by Clara Stone
“You wouldn’t!” She struggles against me.
I mock-throw her toward the water.
“Don’t you dare, Heath!” she squeals.
I grin in response. “You know how you can get out of this? Tell. Me.”
“Why are you being such an ass?”
I pull her to my chest and cradle her. “Because I can.”
“Can’t you be nice to me on my birthday?”
“Nope. I’m only doing what you want me to.”
She arches her eyebrow. “And what might that be?”
“To not make this day special.”
“I—”
“Time’s up!” I run into the cold waves and jump, making sure that I fall first, taking the slap of the water against my back.
A few moments later, I bob up and squirt water out of my mouth, but I don’t find Ace anywhere.
“Ace,” I yell, looking around, trying to find movement in the water, a bobbing of blonde locks somewhere. When I don’t get a response, I panic. “Come on, baby.” I swim a little further from the shore and look around again. “Ace, I swear to God, don’t fuck with me right now.” When she still doesn’t respond, I dive deeper, but I can’t see a fucking thing. The water is cold, and I’m unable to hold my breath for long periods.
“Ace!” I’m screaming now. Then I feel a quick tug at my leg, and I’m being pulled under.
Before I can make sense of what’s happening, my arms are wrapped around soft flesh, and I’m being guided toward the surface. I gulp down a huge breath of air as Ace laughs. She ruffles my hair and splashes water into my face.
All the alcohol has been washed away by adrenaline and the fear of losing her. I pull her to me, my grip harsh around her waist. “Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again.”
She cringes, but I don’t back down. I’m so angry, I don’t even know if I’m pissed at her, or the thought of not having her in my life.
“Do you even know what kind of hell you just put me through? Do you, Ace?”
She shrinks in my arms, like she’d rather drown in the water than be yelled at. “I-I’m sorry.”
The pain in her voice brings me back from my own.
I let go of her body and cup her face between my hands. I study her as emotions slam into me. Losing her isn’t an option. I’ve known this girl my entire life, and God forbid, if something happens to her . . . it just isn’t a fucking option.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say. “I love you too much, and losing you . . .” I let out a heavy breath. “I just can’t. You understand, don’t you?”
She nods, tears rolling down her cheeks. I want to kiss them away so bad. So this time, I do. I run my thumbs under her eyes and lean in. Her eyes close when I press my lips to her right cheek, then her left. I pull back.
“Open your eyes, baby.”
She obeys. There’s something in them that I can’t read. It feels like the winds have changed and there’s something brewing between us—something she’s not sharing with me.
I lean closer and closer. “Ace,” I whisper.
“Yeah?” Her response is no higher than a wisp.
“Have you ever wanted something so bad, you feel like you can’t breathe?” My voice sounds foreign to me. It’s like I’ve stepped into some Nicholas Sparks movie, trying to woo the girl. And I want to woo this girl in my arms.
Her eyes bore into mine as she nods. I lick my lips and her mouth parts slightly. I can feel her shiver in my arms, and my heart’s beating a thousand times faster.
“Kiss me, Heath.”
That’s all the asking I need. My lips press into hers, and immediately, she responds with so much passion, I almost forget what to do. Her arms wrap around my neck. My skin warms as her fingers tangle through my wet hair. My own fingers graze across her ass, pulling her legs around my waist, securing her in my arms. Her tongue traces the inside of my mouth, and my hips rock into her.
The warmth that fills me prickles my eyes with emotion. I don’t know why, but this kiss feels different. It is different, like she’s trying to tell me something. Her tongue parts my lips and slips into my mouth like she has the right to be there. And she does. God, does she ever.
“Heath,” she whispers. Her chest heaves as I catch my breath for a second before lowering my lips to her throat.
God, yes, baby. I want to tell her this is everything I’ve ever wanted. This—her in my arms, kissing her, cherishing her—this is all I need. And maybe some food, bathroom breaks, and showers once in a while, but, without her . . . I want to tell her that without her, nothing else makes sense.
“Heath,” she whimpers as I trail my lips to her collarbone. “Take me away.”
I groan against her skin before I pull back and stare into her gray eyes; they’re sad and happy and excited and scared, all at the same time.
“Heath, take me away from all of this.”
I blink.
“Please,” she begs. “I want to forget everything but you.” She laces her fingers into my hair and pulls my mouth to hers with such force, our teeth clash. “I want to remember only you. Please. Take me away.”
I don’t know how to respond. I knew something was different about her tonight, but I never expected her to say this. Not this. But, before my mind knows what it wants, I respond:
“Okay.”
HEATH DOESN’T KNOW WHY I ask him to take me away, but he agrees. I couldn’t tell him about the blood test or the biopsy. I mean, why tell him when there’s nothing to worry about? I try to convince myself that’s the truth, but it’s the biggest, fattest lie I’ve ever told anyone—including myself. I shove aside the guilt slowly rising inside me. Heath deserves to be happy, to enjoy and move on with his life. He deserves it.
But I’m selfish. I want to experience at least one weekend without the taint of my possible sickness ruining the way he looks at me.
It took time to convince Dad to let me go away with Heath. Emily had offered to lie for me, to say that I’d be spending the weekend with her. But I’ve never lied to Dad; why start now? Eventually, he’d understood why I needed this and had agreed. So, here I am, selfishly asking Heath to spend the weekend alone with me. I’m not sure how far I want things to go between us, physically, but I want to feel closer to him emotionally. And there are a few things I want to do before I have to face down the biopsy results on Monday.
Heath has a state competition on Tuesday, which means his team leaves Monday morning. By the time he gets back, I’ll have had time to digest my fate, good or bad. I couldn’t let him risk his championship because his thoughts were on me. So, for the first time ever, I decided to lie to him. I’m the worst best friend in the world. But I just couldn’t get myself to tell him, not after the way he’d panicked when he didn’t find me in the water last night.
“This isn’t a good idea.” Dad paces the room, changing his mind again. Whenever he gets near the window, he peeks outside at the street, where I’d asked Heath to wait for me. “Ace, please, stay here, rest. Spend time with him here at home.”
I drop my bag on the sofa and wrap my arms around his pudgy midsection. My ear presses against his chest. “I need this time with him, Dad. We’ve talked about this. It’s important to me.”
“Will you tell him?”
I shake my head. “I want him to remember me by these next few days. Not the broken, sick girl I might end up being when he comes back.”
He sighs, and kisses my forehead. “Promise me you’ll call if there’s anything you need. Anything at all.”
I pull back and look at him. “I will. Promise.”
His eyes have red rims.
“Good.” He kisses my forehead one last time before I grab my bag off the sofa. Then we walk, hip to hip, toward the front door.
“Bye, Dad,” I say with a spring in my step, making sure to put on a show for Heath as I hop down the steps onto the driveway. Heath straightens, pushing off the Jeep, and heads toward me.
“Ace,” Dad calls. I stop
and turn, watching him walk swiftly up to me. He gently grabs my shoulder and looks earnestly into my eyes. “Tell him, baby girl.”
I bite my lip, but before I can respond, Heath reaches for my bag. “Let me.”
I smile up at him, releasing it from my grasp. I turn back to Dad. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I hop into the Wrangler with Heath’s help and glance back to where Dad stands, looking broken and alone. His arms cross over his chest and worry lines etch across his face. My chest tightens and suddenly, I’m feeling out of breath. But I don’t let it show.
“Call me,” Dad says, his eyebrows fusing together.
I blow him an air-kiss as Heath pulls out of the driveway.
The drive over is extremely quite. The usual Heath flirts and comebacks are nowhere, even when I give him an opening. With a hand on the steering wheel and another holding mine, he simply drives. Silently. Quietly.
After four hours and forty-five minutes, we arrive at one of the resorts Heath’s family owns. I ask him to swing by the closest pharmacy before we check in. He gives me a weird look, but doesn’t say anything; he simply makes a detour and waits in the car as I run inside.
“That’ll be $36.68,” the pharmacist says.
I dig in my purse for cash and hand her two twenty-dollar bills.
“Any questions?” she asks, processing the payment.
I shake my head. I’d only requested Dr. Hutchinson to send the Vicodin prescription as precaution. I wasn’t planning on using any of it.
She hands me the bag with my change. “Thank you,” I say.
“I hope you get better soon,” she offers. “I’m sure everything will turn out okay.”
That seems to be the mantra coming from everyone—Vincent, Emily, and now the pharmacist—who’s found out about my biopsy. I want to believe it so much, but I can’t find a way to make my head stay positive.
“Ace?” Heath’s voice comes from behind me, and the blood drains from my face.
Shoot! What if he asks what I’m doing here? I turn around and start walking us out of the pharmacist’s hearing range while racking my brain, trying to come up with an excuse. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you wanted to wait in the car?”
He looks over his shoulder, toward the sympathy-pouring pharmacist, and I nudge him forward. “I was, but it got a little hot out there, and I figured I’d come check on you.”
“Oh,” I say.
“Ace,” Heath’s voice comes out low and guarded. Oh, no. Oh, no. Here comes the question. “Why were you talking to the pharmacist?”
I stop moving and take a deep breath. “I’m dying, Heath.”
His face turns white, and I’d have laughed at his reaction if what I’d said hadn’t been one hundred percent possible. God, now I know what his reaction’s going to be. And suddenly, I feel like a jerk for saying something so inhumane. To play it off, I roll my eyes and laugh.
“Seriously, you should see your face right now. You look like a ghost walked through you or something.” I pick up my pace, but notice Heath doesn’t move. “Heath.” I walk back to him, placing my hand over his cheek. “I was just kidding.”
His eyes study mine, concern and pain radiating off him. “You’d tell me if something like that were true, wouldn’t you, Ace? You’d tell me, right? You wouldn’t keep me in the dark?”
I gulp. No. “Yes. Of course,” I respond. “Now, can we get out of here? I’m dying for some fun.” I walk backward and point my forefingers at him. “You remember what fun is, right?”
Usually, he’d come back with some sort of smartass retort. But when all he gives me is a tight-lipped smile, my heart lurches out of my throat. I make a mental note not to joke or slip up about my health situation again.
I’M DYING, HEATH . . .
I’m dying, Heath . . .
I’m dying, Heath . . .
I jolt up in bed, sweat making my clothes stick to my skin. My breathing comes in short gasps as Ace’s words swirl inside my head, haunting my every thought. The red numbers on my nightstand show 5:45 a.m. I search the side of the bed that’s empty, but still warm.
Maybe she got thirsty?
It was nearly 8 p.m. by the time we made it to our hotel last night, and Ace fell asleep as soon as she hit the pillow. Not wanting to wake her, or leave her by herself, I’d tucked her into bed with me next her.
Groaning, I rub the heels of my palms into my eyes and roll off the bed. I shuffle my way to the bathroom and stand before the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes taunt me. And, for the first time in my life, I’m scared.
I don’t even remember being this upset when my mom died. It feels like the ground has opened up and swallowed me whole. Shaking my head and slapping my face a few times, I splash some cold water on my skin. It’s only been seven hours since Ace said those words, but the numbness in my chest hasn’t subsided. I can’t lose her, because I’m afraid I’m going to lose myself if I do.
“Fuck.” I thrust my fingers into my hair and pull hard, hoping her words will stop haunting me. But they don’t. So I strip off my clothes and head into the shower. My body’s burning under my skin, but I turn the heat up to scalding and stand beneath the onslaught. The past few weeks flash before my eyes—the way she cried when she found out about her mom and sister, the cheerleading accident, the teasing at school, and finally, the haunting way her eyes had pierced me when she said she was dying. I shake my head, willing those thoughts to leave me the hell alone. I’m not going to spend time wasting my energy on things I can’t control. I need to spend every second of our time together building memories that’ll keep us company when we can’t.
And that’s what we’ll do. Build memories.
Good memories.
Amazing memories.
Unforgettable memories.
I get out when the water runs cold, dress in another pair of sweats, and pad my way to the kitchen after checking our empty bed. Maybe she got hungry?
“Ace, baby?”
A thud echoes in the small, full-scale kitchen. “Shit.”
“You okay?” I run to her as she pulls her head out of the fridge.
She looks up through her lashes, rubbing the spot on her head that she obviously hit. “Yeah. What are you doing up so early?” She inhales. “And showered?”
She places the eggs in her hand on the counter and kicks the fridge door closed with the heel of her foot.
I rub at the nape of my neck. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me, neither,” she says. “I’m about to make some cake from scratch. You want?”
“This early in the morning?” I raise my eyebrow.
“Yeah. There’s no time like the present.” She takes out two eggs and expertly cracks them open, throwing the empty shells into the trash. Picking up a white hand towel, she throws it over her shoulder and slides the bowl of cake mix across the countertop. Her entire body shakes as she whisks like she’s giving it capital punishment.
I can’t help myself, I step up behind her. “Want any help?”
“Naw.” She wipes the back of her hand over her forehead, pushing back the hair that falls forward.
I place my hands on her hips. She stills. I push aside her hair and lean in to whisper in her ear. “I want to help. Let me help.”
She lets out a shaky breath and turns around. Her eyes connect with mine, and I see the same longing desire I have bottled up inside me. She licks her lips, and I follow the movement before going back to her eyes. I see the thoughts churning inside her as a small pinch forms between her eyebrows.
“Open your mouth,” she orders, dipping her finger into the cake batter and holding it up.
Confusion sets in, but I do as I’m told. Her finger slides into my mouth and I close my lips around it. The fire in her eyes burns, and her pupils dilate. I roll my tongue around her finger, making sure I get every last bit of batter. She slips it out of my mouth, and my lips make a popping sound.
“Ho
w is it?” Her voice turns low and sultry.
I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her into me. The heat from her body seeps into mine as she sets the bowl on the counter behind her and lays her palms over my chest. Hunger churns deep inside me, and my thoughts run wild. “Depends.”
“Depends? On what?”
I lean in; my breathing hitches. “On getting another taste.”
I crash my lips on hers in a closed-mouth kiss. Her arms snake up to my neck, threading into my hair, pulling me closer.
I groan, and bring her body against mine. She gasps in surprise. I take the opportunity and soon, our tongues tangle as we fight for control. But I have no chance in hell of winning this. And I don’t want to.
With a quick lift, I have her up on the counter. Something falls into the sink, registering in the back of my mind, but at this point, I don’t really care. World War III could be happening and I wouldn’t notice. Because right now, all I care about is making the person in my arms come apart.
I gasp when her cold, sticky hands find their way under my t-shirt. Maybe I also care about how her body is touching mine.
Her lips.
Her greedy hands.
Her heat against my body.
I push her legs apart and settle myself between them.
“Heath,” she whispers.
I love how my name rolls off her tongue. She wraps her legs around my hips and digs her heels into my ass, pushing me closer to her. “God, baby,” I mumble against her mouth. “I want you so bad. I want you so fucking bad.”
“What’s stopping you?” she asks.
I growl, feeling the need to make her mine consume me. “I want to . . .”
Her head falls back, and I trail my lips down her jaw to her collarbone. I suck on the pulse that beats visibly in her neck. God, I love this girl so much, it hurts.
My phone blasts, ringing to “Eye of the Tiger,” and I remember I’d planned a day out for us. I pull back enough that goose bumps wake at the loss of her heat. I inwardly curse myself for it, but I promised us a day filled with memories, and, even if she doesn’t know it, a promise is a promise.