Troy leaned across the table and stole her attention, and she turned away from me. Gave in to him. The same way she always had.
I closed my eyes. Would it be different now? Could she see this wasn’t the life she wanted to live? Did she understand she deserved more? That her son deserved more?
"We should at least stop by and say hi," my mother said. She grabbed the bill from the center of the table and gathered her things to stand. “You remember Maggie, don’t you, Will?”
I fumbled through the thoughts in my mind to find an acceptable answer, when Blake suddenly laughed as he sucked the last of his soda through his straw. Ice clanked when he dropped the cup back to the table. "I don't think William and Troy get along much, Ma."
Grace straightened with Olivia in her arms and turned to smack Blake against the shoulder, her eyes narrowed in warning.
"What?" Blake asked in mock defense, throwing a grin in my direction.
After that first night at the bonfire almost six years ago, I’d spent the entire summer watching Maggie and Troy together. I’d sat idle for three months while my love for her had grown and my rage toward Troy had built. At the end of the summer, it had all erupted in a hate I couldn’t have controlled even if I’d wanted to.
Blake had been proud of me, I knew, again standing up for what we both knew was right, even after he had warned me not to get involved. But Blake had had no clue just how involved I’d gotten over those months.
He had no idea how important that night had been to me or what Maggie and I had shared after. He had no idea I would have gladly died for her. To Blake it had been nothing more than me standing up for the same girl a second time because I believed it was the right thing to do.
When in reality, it had been the only thing I could do.
Mom looked at me, her expression piqued in question. She'd never known about the incident. I was sure she would have freaked out. She would have said she was scared for me, said she'd never raised me to completely lose myself that way.
“It was nothing,” I said to reassure her, helping Emma from her chair and taking her hand. “We just had a little disagreement...that's all.”
Blake’s whole face lifted in a you’re full of shit sort of way, but he dropped it and took Olivia from Grace's arms, whispering, “Let’s get you home, sweetheart,” against his daughter’s head.
With Emma’s warm hand in mine, I cast one last glance in Maggie's direction. She pretended to be absorbed in the menu. I turned my attention to the well-trodden floor.
I didn't dare look at the boy.
I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other. Near the front door, Emma tugged at my wrist and handed me the picture she'd drawn, shy once again. “This is for you, Uncle William.”
My smile was almost a grimace as I accepted her gift.
“Thank you so much, sweetheart,” I said as I looked down at my brother's sweet child and thought this is the way it is supposed to be. A child loved by her father. Loved by her mother. Safe and protected in their care.
A sudden need collided with my spirit, and I jerked to look back toward the booth. Troy looked up just when I did. At first he stared, working his jaw as if it took a minute for his mind to catch up with the fact that I was there.
Recognition dawned and a new challenge seemed to be drawn.
I was sure Troy had never known what had happened between Maggie and me, was sure Troy had no idea the child sitting next to her was mine. In my head, I saw myself walking up to the table and throwing it in Troy’s face, taking Maggie and Jonathan by the hand, and leading them out the door. As if that would somehow be a magical solution. That this situation could ever be that easy.
I wasn’t even sure Maggie felt the same. She was the one who’d pushed me away.
Yet, in some way, I had too. I had left her standing there, sobbing as she’d cried out my name. Given up on her. Maybe when she'd needed me most. Her words had ripped me apart, and I’d sworn then I was done. I’d promised myself I’d no longer allow her that control over me, the anguish I’d endured just to have a small token of her love.
I had turned my back on her and walked away.
“You ready?” Blake called as he opened the door, a burst of winter thrust its way inside.
Pulling on my hand, Emma grinned up at me and said, “C’mon, Uncle.”
As painful as it was, I walked away from her again.
But I promised myself this time it wouldn’t be for good.
On the sidewalk, Grace called for Emma and reached out to take her hand, and they raced across the parking lot to the warmth of their car.
I trailed behind, falling to a standstill when the small square window came into view. Pressed to the glass was the boy’s face framed by the palms of his hands, his short breaths fogging up the window.
Jonathan.
My son.
I allowed myself the smallest smile. Huge brown eyes blinked back at me, pure and innocent. In my mind, I heard his footsteps echo in the forest.
Startled, I jumped at the hand on my arm, felt like a fool when I looked down at my mother’s concerned face.
“Are you okay?” she asked as she followed my gaze to the window, blatantly worried when she looked back.
Nodding, I whispered, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
I’d never told a greater lie. I was the farthest place from okay.
She frowned, hesitating when she pulled away. “All right then…I’m just…I’m going to tell the girls goodnight.”
I stuttered out a sigh of relief when she turned and tread across the lot to Grace’s black mini-van to say goodnight to the girls.
“Night, Will,” Grace called from her door as she hiked herself up into her seat. It seemed forced, but it was the first thing she’d said to me since I returned.
“Night,” I said, so low she probably could never have heard.
She started the engine. Headlights cut across the parking lot and then she drove away.
Mom and Dad headed toward my car, and I looked at Blake who stood by his truck, watching me intently, the levity from earlier somehow replaced, as if he sensed my despair.
“You okay, man?” The same troubled question asked by our mother, though this time I couldn’t find an answer.
Instead, I approached him, each purposed footstep pounding in my ears. I fisted my hands deep into the pockets of my coat as if it would somehow give me courage. I began speaking before I even reached my brother, almost shouting as I advanced. “You know what you offered the other day...about the guesthouse?”
I’d made the decision to stay, now it was time to make good on it. I wasn’t going anywhere.
Blake's face shifted to understanding. “Sure, I remember.”
I stopped in front of him. “Does it still stand?”
Skeptical relief bubbled out from Blake’s mouth. “You’re really staying?”
“Yeah, I am.”
Blake grinned. “Of course it still stands.”
Chapter Ten
William ~ Present Day
I peered out the living room window and watched the gentle sway of barren trees give way to plundering squalls. Branches thrashed and raked against the eves. Moonlight spilled in from above, slanting across the deserted road, melded with billows of rising dust to create a thick, milky haze.
Chills crawled up my spine and raised the fine hairs at the back of my neck. I had to turn away. It reminded me too much of the scene that had been haunting my dreams for months. At moments like these, fear prevailed, an ominous cloud that had me questioning how it was possible to be connected like this to a child I didn’t know, because the rational side of me knew it was impossible.
Exhaling aloud, I took two steps toward the middle of the dim room. My feet faltered when I realized I wasn’t alone.
Mom stood on the first step of the staircase, twisted toward me, as if she’d been on her way up and had only just noticed me there. We’d gotten back from the pizza place a few hours earlier, and
I’d thought she’d already gone to bed.
She hesitated, looked me in the eye. “We’re all going to be okay. You know that, don’t you?” she said, a merciful encouragement, far from ignorant that something was tearing me apart.
I shook my head as I allowed the waves of hopelessness to ripple across my face, showed my mother just a little bit more.
No.
I didn’t know that we were all going to be all right. I knew the goal, but I had no idea how I was going to get there.
“God, William, what—” She stopped herself as if remembering our interaction from this afternoon, visibly backed away without moving an inch. “I’m here for you...whatever you need. Just...when you’re ready.” Then she spun and headed up the stairs.
“Night, Ma,” I murmured just loud enough for her to hear. I hadn’t called her that in years. It was an affection I’d reserved for those many times she’d come to my rescue as a child, when she’d soothed me and loved me and made me a better person. Right then, I almost remembered how it’d felt to be that boy.
She stilled, holding onto the railing. Her movements were measured when she turned around to face me. Her mouth twisted up in an affected smile. “Goodnight, Will.”
I didn’t move while I watched her mount the stairs.
Running a hand through my hair, I plodded over to the couch and lowered myself onto the cushions. I scratched at the weathered upholstery and thought of how I’d sat in this very spot when my life had been upended.
William ~ May, Six Years Earlier
The morning after the bonfire, I lay in my bed, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hands. It'd been no use. No matter how hard I'd tried to forget about her, she had consumed every second of the night. Every second I'd spent awake, my eyes squeezed closed as if I could force myself to sleep, she had been there. When I finally had found sleep, she'd hunted me there as well. I shouldn't have been surprised when I'd awoken to a picture of her face.
It wasn't so much the memories I couldn't escape, but what had been born from them. I had no idea what I was feeling, but what I did know was I’d never felt this way before.
Sure. I'd dated. Even liked a couple of the girls all right.
But never once had I felt an inkling of what had been kindled in me last night—a feeling I couldn’t grasp—something that hurt and felt perfect at the same time.
Groaning, I shrugged out of my covers and sat up in bed.
This was so messed up.
Yawning and scratching at my bare chest, I wandered out of my room and into the hall. I stopped to peek in my brother’s room. Blake was sprawled, face-down, across his bed. All of his blankets were pushed to the floor, one foot hanging off the side, his back rising and falling with each deep, slumbered breath.
I didn’t know if I was actually growing up or the events of last night had changed me so drastically they’d left me without the urge to retaliate for yesterday morning, but I turned and let my brother be.
Hauling myself downstairs, I mumbled a weary, “Good Morning,” to my mother as I shuffled into the kitchen.
“Morning?” She continued to whip whatever was inside the large, silver bowl she held braced against her middle. “It’s passed one o’clock.” She smirked in that all-knowing, motherly way. “Rough night?” she asked as she turned to pour the contents of the bowl into the waiting pan on the counter.
I made my way to the refrigerator and grabbed a carton of orange juice. “Something like that,” I mumbled as I poured myself a large glass.
Rough. Yes. Should I feel ashamed it was kind of amazing too? Just that small passage of time when my spirit had sought to know hers. When this girl had tugged something loose inside of me. I shook myself from the thought. I really didn’t know how I was supposed to feel.
When I looked up, Mom was watching me. I ducked my head and shifted my feet, feeling exposed. Her expression was soft. I felt like a twelve-year-old boy with his first crush, who didn’t quite know what to do with the butterflies assailing his stomach. But I was a 21-year-old man, and it was so much more complicated than that.
I had never been one to fall for the whole love at first sight bit, and I never believed that one day I’d see a girl and know she was the one. I was reticent to allow my thoughts to veer in that direction now. I’d only seen her once, and I’d not even spoken with her. It was ridiculous to entertain that type of notion.
But what did I feel?
I tried to swallow some of the fullness in my throat, to rid myself of the lump of emotion that had been stuck there since last night.
Whatever I felt, I knew it was permanent.
~
On Tuesday, I sat on the couch while the television droned. To me, each station seemed the same as I clicked aimlessly through the channels. No matter how hard I tried to fight it and alternatively tried to ignore it, I couldn’t force down the restlessness clipping through my nerves. Today, I resolved to stay in and stop being such a creep.
I glanced behind me when I heard the soft thud of feet coming downstairs. A laundry basket was balanced at my mother’s side.
“You’re going to have to get off that couch,” she called as she disappeared into the small laundry room tucked away beneath the stairs, reappearing a few seconds later. “We have a housekeeper coming today.”
“What...did you win the lottery and not tell me or something?” I quirked a sarcastic, teasing brow at my mom.
She rolled her eyes and gave me a good-natured swat on the knee as she passed.
“Don’t you wish.” She shuffled through the living room, picking up the shirt and shoes Blake had left discarded on the floor the night before. “Your Aunt Lara has been helping out a family in town and one of the girls is looking to make some money for the summer. Figured it’d give me a little break. Lord knows you boys don’t pick up after yourselves around here.” She shook Blake’s wadded up shirt in my face. “What is it with you two, anyway?” She turned away, mumbling, “Poor Grace is going to have to break that boy if he gets lucky enough to get a ring on her finger.”
I pushed to my feet and stretched. “Sorry, Mom. What do you want done before she gets here?”
Mom waved a hand around the room. “I just want to get all the little stuff picked up. She’s not going to know where anything goes, and I don’t want to overwhelm her the first day she’s here.”
Gathering the dishes I’d left to dry out on the coffee table, I wandered into the kitchen and rinsed them in the sink. I placed them in the dishwasher and switched it to start. I had to admit, it was pretty pathetic Mom had to ask me to pick up after myself. It was so easy to get lazy when I came home. I set about to help her, worked through the kitchen to put away anything that appeared out of place, and wiped down the mess Blake had spilled on the counter before he’d rushed out to meet Grace. What a slob, I thought just as the doorbell rang.
I paused to listen as my mother moved across the living room, unlatching the lock to open the door.
“Oh, hello, dear,” I heard her say in welcome.
My heart faltered for a beat and then took off in a sprint when a shy, “Thanks for having me, Mrs. Marsch,” was offered in return.
My footsteps were almost silent as I stole across the kitchen floor to the archway. I froze when I saw her.
Fidgeting, Maggie lifted her head just enough to meet my mother’s face. Her posture was guarded in apprehension.
“Of course…” Mom’s words were muffled, like water lapping at my ears. My focus was entirely on Maggie, this girl who had taken me hostage, body, mind, and spirit. “We’re thrilled to have you. Come on inside.”
In the last four days, I’d seen her much more than I should have, only because I’d watched, searched, waited. It had made me sick, nauseated—weak with a want and a worry I didn’t understand.
She’d known I was watching, too. Welcomed it, even. The way her body seemed to recognize mine, the subtle quiver of expectant nerves that traveled between us whenever I got brave enough to
brush passed her—once on the sidewalk and once more when I followed her into the grocery store. Maybe I was imagining it all, because in all those times, she’d never once looked up.
Until now.
Slowly she raised her eyes to find mine, as if drawn. Wide brown eyes stared back at me. They seemed to be caught in the same stupor I’d been lost in for the last four days.
My heart stuttered again, and I knew I wasn’t imagining this connection. She felt it too.
In this small town, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised she was here, standing in my living room. There were only a handful of families who would have sought the help of the shelter where Aunt Lara volunteered her time. But I couldn’t help but think that this was some twist of fate, that she belonged here, and this was all supposed to be.
Mom’s attention flashed to me, her eyes wide as if trying to convey a message, then she whipped her attention back to Maggie and gestured in my direction. “Maggie, do you know my son, William? He’s home from college for the summer.”
Maggie stared across the space at me. She slowly shook her head. “No,” she whispered, though her face spoke a different answer.
For the first time, I was given the opportunity to really look at her. Her cheekbones were high and defined, though the slight fullness of her cheeks and her tiny nose somehow made her appear innocent. The slender slope of her neck seemed almost a contradiction to the sweetness of her face, the smooth, creamy skin exposed in the gentle swoop of her dark blue tee. But it was those sad, knowing eyes that threatened to steal my sanity.
God. She was beautiful.
Every inch of my body bristled in awareness, filled me with a need that was so much more than just latent desire. What was it about her? Yeah, she was gorgeous, undoubtedly someone who would have turned my head had I passed her on the street. But she gripped me deeper than that. Maybe it was who she was, the mystery surrounding this girl’s life, the need I saw on her face. The innate need I felt to protect her. Yet I’d been captured by her before I even knew who she was.
When We Collide Page 9