This Heart of Mine

by C. C. Hunter

  “Yeah.” I get out of the car and go ahead and grab my bag so I don’t have to get it out of my car when Matt gets here.

  “You okay?” Brandy asks.

  The girl reads me like a page-turner. “Fine.” I realize Brian’s car isn’t here. “Where’s Brian?”

  She grins. “I asked him to leave so we could talk. I knew you’d be nervous.”

  “I wish you weren’t right.”

  She drops a hand on my shoulder. “It’s gonna be great.”

  We crash on the sofa to talk and wait on Matt. Brandy starts giving me hints on what guys enjoy in bed. It gets weird really fast. It gets funny even faster.

  We end up laughing so hard I forget to be nervous. But I sure as hell remember the second the doorbell rings and I realize it’s probably Matt.

  Brandy gives me a best friend hang-on hug. The kind that only comes from real friends. “Don’t worry.”

  I grab my bag and go to the door to meet Matt.

  His kiss is more than just a quick hello. That’s all it takes for me to know how much I want this. I love him. I know that for certain. When the sweet, almost sensual kiss ends, he notices I have my bag and takes it from me. “So you’re ready?”

  “Yeah.” We offer quick goodbyes to Brandy and walk to his car.

  When we get settled, he looks at me. “I left my phone at home. Do you mind if I swing by and get it?”

  “No.”

  On the quick drive to his house, we talk about Lady missing him and about the math test we took yesterday.

  When he pulls up in his drive, he says, “Come in. Mom’s not here.”

  I get a strange feeling about his “Mom’s not here” comment. It occurs to me that he hasn’t introduced me to his mom. Not that I’m worried. It just seems … odd.

  “Yeah, I probably should use the restroom before we take off.”

  I follow him inside. Lady barrels toward me, her whole body wagging. Matt heads to the kitchen and motions to the bathroom. “I thought my phone was on the table. I probably left it in my pants.” He heads off on his phone search.

  I head for the bathroom. Lady stands outside the door whining.

  A minute later, I step out of the bathroom. That’s when I hear the front door opening and closing. I freeze. A woman steps into the kitchen. Our eyes meet.

  “Hi,” I say. She’s blond with green eyes, pretty. Doesn’t look anything like Matt, yet somehow I know it’s his mom.

  “Matt’s … looking for his phone.”

  She smiles. “I’m Matt’s mom. You must be the mysterious Lori.”

  No. “Uhh…”

  She drops her purse on the table and moves in. I think she’s going to hug me, but at the last minute, she stops and drops her hands to her sides.

  “Matt talks about you. You’ve been … good for him. I appreciate that.”

  I nod. “He’s been good for me too.”

  Footsteps sound as Matt walks in. “I found…” His gaze shoots to his mom and then me. His eyes round with what looks like panic.

  “Hi, hon. I just introduced myself to Lori.”

  Matt nods, his gaze shifts to me. “Yeah.”

  “Would you like something to drink?” his mom offers. “I have tea, Coke—”

  “No,” Matt’s speaks up. “We’re … I’ve got to drop her off and head to Ted’s.”

  His mom looks disappointed. “Well, we’ll chat another day. Soon.” She shoots Matt a motherly look then turns to me. “Lori, make sure he brings you back.”

  I barely have time to nod when Matt takes my hand and leads me out.

  “Sorry,” Matt says before we even get in the car.

  “For what?” I ask.

  “You weren’t prepared.”

  Huh? “What would I have to be prepared for? She seems nice.” We get in the car.

  “She is. She just … For a while, she was unpredictable.”

  “She seems fine now.” I smile. “Although, she has my name wrong.” I look at him. “Did you used to date someone named Lori?”

  “No.” He pulls out of the drive and looks tense.

  It hasn’t occurred to me that Matt might be nervous about this, us being together. I kind of like it that he is.

  * * *

  It’s four o’clock when Matt pulls into the hotel entrance. He needs to tell Leah the truth. Why he’s worried about his mom meeting her, but … it sounds bad, or wrong.

  As he goes to get the keys, Leah waits outside. He has the fake driver’s license that Eric made for them. Matt had never used it, but right now he’s glad his brother got it because the legal age to rent a hotel room is eighteen, and he’s a couple months shy of that date.

  Matt greets the clerk and lays the license down that claims he’s twenty-one, praying there’s not an issue. This whole weekend would be ruined if he can’t get in.

  The woman smiles, welcomes him, and hands him a parking pass and keys.

  He hurries back out to Leah. Climbing in the car, he smiles at her. She smiles back. He can tell she’s nervous. And he hopes his plans will put her at ease. And him too.

  “I thought we’d take our bags up to the room, then go to the beach. I brought a blanket.”

  “That sounds great.” She looks across the street to the beach. “I don’t think we could have gotten better weather.”

  “I ordered it,” he says, teasing.

  Ten minutes later they’re sitting on the blanket listening to the sound of waves coming in. The wind is blowing, a little cold, but not uncomfortably so. They’re wearing jackets, but the sun, low in the eastern sky, adds a bit of warmth.

  Leah’s watching the waves and he’s watching her. Her dark hair is blowing in the wind. She looks so carefree. So beautiful. He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture.

  She looks at him, and he snaps another. “My hair’s a mess.” She pulls a handful of hair back.

  He takes another, then adds, “No, it’s beautiful.” She scoots closer to him and looks back out at the ocean.

  Right then he has one of those moments that he and his mom talked about last night. Where he feels so damn happy and lucky, followed by a wave of guilt because Eric can’t feel this.

  Then he remembers how many times Eric told him, “Hey, Dad wouldn’t want us moping around. We gotta keep going.”

  Eric wouldn’t want him moping either.

  When Leah looks back at him, she’s smiling again.

  “This is beautiful,” she says. “Thank you. I haven’t been to the beach in forever. I forgot how much I love it. The sound is … like music. The salty air. Even the sand.” She runs her fingers in the loose sand.

  He leans over, brushes her windblown hair from her eyes, and kisses her. “I wish it was Maui or some other famous beach. You deserve something exotic. Something picture-perfect.”

  “This is perfect!” She looks back to the waves. “We should have brought the metal detectors. We might have found treasure.”

  “I did find some,” he says. “You.”

  She looks at him, and this time she kisses him. It’s sweet but sexy, reminding him of what they have to look forward to later. When the kiss ends, they recline on the blanket. He wraps his arm around her middle, her back pressed against him, and they face the water and waves.

  Her hair occasionally blows in his face. He doesn’t care.

  They talk about everything and nothing. Beach movies. Beach reads. The different beaches they’ve been to.

  Above, a few pelicans and seagulls fly past. A few other waterbirds are right at the water’s edge, dodging the tide each time it rolls in.

  He kisses the back of her neck. “You taste salty.”

  “Sorry,” she says.

  “I like it.” He kisses her neck again.

  She giggles as if it tickles. It’s the sweetest sound in the world. He closes his eyes and buries his face in her hair that now smells like fruit and the ocean. Emotion fills his chest. Happiness and … love. He loves Leah McKenzie. He’s never been su
rer of anything. But he worries it’s too soon to throw it out there. So he keeps the “L” word to himself for now.

  They stay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, surrounded by sand, water, and a magical feeling that says nothing in life could go wrong. Not that Matt believes it—too much in life has already gone wrong—but this moment is perfect, and he wants to celebrate that.

  Every now and then someone walks past, but it doesn’t take away from the feeling that they exist in a world of their own.

  Time passes but they don’t move. The sun starts to set and everything feels washed in gold. They watch as the sky turns shades of pink and purple, then goes to a dark blue.

  It gets colder, and they just move closer until the day fades to night.

  She rolls over and faces him, touches his cheek. Emotion fills her eyes. “I’m so glad I didn’t miss this. I could have … left and not remembered how the beach feels, smells, or sounds. I could have left without knowing what you and I feel like together.”

  Her words both move him and scare him. “You’re not leaving. You’ve got the best heart in the world.” And he kisses her.

  * * *

  After getting all sappy at the beach, Matt and I go to the restaurant beside the hotel. I concentrate on enjoying every moment, telling myself that even the nervousness is a rite of passage, like skipping school.

  I realize all of the other things that should’ve been on my bucket list: fall in love, lay on the beach, watch the ocean for hours, skip school, and make love to the person who rocks my world.

  Matt rocks my world. I love him, but I want him to say it first.

  We order fried coconut shrimp, fries, and steamed vegetables. Only one order because neither of us is very hungry. But when the shrimp arrives, it’s hot, crispy, and a little sweet. I eat more than I thought I would.

  We walk back to the hotel holding hands. We ride up to the eighth floor holding hands. We stand in the room that is big and feels expensive holding hands.

  I was here earlier, but I feel as if I’m seeing it for the first time.

  Both our bags sit on the end of the bed. A big bed. I offer to pay part of the room cost, and Matt’s insulted. “I just don’t want—”

  He shuts me up by kissing me. When he pulls back he says he’s going to shower to get the sand from his ears. He grabs a few clothes and walks in the bathroom. The click of the door closing sounds loud. I can’t help but imagine him undressing.

  I get my makeup bag, my sexy boy shorts, and camisole out of my small suitcase and wait for him for to finish so I can shower. Sitting on the edge of the bed, a high bed, my feet dance an inch off the carpet. I feel small.

  I listen to the spraying water.

  In my mind, I see him again. Water rolling down his body. Even as nervous as I am, I feel an electric kind of anticipation.

  I try to not to think about my scar. Then I think about it. I panic and practice what I’ll tell him when he tries to take off my shirt.

  The shower cuts off. I take a few deep breaths. He walks out; a puff of steam escapes behind him. He’s only wearing a pair of navy boxers. Nothing else. There’s still a few droplets of water moving down his torso. His hair looks darker, his chest wider. He looks older. I suddenly feel young. Or maybe not young, just inexperienced.

  I slide off the bed. “My turn.”

  He steps in front of me and kisses me. He’s shower warm and smells like hotel soap. I kiss him back. Then I pull away.

  “I should…”

  “Yeah.” He steps back. I walk into the warm bathroom with steam that smells like Matt. I shut the door and start to lock it, then don’t because I’m afraid he’ll hear it and interpret it to mean something. It doesn’t mean anything. Except I’m afraid. Of him seeing me naked.

  I feel my blood running in my veins. I strip down, step in the shower, and let the hot water hit my shoulders. Finally knowing it’s time, I step out. I dry off with the fluffy white towel and slip on my pink camisole and the light blue-and-pink boy shorts.

  I brush my teeth, silently sing the birthday song, comb my hair, and then I just stare at myself in the foggy mirror.

  I can do this. No, I want to do this.

  35

  Turning to the door, I recall how confidently Matt walked out of the shower and try to do the same.

  He’s sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard. There’s soft music playing from his phone. I feel his eyes on me. He’s seeing more of me than he’s ever seen. And I’m aware of every bare inch that his eyes are taking in. I’m aware of how my breasts feel in the top without a bra. I’m aware of how high the boy shorts fit on my thighs.

  I get into bed and sit beside him. Our arms touch. He dips his head down and his lips brush my bare shoulder. “You’re so … hot.”

  I know what he means, but I say with a tease, “The water was too warm.”

  He chuckles.

  Then I blurt out. “I’ve never done this. I might not do it right.”

  He brushes a wet strand of hair off my cheek. “I’m nervous too. But I think we’ll figure it out.”

  He kisses me. And in just minutes we are stretched out on the bed. I’m on my back, he’s leaning on his elbow. His bare leg is against the side of my bare leg. I’m in awe of how his skin feels against mine. How good his palm feels resting against my mostly bare abdomen. How there’s not an inch of him without muscle.

  He kisses me; his hand moves down my forearms to my waist. “Tell me if … if you don’t like something.”

  “Right now, I like it.” I’m savoring every tingle, every touch.

  He pushes his hand up, captures the bottom of my camisole and starts bringing it up.

  I catch his hand, pull it to my lips, and kiss his palm.

  He gazes up.

  “I … I prefer to keep the top on.”

  His brown eyes, filled with heat, stare up at me through his dark lashes. He lifts up on his elbow and studies me as I rest on my back.

  I feel butterflies in my stomach, and not the good kind. “I … I have a scar.” I swallow. “It’ll fade in time. But now it’s … not pretty.” I bite down on my lip.

  He presses a finger over my lips, the touch so soft I can barely feel it. “I don’t care about the scar. I care about you.” His finger slides down my chin, follows my neck down, and stops on the top of my camisole, right where the scar starts.

  “If it makes you feel better to keep it on, then do it.”

  I nod.

  He keeps talking. “But I have an ugly scar on my leg where I was skateboarding and rolled onto a broken beer bottle. Should I put my sock back on?”

  I know what he’s trying to do, but … “It’s different.”

  “No.” He sits up and leans back against the headboard again. Then he bends his knee and shows it to me.

  It’s about nine inches long and it’s zigzagged. And it’s a lot more puckered than the one on my chest. He takes my hand and runs it down the marked skin. “It’s just a scar.” He kind of smiles. “Eric was always jealous of it. He said it looked cool. Made me look tough.”

  He pauses and then starts again. “Did you know in some cultures scars are looked at as badges of courage?” He hesitates. “I don’t see mine like that. But yours? Yeah, that’s how I see it. I’ve never met anyone else who’s been through what you have and is so brave. The day I went to your house to tutor you, you were so … alive.”

  “I wasn’t brave,” I say. “I didn’t have any other choice.”

  “We always have a choice.”

  I don’t know if it’s his words, the tender way he’s looking at me, or something inside me that says for this to be right, to be perfect, I can’t hold back. I can’t hide.

  This, being with him, is not just about removing my clothes. It’s about removing my fears, vulnerabilities. It’s about trust.

  I sit up and reach down to pull the camisole up over my head. I feel bold and bashful at the same time. But I also feel vibrant. Like for the first
time I’m living in full color. Maybe this is what growing up feels like.

  Or maybe I’m letting go of Old Leah and completely embracing New Leah.

  Matt draws in air, but in a good way. “You’re amazing.”

  And there’s nothing in his voice, his eyes, or his expression that says he’s lying.

  He eases me back on the mattress and presses his lips to the top of the scar. Slowly he kisses his way down.

  I no longer feel the scar. Just the soft whisper of his lips on my skin. For the first time since I was told my heart was dying, I don’t feel broken.

  I feel whole. I feel beautiful. I feel normal.

  * * *

  Monday morning at school, I’m waiting by my locker for Matt. He dropped me off at Brandy’s around three yesterday. We talked on the phone for about three hours last night. An amazing three hours.

  I’m studying the oncoming crowd, searching for his face. Waiting to feel that jolt of joy.

  I think I finally found a negative side to having sex with Matt. Being with someone in that way makes not being with them feel wrong. I missed Matt so bad last night and this morning that my bones ached.

  I finally see him walking toward me, and he’s smiling as big as I am. There’s a spark in his eyes that I don’t know if I’ve seen before. I wonder if everyone can just look at us and know we had sex. He wraps his arm around me and kisses me. Not a long kiss, but not a short one either.

  “Good morning,” he says.

  “Not as good as yesterday,” I say.

  “Tell me about it.”

  Hands locked, palms touching, we walk to his locker to get his science book. I hear his phone buzz.

  He reaches for it quickly and finds a spot between lockers to take the call. I start beside him and suddenly realize what today is. Monday. The day Detective Henderson is talking to Jayden Soprano.

  “Hello.” Matt answers, listens, and then frowns. “No, I haven’t sold it yet. I already told you I won’t go down that low.” He pauses. “Sure. But if you’re just not willing to pay my asking price, please don’t waste my time.”