by Lindy Zart
“I do. Teach me how.”
I open my eyes and turn my face to look at him. Rivers is grinning. I push at his shoulder. “Well, let's focus on presentation first. You'll have to get your nose pierced. I mean, that's a given.”
He purses his lips, nodding.
“And dye your hair random colors. I would go with pink to start off, personally.”
“Did you ever dye your hair pink?” he asks dubiously.
I give him a look.
Sighing, he closes his eyes, looking pained. “What else? Tell me. I can take it.”
“You'll have to hang out with me on a daily basis so my goodness rubs off on you.”
“Goodness?” I elbow him. “Okay, okay. I think I can do that.”
I make my voice stern as I tell him, “It's a deal breaker. Either you can handle my awesomeness or you can't. And if you can't, you have no right trying to be as almighty as me. Got it?”
His eyes pop open. “Okay. But do I have to wear the green bikini? Because I don't want to outshine you in all your pale glory.”
Laughing, I squint my eyes at him even though the sun has all but gone under the horizon. “We'll negotiate that later.” I close my eyes again, going still as his arm slides beneath my head. I am tugged closer to him, his heat seeping into my side, his scent assaulting my senses. The word perfect comes to mind.
“We should sleep out here.”
“We could,” he says. “But what about the bugs?”
“We can spray so much bug spray on us the fumes alone will kill them from a mile away.”
“Or...we could put a tent up and sleep in it.”
I go up to my elbows and look down at him. “Really?”
Rivers laughs as he sits up. “Yeah. You act like you've never slept in a tent before.”
“I haven't,” I confess.
It's his turn to look shocked. “Everyone sleeps in a tent at least once in their childhood.”
I point at myself and shake my head.
“I don't know what to say,” he says with a mournful expression on his face that is totally fake. “We need to fix this. Stat.”
“Do you have a tent?”
“Of course. It's in the garage. Come on.” He stretches his hand out to me and I take it.
“Do you guys do a lot of camping?” I ask as we go through the house and into the garage.
“We did, yeah.” He rummages through a stack of boxes, totes, and bags in a far corner of the room. “We did a lot of outdoors stuff when I was younger—camping, hiking, fishing, hunting. We still do once in a while, just...it isn't the same. It is more like an obligation now than a tradition. Here it is!” He pulls a dark green rectangular cloth bag from the pile, his expression close to gleeful as he holds it in the air.
I think I am not the only one reconnecting with a childhood missed as we struggle to get the dome-shaped contraption into a standing position in the backyard. We tease each other as we work, and when I trip over a stake and land face first in the half-constructed tent, Rivers just laughs as he pulls me to my feet. The tent is caved in, so we start over, but it is of no consequence. It is full dark out by the time we finish. We grab blankets and pillows from his bed and the spare bedroom, throwing them in a disorderly pile in the center of the tent. Then we look at each other.
I grin, he grins, and we start laughing. I am not even entirely sure why, but it feels good. It is like reaching into the past has swathed us in giddiness, and made us in this moment simpler, but happier. We put a tent together. And it made us smile.
“You have dirt smeared across your nose,” he tells me.
“And you have grass in your hair.”
I reach for him as he reaches for me and we collide, which makes me laugh even harder. I tip my head back and let it leave me in a cascade of mirth. When I look at him again, he is staring at me in a way that makes me think he feels like if he doesn't memorize every single detail of my face, he will miss something he will later regret. I go still, wondering what he is thinking as he looks at me.
“Hey there, Delilah,” he says softly, a slow smirk taking over his features.
“Don't even,” I warn. I can tell what he is thinking of doing just by how he said that.
He does.
He sings 'Hey There Delilah' by The Plain White T's. Night holds us in its embrace, but he lights it up with his essence alone. His voice is steady, deep, and touches me in a way I cannot explain. This feeling I have for him, it has washed away anything that has fought to darken my heart and soul. I feel reborn in what he gives me with his mere presence. Before he even finishes the song, I am springing myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and squeezing him to me. Don't let go, don't let go, I think. I don't know who I am telling that to—him or me. I guess both of us.
“Girls always fall for that,” he says close to my ear.
“How many Delilahs have you sung that to?” I ask, never relinquishing my hold on him. It is always hard for me to pull away from him.
“Just one.”
I inhale deeply and step away, emotions too deep to withstand trying to pull me under. I smile brightly. "Thanks for going with me to my house the other night. My mom liked having us over."
"No problem. I had fun too. We should get our moms together. I think they'd like each other."
"I agree."
He reaches down and grabs the can of bug spray from the ground, putting a layer of it over his bare skin. "This stuff smells horrible," he says, coughing. He hands the bottle to me and I do the same, the scent of it biting to my senses.
I study the can. "It says it's unscented."
"It lies. Think it'll work?"
"Only one way to find out." I crawl halfway into the tent and pull out a sleeping bag.
"You don't really want to sleep outside, do you?"
I unroll the thick sleeping bag. "I do."
Rivers gets another sleeping bag from the tent and opens it up. "Then what was the point of putting up the tent?"
"Practice?" He narrows his eyes at me and I laugh. "In case it gets too cold or the bugs are too bad. It's our back-up plan."
He tosses his sleeping bag back into the tent and looks mine over. "This is for two people."
My pulse picks up. "Oh?"
Glancing at me, he nods. "Yeah. And even if it wasn't, we should try to conserve heat."
I look around us, the air warm even though dusk has fallen. "Right. Because it's freezing out."
He gets this solemn look on his face. "And I'd hate for you to get frostbite." A flash of a grin transforms his face. "Who would clean my room then?"
I punch his arm and he grabs my outstretched hand, tugging me to him. He interlaces our fingers, staring down at me. I study him back, my gaze flitting over the jagged lines of his imperfect face. He goes still, allowing my scrutiny, watching me. His grip tightens on my fingers when I lean up to press a kiss to his temple and another to his cheek.
I whisper into his ear and he grabs my face, only inches between us. "I don't even care about them anymore," he says softly. His thumbs caress my cheeks, tenderness lightening his eyes. Rivers smiles, causing crinkles to form around his eyes, and gently attaches his lips to my lower one, moving his mouth languidly over mine. He pushes into me, his body taut with repressed need as the kiss becomes deeper, more urgent.
The sleeping bag becomes our cushion against the hard ground, his body my blanket as he holds himself over me, putting his weight on his forearms as his lips trail down the side of my neck, each touch sending a spark through my nerve-endings. His hands mold to my upper body as he goes to his knees between my legs, becoming acquainted with me in a way I have not allowed another man. His mouth replaces his hands, touching me with reverence as I arch into him. When his fingers slide up my stomach beneath my top, shivers follow in their wake. A graze here, a caress there. I am struggling to breathe, my limbs nothing but pulsating noodles. I want him. I exhale deeply. But it can't be now.
As though he knows my tho
ughts, he sighs, pressing a light kiss to my collarbone, and lies down beside me, both of us staring at a starlit sky. "Didn't we just do this?" he asks after his breathing has evened out.
"Do what?" I ask, although I know exactly what he is referring to.
"Watch the stars."
I smile. "We did."
"I used to pretend each star was a spaceship, flying through the sky on some top secret quest to keep peace with unknown aliens."
I turn my head toward him and find him watching me. "I used to pretend they were lightning bugs, lighting up the sky for us to be able to see at night. The imaginations of kids, right?"
"I like your imagination better."
"I like yours." I look back to the darkened atmosphere. "I know you love water, sports, and now camping, but what else do you love?"
A finger trails down my forehead, over my nose, and pauses on my lips. I swallow thickly, focusing on my heartbeat as I wait. "Campfires, music, thunderstorms, the color red...being with you. What about you?"
My breathing stutters. "Sunshine, this summer, the sound of rain hitting pavement, and the different colors of fall leaves."
"Why this summer?"
"Oh, I don't know. I guess because it's been a warm one." I gently bump my head against his shoulder. "And maybe because of you."
"There's no maybe about it," he argues.
I smile into his arm, giving his upper arm a quick kiss. "You're right."
We become quiet once more, the stars our nightlight, the sounds of crickets our music, and the air our blanket. At some point he moves his arm underneath my head and I rest my arm across his stomach. His breathing evens out and I tighten my hold on him, closing my eyes as I listen to his heartbeat and feel his warmth. This man is becoming everything to me. I fall asleep with trepidation in my core, but it pales when compared to the bliss I feel in my heart.
Your scars are beautiful. That's what I whispered to him.
I DECIDE TO FOCUS ON Rivers—putting all of my energy into knowing all the many facets of him. Maybe I subconsciously already was, because when I saw him on that day when he was fragmented and I was fragmented, it seemed like if I could somehow reach him, maybe I could heal myself in the process of rebuilding him.
To me, learning about him is like luminosity in the middle of a rayless abyss, warmth in the coldness, hope in the face of despair—a crack of light through the nothingness blackness brings.
"How come you don't hang out with your friends anymore?" I pose with the basketball in my hands and release it, watching as it soars into the neighbor's yard, not even close to hitting the basket.
He laughs and shakes his head. "You're terrible at this."
I scowl and retract the basketball from the ground, forcefully throwing it at him.
"Don't take your non-athletic aggression out on me." He dribbles the basketball a few times, pauses in a temporary sculpture of grace, and makes the basket. He hasn't missed a shot since we came out over an hour ago.
"You didn't answer me."
"My friends," he repeats slowly. Rivers flexes his fingers around the ball, squinting his eyes at the sun-filled sky.
"Need me to list them off? Forgotten their names already, have you? So fickle."
He shoots me a look before shrugging. "I don't know. They came over at first after the accident, but I didn't want to talk to anyone. In fact, I couldn't stand the sight of anyone. After a while, they stopped coming over. I get an occasional call or text, but..." He shrugs again.
"But?"
He shoots again and again he makes it. "I don't have anything in common with them anymore. They're all going off to college in the fall and I'll still be here. I live in a different world from them."
"By choice," I point out.
With a sound of frustration, he grabs the ball. "Is there any sport you are good at?"
"You're changing the subject."
"I'm going back to the previous subject. I'm allowed to do that."
"No. I equally suck at all of them. I like to keep things balanced."
"For real?"
I hesitate, and then confess, "I've always been interested in baseball. I've never played it other than in gym class when it was required. I wouldn't mind trying it once for fun. I even think I might understand how the game works."
"You think?" One eyebrow lifts.
"Yes. I don't know for sure." I laugh at the confused look on his face.
It fades almost as quickly as it appeared. "Ever been to a Brewers game?"
I cock my head. "Hmm. Isn't that our state football team?"
"That...what..." he sputters.
"I'm kidding! And no, I haven't."
"You know they're our baseball team, right?"
I blink. "They are?"
Rivers groans, making another shot. "You need some culture. You're all earthy and eau de natural, but you know nothing about the real staples of living in the United States—like sports."
"Eau de natural?" I wrinkle my nose. "That makes me think of someone who refuses to wear deodorant."
"We're going to a Brewers game. I'll even get us tickets today."
I shrug. "Okay. I'm in." I steal the ball from him, kicking my leg up as I shoot. Miraculously, it makes it in and I whoop, jumping around in a circle and clapping my hands. "I just needed the leg kick. You should try it!" I shout, laughing as Rivers shakes his head at me.
"Not in this lifetime," he informs me.
"So there's a chance for the next?"
"Doubtful."
“HERE.” I TOSS THE PAPERS onto the kitchen counter and stand back to observe.
Rivers sets his glass of water down, his eyebrows lowering as he studies the forms. “What is this?”
“Your future. If you choose to make it.”
Glancing up at me, he says, “I'm getting a little 'Mission: Impossible' vibe going on right now.”
“No idea why.” We watched the movie last night. Or rather, I did. He fell asleep halfway through it, blissfully snoring away on my shoulder. The music was the best part, and it was really hard to concentrate on it with him being so noisy beside me. I had to elbow him. I don't regret it.
“Why are you giving me informative technical college and high school forms?”
“You need to contact both places so you can study and take whatever tests you need to get your GED. They'll know what you need to do. Call them. You can be a loser for a summer, but any longer than that, and it's just not kosher anymore. And after you get your GED, you go off to college like the star pupil I know you are.”
He stares at me for a long time, and then something shifts in his expression. “Let me get this straight,” he begins slowly, and I immediately tense at the tone of his voice. I am not going to like his next words. “You're pushing me to go to college, a guy who didn't even graduate—”
“The only reason you didn't graduate is because you were in an accident that made you miss too much school. You could have been done with all of this by now, but instead you decided to mope around for a while instead of getting things taken care of,” I say in a rush.
“Yet you, the valedictorian, are not supposed to do the same?” he continues like I never interrupted. Damn. Should have seen that one coming. He crosses his arms. “Tell you what, I'll go if you go.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Because.”
“All right.” He nods. “I'm not doing it either. Just because.”
I grind my teeth together. “At least I graduated. You can't even say that.”
“You know, I planned on doing this. In time, in my own way, when I was ready,” he says heatedly. “But I want to know why you care so much about it, especially when you're not doing the same. And I want to know why you aren't planning on going to college.”
“Because there's no point to it!” I blow up, startling him and myself with the force of my voice.
He rubs his jaw, a calculating gleam to his eyes. Then he shrugs. �
��No point for me either. I don't have any talent. The only thing I've ever really been good at is playing football. I won't be doing that anytime soon. So we're at a stalemate. We can be long-time losers together—drink, smoke, talk about how good we had it in high school, how smart we used to be, how good at sports I used to be. How good-looking I used to be. Good times.”
I have this really strong urge to hit him. Not just because of his tone and the words he is saying—although his comment about him being good-looking, insinuating that I am clearly not when I already know he finds me attractive, is enough reason to smack him—but because he is purposely being obtuse and not caring enough about himself and his future. I have logical reasons for my decision. He is simply being bullheaded.
I storm from the kitchen, but not before giving him a lethal glare. I end up in his room, whirling around in a circle of fury, and aim my eyes on the many awards lining the walls and shelves of his room. There are so many they even had to take residence upon his dresser and nightstand. Noting the missing photographs of Riley with Rivers gives me a brief pause, and a tingle in my spine, but I continue on.
“What are you doing?” he asks worriedly from just inside the doorway.
I grab the first one I find and shove the plaque toward his face. “What is this?”
“MVP for football.”
Crap. That just flusters me more and I toss it aside, ignoring him when he shouts at me to be careful with it. “This one?”
He looks at it and sighs. “Chemistry award.”
“Do you think some dumb jock is going to know anything about science?” I am shaking. I have to get through to him. This is important to me in an almost maniacal way. He has to see this. He has to go on.
“Well...biology, at least.” He smirks and I come unglued.
“This is not funny, Rivers.”
“It sort of is. You're cute when you're mad.”
I grab the first thing I find—the remote control—and I chuck it at him.
A dangerous spark enters his eyes when it connects with his hip and he storms for me. “The hired help attacking the employer's son? Tsk-tsk.” He doesn't really sound upset. If anything, he sounds like I just turned him on. He threads his fingers through my hair and tugs my head back, his eyes hungry as they flit across the features of my face. “I'm going to have to reprimand you for that.”