The Path We Take (Young Love Book 2)

by Kylie Key

  Dad's eyebrows raised a fraction, as if he was acknowledging that was true. The perks of being a freelancer. A very successful freelancer. But he didn't comment and though it meant he hadn't rejected my proposal yet, I knew I needed to pull out my aces.

  I cleared my throat and faced him fully. "You tell me everyday that you love me. Mom too."

  "That's because I do," he said, sounding somewhat bemused. "We do."

  "Nobody tells Malachi that," I said, an instant, unplanned rush of tears welling in my eyes. "Dad, his father and Grandpa have never said I love you to him. You and me, we take it for granted. But Malachi's never heard it. He’s never had a family, a real family, Dad.”

  "People are different," Dad said, "Blossom, our normal isn't everybody else's normal. People live their own lives, in their own way.”

  "I want to be able to see Malachi everyday. I want to be able to tell him I love him. Everyday. I want to help him recover. Every step of the way." I was a mess by this stage, my eyes and nose streaming. "I can't explain it, but I need to be with Malachi." I turned my soaked tissue inside out, mopping my cheeks. "Malachi needs me. And I need him." And because I knew that there was nothing left to lose, I just said it, “Dad-can-Malachi-move-in-with-us-please-please-I’ll-do-anything-you-want-for-the-rest-of-my-life-just-please.”

  Dad reached over to the glove compartment. He handed me a whole packet of tissues. "We'll talk to Mom, Blossom, we'll see what Mom says."

  I planned Malachi's homecoming in my head - I'd set up Cassian’s old room for him and buy a new cover for the bed, maybe an LA Rams one. He'd be able to walk easily to the kitchen and pool, he could swim everyday, exercise in the gym and get stronger. Dad could take him to appointments during the day. And I would help him after school.

  Mom didn't think it would be that easy.

  “Dominique, you can't just bring this boy into our home. It's such a commitment. And what about your gymnastics?"

  "I'd still do it," I said, "I'm going to be on restricted training for another few months, so I'll have time to help him."

  "You've got to think of your study. You can't afford to slacken off now."

  "Mom, my grades are fine."

  "What about your friends? You don't want to miss out on parties and sleepovers and trips away?"

  “So, now you want me to party and you’re going to let me go away for Spring Break?” I rolled my eyes and my voice went up an octave. “When for the past three years of high school you’ve tried to ban me from going to every party?” My level of sarcasm was extreme.

  “You’re exaggerating,” Mom said, in her typically curt manner. “We’ve never stopped you going anywhere.”

  ‘Hmphh!” I snorted. “Dad demands permission for dating. He wants lists of who’s going to be at the party, he wants everybody’s car registrations and shoe size!”

  Mom tutted with disapproval, her glare dismissing me as being immature.

  "What if you fall out of love with him? You're only seventeen. What then?"

  I looked at Mom blankly. "Fall out of love?"

  "Yes, what then?" she said, all brusque and impatient. "What happens then?"

  "How...how do you fall out of love?" I asked again.

  "People fall in and out of love all the time Dominique," Mom sounded exasperated, like she thought I was being silly, smart, sassy.

  "Cassian never stopped loving Paola. Even when they were apart. Did you know that? And Nathan, he always loved Magdala. Even for the all the years she was abroad." My brother and sister had epic love stories, enviable, endurable love stories. "Can you ever imagine falling out of love with Dad?"

  "No I can't, but we're not talking about me and your father. We're talking about you and Malachi and you're 17 and he's a boy who-" She stopped abruptly, mid-sentence, as if she'd suddenly remembered something, or been distracted by another train of thought.

  "A boy who what?" I prepared myself for the ranting onslaught: he was a boy with tattoos and gang connections, an incarcerated father and a drunken grandfather, a boy condemned to a life of pain.

  But Mom's eyes watered, went all dewy and misty and her voice softened. "He's a boy who has made you open your eyes and appreciate everything you have. He's a boy who has never complained about his lot in life." Her tears ran down her cheeks now and my Mom, who was usually the epitome of cool and control, started to weep. "A boy who has taken your heart, my baby girl, and given you the gift of love, who gave you hope when you thought you had nothing." I stared at her, wide-eyed and speechless. "Who gives you a reason to smile." She sniffed and laughed and sighed and grabbed a paper towel to blot her face. "Oh lord, look at me, blubbering like an old fool."

  I cautiously made my way towards her, unsure if she was over her mini meltdown. She used her thumbs to wipe beneath her lashes, mindful of her mascara, no doubt. Then she swallowed me up in her arms.

  "Dominique, my beautiful, beautiful baby. I wanted everything for you. The world. Every opportunity. Every success." She clutched my head to her chest as if she was on her dying breath. "But I only realized right now, that more than anything I want you to love. And to be loved. That’s what matters most." Her lips caressed the top of my hair. "It truly is what matters most."

  She released me, cradling my face, still looking sentimental. "Baby, I love you and Daddy loves you. And Malachi loves you. And that's precious."

  It took me a moment to absorb, to process her words, her blessing. But I was cautious, uncertain. “So, Malachi can stay?" I whispered.

  “Malachi can stay,” she said, and over her shoulder I looked up to see Dad grinning and pumping his fist.

  Epilogue

  The Thanksgiving crowds are already out in force as Dad drops us close to the mall. I position my backpack on my shoulders, and then pull out the long cardboard sign from the trunk and lean it against the car.

  "Do you need a hand?" Dad asks, as he checks his rear view mirror.

  "No, we're okay. Thanks. See you later." I quickly give him a peck on his cheek, mindful of the traffic building behind us. I gather the sign and join Malachi, who has made his way onto the pavement.

  "Shall I carry that?" he asks.

  He laughs as I pretend to balance it on his head, but then securely tuck it under my left arm so I can hold his hand. He gently squeezes it and it sends a warm tingle through me. Malachi's progress has been remarkable, with one crutch he moves with relative ease now. His independence and his determination with his recovery makes me proud.

  My brother and Ella make me proud too. We're heading down to the promenade where they have a permit to be street musicians. Damon is home for the holiday break and he and Ella are keen to perform together, hoping to impress the shoppers.

  From what I've heard of them practicing in our living room, I know they're going to be a hit. Even so, earlier this morning Damon gave me a bunch of dollar bills, telling me to drop them into the hat periodically, to make it look like they are being successful.

  I will duly oblige, though I think it will be unnecessary.

  Ella looks cute in a sparkly silver top and short red skirt. She's standing behind a keyboard, playing up a storm, while Damon is perched on a stool, strumming his guitar. He's wearing a gray t-shirt and jeans and is clean shaven and, as he sings, he keeps glancing to Ella and smiling. They're such a cute couple. So much in love.

  Ella's empty violin case is filled with a lot of coins and a few notes. I'm sure the twenty dollar bill is one placed by Damon. He says it’s psychology, when people see others being generous, they'll follow suit. I had argued that people might be more giving if they felt sorry for an empty case.

  The song finishes and I lead a polite round of applause and step forward to drop in my dollar note. Damon winks appreciatively.

  "Guys, I got you a sign," I say, as I tear off the laminated card that Ella has taped on the front of her keyboard. It reads McCaughley & Strauss. I replace it with my extra large sign, designed by Dad, which says: McStrauss.

  Ell
a and Damon laugh and I slip back into the crowd, next to Malachi. He hooks his injured arm into mine. Again, I feel a rush of warmth.

  "Okay, I guess that's official then," Ella says, "we are McStrauss!" The crowd claps and Ella’s Dad calls, "Can I have fries with that?" Everyone laughs. "Hey, it's fantastic to see you guys here. Thanks for supporting us. I hope you enjoy our next song." She looks to Damon, her face glowing.

  "This is the first song we sang together," Damon says, talking to the crowd. "It's called Invisible. When Ella first started helping me with my songwriting, she thought she was invisible to me." He shoots a smile at Ella and then tells the audience, "Believe me, she was never invisible." The crowd cheers. A tear threatens in the corner of my eye. I'm astounded by Ella and Damon's sincerity and confidence.

  It doesn't take long for a decent size crowd to swell around, and surprisingly it's not only our friends. Ella, Trieste and I had handed out flyers for the senior class, but it's completely random people who are throwing in their loose change.

  Ainsley and her Mom arrive, as does Selina and her sister and I think I spot Trieste's blue-streaked hair on the outskirts of the crowd. Ella's sisters and their friends are swaying to the music. It's like a street party.

  After the song I step forward again, dropping my own ten dollar bill in the case. I whisper to Damon that I'm going to take Malachi to sit down and that we'll come back later. Malachi's not complaining, but I know that standing for too long can be tiring.

  "Stay for one more song," he says, "just one more."

  I nod, and go back and reclaim Malachi's arm. He smiles and brushes his lips against my hair, making me melt into him.

  "We have a special song next," Damon announces and the crowd seems to immediately silence when he speaks. Like he has total control over them. His charisma is mesmerizing. "This is a new song that Ella and I wrote together. And it's been inspired by two very special people." Damon's eyes find mine, and my heart rate elevates considerably. "These two people have been through a massive ordeal in the past year, and where most might give up and lose hope, these two people have surged ahead."

  Ella chimes in. "Damon and I have been so inspired by them, that we had to write a song." She's looking at Malachi and me. I wrap my arm around him a little tighter. "And this was probably one of the fastest songs we ever wrote, wasn't it Damon?"

  "It sure was," Damon says. "Songs that come straight from the heart are the easiest to write."

  The crowd is spellbound, the banter between the two of them is so natural, effortless.

  "We hope you like it," Ella says, smiling at Malachi and me. "It's called Change your dream.”

  It feels like my heart stops.

  "Yeah, this is Change your dream," says Damon, "though Ella calls it Lemons and Ice cream." Everyone snickers.

  Ella picks up her violin and plays an introduction. I'm so nervous that I'm shaking and barely breathing. Then Ella puts down her violin, picks up the mic and Damon is now tapping his palms on an old drum that I'm sure used to sit in the corner of our living room with a cactus plant on it.

  And Ella starts rapping:

  Straight A's, good grades, that's the plan

  Study hard, top of the class

  Doing the best you can

  You won't need it but you're studying algebra

  Won't use Japanese, world history or calculus

  You follow the path they tell you to

  Go straight to college when you finish school

  If there's no scholarship take out a loan

  Clock up a debt kid, you're on your own

  Take all your stuff, you're leaving home

  The big wide world is yours to roam

  The crowd roars. She is seriously so good! Damon picks up his guitar and starts singing:

  But life can give us lemons and not ice cream

  And the path we take is not what it seems

  But we can't give up and cry and scream

  We have to turn up and change our dream

  Ella raps again:

  Science, physics and chemistry

  Make sure you ace your SATs

  Gotta get into an Ivy League

  Make my parents proud of me

  The say the road is straight and clear

  No need to wait, choose a career

  Doctor, lawyer, engineer

  Need to make a hundred grand a year

  And Damon sings:

  But life can give you lemons and not ice cream

  Find yourself against the current going upstream

  And all you wanna do is cry and scream

  Because you realize this ain't your dream

  You realize you have to change your dream

  Ella raps:

  Sat in class reading Romeo and Juliet

  But never understanding a word of it

  It's so old fashioned, it just doesn't fit

  You hate it so much, you wanna quit

  That's the stuff they think you need to learn

  But what happens when you crash and burn

  What happens when life deals you a blow

  What happens when you sink so low?

  And Damon sings:

  When life gives you lemons and not ice cream

  When you find yourself without a team

  When it throws you things that are too extreme

  When you can no longer chase your dream

  Then know it's time to change your dream

  And together they sing:

  When life gives you lemons and not ice cream

  When you wanna cry and shout and scream

  When you've fallen off your balance beam

  Then you know it's time to change your dream

  And you can do it

  You

  Can

  Change

  Your

  Dream

  The crowd erupts into applause, but I'm shaking, my eyes watering, my heart full, but fragile, holding Malachi tight because I fear my legs will give way.

  I hear Ella's voice say, "Thank you everybody. McStrauss is going to take a short break, but don't go too far. We'll be back soon."

  It seems like in a flash we're encased by a swarming mob, and Ella and Damon pull us into a group hug. Accolades of You're amazing and You guys are so inspiring and That was brilliant ring out and I join in, saying, "You guys are truly, truly amazing." I reach up to pat Damon's shoulder affectionately.

  Ainsley is taking photos and Selina is mischievously asking Ella for her autograph. Trieste is standing next to, and chatting with Felix Northcott. I'm obviously seeing things because Trieste has openly called Felix a thrift shop, nerdy, geeky jerk — her exact words. I do a double take and now they’re laughing together. I'm instantly curious but when I turn around again Trieste is taking a selfie with Ella. Probably they were discussing the flyer design, which he’d helped design.

  I stand on tiptoe and shout into Malachi's ear, "Shall we sit down for a bit? You can buy me a hot chocolate."

  He nods, but then Damon inserts himself between us, drawing us into his arms.

  "You guys are amazing," he says and everyone hushes as my brother speaks. He definitely has a commanding presence, and my heart swells with pride, but its beat is off, flip flopping all over the place. "And inspiring." He looks from Malachi to me.

  "It's you who's amazing. You and Ella," I say, aware that I'm overusing the word. "You're going to be stars, I know it."

  "Dom, Malachi..., you guys are brave and amazing and inspiring." I look down, embarrassed because my brother is saying such nice things about me, about us, and in front of a crowd. "Dom, I know gymnastics was your dream..." My throat tightens, but I feel his arm squeeze my waist, "And life threw you a curveball, but your resilience is incredible. And because of you, I'm gonna change my dream."

  I look up to him, startled and bewildered. "What?"

  "I'm going to transfer back home next year. I'm going to study music."

  "But computer science?" All I can th
ink is that Mom is going to kill him.

  "I HATE computer science," he says and everyone laughs. "Ella and I are going to make a go of this music thing, see where it takes us."

  "And I'm going to study music and voice here too," Ella says.

  "But teaching? And environmental science?"

  "I've changed my dream," Ella says, with a smile.

  It all seems crazy, lives turning upside down.

  Malachi and I head toward the cafe. He takes my hand in his, my fingers rub across his scarred skin, caressing it gently.

  "Would it be weird if I said getting burnt was the best thing to happen to me?" he asks.

  "Yes," I say, "that is weird. Very weird."

  "If I didn't, I'd never have met you."

  "Well then, is it weird if I say that tearing my ACL was the best thing to happen to me? If I didn't, I'd never have met you." I giggle and he squeezes my hand again and he makes a circular movement with his thumb, sending a tingle up my spine. "Can you believe they wrote a song about us?"

  "I think it's more about you," Malachi says.

  "Uh-uh," I shake my head, "It's about you and me. We were meant to be."

  "I totally agree.” Malachi smiles.

  "Did we just rhyme?"

  "It was just one line."

  "You think we could rival Ella and Damon?" I laugh. "Maybe we can write songs?"

  "Can you sing?" he asks.

  "No. Can you?"

  “No." He laughs, letting go of my hand and encircling my waist. He leans his head against mine and whispers, "You're better than any dream I ever had, Dominique Strauss."

  I smile, feeling safe in his arms, loved by his words, cherished by his touch.

  And I'm happier than I've ever been before.

  MALACHI

  I always wanted another life.

  As far back as I can remember, I knew I wasn’t lucky. I knew other kids had different lives to mine. Other kids’ parents stood on the sidelines at football or little league. Not mine. I was dropped off, and maybe someone would come back to pick me up. If not, I knew how to walk home.

  Other kids weren’t tattooed. They didn’t have to clean up or cook their own food. They didn’t have to sleep on a couch.