequent if Ainsley and Logan were becoming a thing.

  So I smiled and said, "Taylor." After all, this boy with perfect hair, perfect teeth and perfect knees had been to my house, sat in my kitchen, chatted with my Dad and given me my first kiss.

  And, as hard as it was for me to admit, he was very, very cute.

  Taylor's lips curled, not into a teeth baring smile, but a lopsided smirk, and then he sucked in his cheeks, pursed his mouth and repeatedly made fish lips.

  I froze as he strode off, his mocking, derisive laugh grating in my ears. I looked around, stunned, shaken, alone, my friends already off to their next classes. A girl bumped into me and I apologized, my legs moving on automatic.

  But my mind was jumbled, a mess. Everything seemed to be spiralling out of my control. And not just Taylor Jensen. My busted knee, my uncertain gymnastics future, my wavering friendships, my pathetic declaration of love to Malachi.

  I was a joke, my life was a joke.

  Though there was nothing remotely funny about any of it.

  Ainsley caught me up after school.

  "Did Taylor talk to you?” she asked. "Does he want to get back together?" She hooked her arm through mine and forced me to walk in her direction.

  "No," I said, still bothered by his actions.

  "Hey, wouldn't it be awesome if you two started dating again and we all went out together?" She was texting as she talked to me.

  "It's not going to happen," I said. She continued on her phone and I knew she wasn't listening to me. Ainsley's makeup was perfect. She'd told me she had spent almost an hour getting her eyes just right.

  "Selina, Tree and me are going to the mall. You should come." She angled her phone and took a selfie, giggling as she sent it to someone. My notifications pinged. Make that everyone. Ainsley's picture was a kitty cat filter, framed by stars and she'd written First day of school over, with a million love hearts.

  "I have to meet my gymnastics coach," I said, "we're going over some conditioning exercises. Hopefully I'll start training soon."

  "Oohh," Ainsley laughed. "Logan says I look purrrrfect." She posed again, snapping another photo of herself.

  "I better go," I said, pulling my arm from hers and adjusting my backpack, "I'll see you later, have fun."

  "You too," she said, still typing on her phone. I'd walked about six paces when I heard her squeal, "Domi! Love you!" She was waving frantically and blew me an air kiss. I blew a pathetic air kiss back, but I felt like a fraud.

  And as I drove to gymnastics, I pondered Damon's words. He said Ainsley had changed, but what if he was wrong? What if it was me who had changed?

  CHAPTER 9

  I felt like I was walking around in a trance. Life was happening around me, but I wasn't participating. I was merely existing, operating on auto pilot.

  School, classes, cafe dates, makeovers, sleepovers. I was busy doing all the things, but something was missing. In one week we'd been through the entire coffee menu at our new favorite cafe, binge watched three seasons of a Netflix show we'd already seen, had our faces smothered in seaweed, charcoal and mud masks, and now my chin had developed the biggest zit ever. Ironically, I wished I could wear a surgical mask.

  I was grateful when Brigitte emailed me through my new conditioning program and saw that she wanted me training four afternoons a week. There would be relief from cappuccinos and cupcakes.

  I was hoping that returning to gymnastics would bring me out of my slump. I was nervous about training, about testing out my new knee. Usually my place of great comfort and joy, I worried that I'd been left behind, scared that my newly reconstructed knee would let me down. Eight to twelve months for full recovery, I'd now been told. Baby steps, little by little, slow and steady. Even with a new training regime in place, a lingering doubt covered me like a rain cloud, a fear that I'd never fully recover, that my gymnastics career was over before it had a chance to begin. That my list of failures was about to grow even longer.

  Mom and Dad adamantly believed a scholarship was still a possibility. Both were motivating me to stick to my dreams, to work hard, to have faith in myself. I went along with it, telling them that I was focused solely on my gymnastics. I didn't outright say I'd stopped volunteering with Malachi, only that Mrs Marshall was reading to him now. I hoped no one ever found out my secret — that I'd made an utter and complete fool of myself by declaring love to him. Remembering those words still made my face burn with shame.

  My first week back at training went better than I'd anticipated. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed the discipline, the camaraderie of the other athletes and the support of the coaches. Everyone was welcoming, and I enjoyed watching and encouraging Lucy and the younger girls.

  Lucy's Mom was delayed at work, so I'd offered to drive her home after the session. Lucy didn't have her learner's permit yet. For someone who was unafraid of doing a full twist back flip on a four inch beam, Lucy had a fear of having to drive in traffic. She was impatiently waiting for the day when driverless cars would become the norm.

  I unlocked the car and tossed my training bag into the backseat, as did Lucy. She opened the passenger door, the seat covered in a jumble of my clothing items. Damon would have a fit, he was a freak about keeping his car clean, any scrap of paper or crumbs were quickly vacuumed up. In fact he was pedantic about eating in his car, you had to hold a napkin if you dared.

  "Oops, a bit of a mess," I said, throwing my training jacket, a pair of leggings and socks into the backseat.

  "What's this?" Lucy said, as she picked up the upturned book on the seat. She buckled herself in and flipped it to its cover. "Benji Bear Plays Football," she said with a smile, and she fanned through the pages.

  "Oh, that's..." I started to say. I was about to reach for it when several colored notes fluttered out. Lucy picked up a yellow piece of paper, about four by four in size, and read, "You're beautiful Dominique." She held it up. "Oh how sweet."

  I recognized the uneven, childlike printing as Malachi’s, the letters slanted at different angles. My heart rate doubled in a flash.

  Lucy held up the purple note that had floated onto her lap. "Dominique, thank you for the flowers and for Benji. Benji is the best gift I ever had. I love you and Benji with all my heart." Lucy grinned and I plucked the papers from her fingertips, my eyes casting over Malachi's handwriting. My heart was now thumping manically, uncontrollably.

  "Oh, that's from Daniela," I said, as I tugged the book from her grip and slipped the notes between the pages. I shoved it onto the backseat, covering it with my jacket.

  "That's adorable," Lucy said, seemingly not noticing my reddened face, rising blood pressure and panicked actions. "She's the sweetest."

  “Yes, she is," I said, totally flustered as I turned the key. The engine made a screeching sound and Lucy looked across with concern. I stupidly realized the engine was already running, but Lucy didn't know that. I'd forgotten how to drive. And breathe.

  I double checked I was in reverse and backed out of the parking space carefully, thankful Lucy had started talking about her beam dismount. I tried to listen but the words I love you and Benji with all my heart were all I could think about. I needed to get Lucy home as quickly as possible so I could look at those notes, study them, verify that they were written by Malachi, and that they were, indeed, meant for me. It was possible Lucy could have read them wrong.

  Dad was in the kitchen, stirring a pan on the stove, when I arrived laden with my backpack, clothes and the book. "Hi Blossom, how was training?"

  "Great," I said, trying to appear absolutely normal, "I'll just shower." I smiled widely and had taken two steps when his voice boomed, "Hey!"

  I stopped and looked over my shoulder. Had the notes dropped out?

  "You're not asking what's for dinner?" he asked.

&n
bsp; "I'm sure it's one of your culinary masterpieces," I said, as I scurried along. Dad thought pretty highly of his own cooking skills, but it would be a miracle if I could eat anything.

  I heard him call, "It's Thai Green Curry. It’ll be ready in twenty."

  I closed my door and dumped my bag and clothes on the floor. I took the book into my bathroom and locked the door. I sat down on the toilet lid and stared at the cover.

  If Malachi had written those notes, if he had said that he loved me and Benji with all his heart, if he had called me beautiful...

  Malachi had been adamant I take the Benji book, almost collapsing in fatigue by shouting out my name. And I had thought it was because he wanted to severe all ties with me.

  What if I'd been wrong? What if I'd just put Malachi through two weeks of hell?

  I opened the book, the prospect both exciting and terrifying.

  If Malachi had written those notes for me, then my behavior had been despicable.

  A red piece of paper caught my eye first, then pink, blue, a rainbow of colors. The yellow and purple ones were tucked together in the back.

  My hands shook as I read the pink one: I think of you all the time Dominiqe (My name was spelt wrong).

  The blue one said: I love you but I don't want you to love me Dominiqe. My skin is burned off, I’m scarred and I don't know if I'll ever walk again

  The red one said: Thank you for giving me back my name, I never liked being Spider

  And, as Lucy had read, the yellow one said: You're beautiful Dominiqe

  And the purple one: Dominiqe, thank you for the flowers and for Benji. Benji is the best gift I ever had. I love you and Benji with all my heart.

  I shuffled through the papers, reading and rereading, a chill running through me. I'd made a mistake, a terrible, unforgivable mistake. I'd abandoned, condemned and slammed Malachi. I hadn't listened to him, hadn't given him a chance to tell me how he felt. I'd jumped to my own crazy conclusions, judged him, accused him of feelings he'd never had. I'd sulked and brooded and pitied myself.

  But I'd been wrong. So very, very wrong.

  Because Malachi wanted me. Malachi loved me.

  But he didn't want me to love him. He didn't want to burden me.

  The hate I felt for myself was overwhelming.

  Tears streamed down my cheeks like Niagara Falls. Malachi's love was the truest, the purest, he loved me without strings, without conditions.

  And I'd failed him completely.

  I'd failed myself.

  I showered and texted Dad that I would do some extra stretching and to leave my dinner in the microwave. I had totally lost my appetite.

  I laid in bed, ignoring texts and messages from my friends, my mind overloaded, full of agony and regret for what I'd put Malachi through. I'd behaved so badly, my actions defensive and spiteful. I'd deserted a boy who was already suffering through the most horrifying of ordeals, who was alone, who had nothing but a life of pain ahead of him.

  I cried myself to sleep, full of resolve that I would fix this. I would pray, beg, plead to Malachi for forgiveness.

  And then I would spend the rest of my life making it up to him.

  I HAD SURPRISINGLY slept like a log, probably due to the training session. It had been my heaviest yet since returning to gymnastics and as I slid out of bed, my muscles protested. I half smiled, I liked the pain, the burn, the stiffness, it meant I'd worked hard. But then I remembered Malachi and knew my pain was nothing.

  Mom had been out of town for work so I hadn't seen her the last two days, but she was sipping on a cup of green tea between eating a plate of berries and unloading the dishwasher.

  "How's school been, baby?"

  "Great," I said, not wanting to get into an in depth conversation with her, "busy."

  "And you're happy with all your classes?"

  "Yes, except Mrs Collins. She's weird. She's always making us-" Mom's phone rang and she answered immediately, turning away to talk. I waited, wanting to tell her about my English teacher's policy of changing the seating plan every lesson. She didn't want the same people sitting side by side all semester, wanting us to branch out and mingle and ‘explore new possibilities,’ she called it. Most kids didn't like it, including Ainsley, Ella and I, who had always sat together.

  But Mom went out the back door and I didn't have time to wait. I finished my banana smoothie and went upstairs to shower and do my hair.

  I had planned to stop by the florist and pick up a bunch of flowers and chocolates so that I could be ready to go straight to the hospital when school finished. I needed to give myself every advantage and intended to grovel on bended knee, if necessary.

  My detour meant I was a little later to school and I found my friends congregated around Ainsley's car in the parking lot, leaning in to watch her latest makeup tutorial. She was asking for feedback before she uploaded it online.

  "Domi, I wondered where you were. Did you get my text?" Ainsley waved me into the group, her arm going around me like a mother hen. "You haven't got any eye makeup on."

  "What text?" I asked, choosing to ignore her accusatory comment, and rummaged in the front pocket of my backpack to retrieve my phone.

  Her onscreen voice was recommending applying concealer under the eyes in a tiny circular motion. I found my phone and checked her text. It read: Maple Kiss or Copper Creme. Looking at her lips, I could see she went for the latter.

  "Domi, what are you wearing?" Trieste asked. Self-consciously I looked down at the pastel, floral print, babydoll style dress, it was one my sister had bought for me. It was floaty and swept around my knees, making my ugly knee brace less obvious.

  "That's Domi's bohemian look," Ainsley answered, before I could utter a word, "braided hair, makeup free." Her lips curled into a smile. "All you need now is some dangly feather earrings."

  My cheeks flushed, Very Berry Blush, I'd say, at a guess.

  Ainsley squeezed my shoulder, oblivious to my embarrassment. "That's given me a great idea for a video. I could do fashion trends. What's hot, what's not!"

  Somehow, I assumed that wasn't a compliment towards me.

  "Fashion makeovers. Before and after," Selina chimed in and the chatter escalated into a shrill pitch as ideas were tossed about. I had nothing to say, nothing to add, as I glanced down at my dress, the one I'd been wearing on the day Malachi had kissed me, the day he'd called me beautiful, the day I'd told him I loved him.

  I walked with my friends into school, like a sheep, following the back of the flock. I tried to listen to the school gossip, to be interested in celebrity talk and boys and parties and nail colors. I desperately wanted to fit in.

  My whole school life I'd been defined by three things: I was Damon's little sister, Ainsley Ambler's bestie and 'that gymnast girl.' That was the total sum of my existence, that's how people, the world, saw me.

  Except for one person.

  One person saw me differently.

  He didn't know my brother or my friends. He'd only ever seen me limp.

  By the time we reached the lockers my heart was pounding and my lungs were struggling to use oxygen. The talk was now about a junior girl who had crashed her car into a fire hydrant after a fight with her boyfriend. I didn't know the girl. I had no opinion on her situation.

  All I could think about was a boy lying in a lonely hospital bed, in a lonely hospital room, who didn't want me to love him.

  "Stupid me. I've left my iPad in my car," I said, staring into my open locker.

  "Are you sure?" Ella asked, while Ainsley said, "Oh no!"

  I slammed the door shut and locked it. "I'll catch up," I said, not aimed at anyone in particular. Without waiting for any response, I made my way back down the corridor in my zombie-run, dragging my injured leg behind me.

  The second bell rang as I unlocked my car and buckled up my seatbelt. I glanced behind me at the bouquet of flowers and the chocolates. They'd be wilted and melted by three o'clock.

  Mom would be mad if I ditched
school. So would Dad.

  But there was no way I'd be able to sit in classes all day and not think about anything but Malachi. My concentration levels and productivity would be zero. I needed to see him. I needed to sort things with him. And I needed to do it now.

  I entered the elevator with my heart pounding in my ears, wondering if I was in the throes of an anxiety attack.

  I timidly asked the vaguely familiar man at the nurses' station if Jill was around, half prepared that he would tell me it was too early for visiting. But Jill came charging from the back room in purple sneakers, her hair cut short and trendily streaked with pink highlights.

  "Wow, you look great," I said.

  She laughed and patted at the ends and said, "I needed a change up, but hey, look at you." Her eyes were kind, even though she was probably thinking the worst. “It’s so good to see you." She squeezed me tightly, like she was making sure I was real, and my eyes watered. "Is everything all right, sweetheart? No school today?"

  "Yes, there is school," I admitted, "but no, everything's not all right." My chin wobbled. "Jill, I've treated him so badly, I've made a big mistake and I don't know if he'll forgive me."

  Jill's touch was warm, reassuring, non-judgmental. "He'll be pleased to see you," she said and she pinched my cheek. "You look gorgeous. Now suit up and I'll get these flowers into a vase."

  "He's in his room?"

  "There's been some delays this morning."

  I waited for Jill to sort the flowers, there would be safety in numbers. There was every chance he'd reject me. And why wouldn't he? Who could forgive a bratty, spoilt schoolgirl?

  My heart was racing at breakneck speed and I clutched the box of chocolates to my chest, ready to present it as a peace offering. My feet felt like they were set in concrete and the steps to Malachi's room loomed like a march to the executioner's chamber.

  Through the window I could see he was lying back on the bed. A shiver ran through me — from a glance I knew he didn't look right. He was still, his eyes closed, his face unshaven.

  Jill pushed open the door, making a deliberately loud noise.