Collateral

by Ellen Hopkins

(days, weeks, months, and, I assume,

  years) you spend in different places,

  when you’re finally in the same

  room again, it’s like you’ve never left

  each other’s side. And you realize

  that your hearts have never

  disconnected. You still like the same

  music. Even though it’s not exactly

  California “in,” Darian and I have

  been country fans since we were kids.

  She turns on Lady Antebellum,

  who I much prefer to Lady Gaga.

  “Need You Now” plays softly and

  Darian sings along. And I wonder

  if I ever cross your mind. For me,

  it happens all the time . . .

  Such a sad song, and somehow

  it feels relevant here, where I can’t

  find evidence of Spencer. Cole and

  I don’t even live together, but there

  are pieces of him everywhere

  in my apartment—a favorite shirt,

  still smelling of his deodorant

  and cologne; stuffed animals he won

  for me at carnivals; shells and sand

  dollars we collected on beach walks;

  the dried husks of flowers he gave

  me over the years. I never tossed any.

  There is no trace of Spencer here—

  no flowers, no shells, no shirts.

  Framed photographs grace tables

  and walls. Dar and her mom. Dar

  and her horse. I can see a couple

  of Dar and me. But none with Spence.

  Not even one of their wedding.

  Wonder if there are any in their

  bedroom. I’m tempted to go look.

  And while I’m there, check the closet

  for his clothes. Why am I suddenly

  so certain everything inside there

  belongs to Darian? And why should

  I really care if time and distance

  have jacked them apart? Because

  I do, damn it. It’s just sad to think

  about. There was so much promise

  in the two-as-one of them. I’m not

  sure how to approach the subject,

  other than directly. I take three

  strong swallows of tequila, seeking

  courage. “How are things with Spence?

  Any better?” I’m hoping she’ll say

  yes. But it’s just wishful thinking.

  About the same, I guess. It’s hard

  to know, exactly. E-mail isn’t

  the best way to communicate

  feelings. And it’s definitely not

  the right way to discuss our future.

  If we even have one together, that is.

  I’M AFRAID TO ASK

  But I did start this, so here goes.

  “You’re not thinking about leaving

  him, are you?” The divorce rate

  for deployed soldiers is dependably

  high. Something like seventy

  percent. Can’t Darian and Spencer

  be part of the thirty? She shrugs.

  I don’t know. There are reasons

  to stay. And reasons to go.

  I think about Celine—how she and

  and her husband decided to stick

  together, no matter what. “Is it because . . .”

  It’s so good talking to her again,

  I really don’t want to make her mad.

  Still . . . “I heard there are rumors.

  About you and other men. Don’t get

  pissed, okay? I just wondered, um,

  if that’s one of your reasons to go.”

  She sips her Campari. Considers

  what to say. For several seconds,

  she retreats so far away she might

  have visited another time zone.

  Finally, she returns to Pacific

  Standard. What am I supposed

  to do, Ash? I’m only twenty-five.

  Not like I can live without sex,

  and no piece of vibrating plastic

  is going to cut it for me. Yes, I’ve

  slept with a couple of guys. I’m not

  as strong as you, and maybe I lack

  morals. I don’t know. It’s just every

  now and then, I need a warm body

  next to mine. I need someone real

  and strong and caring to pull me

  into him, hold me close, and tell

  me he lo—” She skids to a sudden

  stop, and certain clarity washes

  over me. Why did I start this, again?

  “And tell you he loves you? Is that

  what you were going to say?” I wait,

  but she doesn’t answer. “Talk to me,

  Dar. Are you in love with someone else?”

  She directs her gaze until it’s level with

  mine. Yes. She gulps down the rest

  of her drink. I do the same with mine.

  Rewind

  IT TOOK ME

  About two weeks to overtly insert

  the word “love” into the Cole-plus-

  Ashley equation. There were hints

  before I accepted it. Tendrils

  of that elusive emotion, infiltrating

  our togetherness. Especially our

  intimate togetherness. Before Cole,

  I never understood the meaning

  of making love. My previous sexual

  adventures came in two categories.

  One: tepid fumbling—no play, no

  passion, no real point to the effort.

  Certainly, no orgasm, at least not

  for me. Or, two: overheated romps—

  no concern, no caring, no real

  connection. Lightweight orgasm, yes,

  and short-term fun, but nothing worth

  holding on to. Either way, I always

  ended up disappointed. Sex and love

  were two distinct entities in my mind,

  as separate as east and west.

  Cole fused them, and although

  I refused to believe it at first,

  the merge began right away.

  WE SPENT OUR FIRST SUNDAY

  Together at the Air and Space Museum.

  We even managed to drag Darian and

  Spence out of the bedroom for a few

  hours. It was fun playing tourist, even

  if Darian did complain. What’s next?

  LEGOLAND? But she managed to enjoy

  the day. We all did. The guys were

  attentive. Proprietary, even, holding

  us close beside them. A couple of times

  I noticed Cole watching children running

  ahead of their parents. In a private

  moment, I asked, “You like kids, huh?”

  He nodded. Yeah. I want a big family

  one day. He squeezed my hand. You?

  “Considering I work at a preschool

  and want to teach, I like them okay.”

  That didn’t quite satisfy him. How

  about kids of your own? The weird

  thing was, I hadn’t really thought much

  about it before. Marriage was a distant

  target. “Of course I want them. Ask me

  how many after I’ve taught for a while.”

  THE SHORT EXCHANGE

  Spoke loudly to me. Here was a man

  with a heart. Not a single previous

  boyfriend had ever mentioned

  children or wanting a family. Whether

  or not I shared Cole’s dream, that he

  had not been afraid to talk about it

  illustrated an abstract kind of courage.

  I liked him. A lot. Already. That scared me.

  But not enough to close myself off.

  Not enough to send him away. Cole

  had roused intense curiosity. This

  gentle-souled, to
ugh-hided soldier

  was an enigma. A puzzle I wanted

  to solve. A stranger who felt like

  someone I knew once upon a time.

  I didn’t consider the future at all.

  Enough, to explore the museum,

  hand in hand. And afterward to stop

  by Cole’s uncle’s place, where the boys

  were officially staying while on leave.

  Followed that up with dinner at a little

  oceanfront seafood joint, sharing platters

  of crab and oysters on the half shell.

  And drinking just enough decent wine.

  ALL RESISTANCE WEAKENED

  All barriers lowered, when we got

  back to the apartment, Darian

  and Spence were hot and heavy

  through the door. They didn’t waste

  a second, went straight back to her

  bedroom. Which left Cole and me

  alone in the front room. I felt like

  an awkward teenager, wanting

  to kiss him but thinking I really

  ought to go brush my teeth first.

  “Be right back,” I said. My hand

  trembled as I loaded my toothbrush.

  “Jeez. What’s up with you?”

  I asked the person in the mirror.

  She didn’t answer, and I thought

  that was good, at least. All

  fresh-mouthed, I went back to

  the living room. Cole watched

  me with those serious eyes,

  a question floating in their gold

  sea. I slid my arms up around

  his neck, invitation heavy in

  the kiss I gave him. He lifted me

  as if I were weightless. Our lips

  never disconnected as he

  carried me to my room, eased

  me onto my bed. It was romantic.

  Sexy. And even sexier when

  he stopped, took off his shirt.

  Marines have to be fit. But Cole

  was a whole different level

  of fit—every muscle chiseled

  and skin smooth as suede.

  I started to unbutton my blouse.

  No. Let me. Please? I loved how

  he asked permission, all the while

  taking complete control. I also

  loved how he didn’t hurry. Each

  time he loosened a button, he kissed

  the skin just beneath it. When

  my entire top half was exposed,

  his tongue explored it, inch by

  goose bump–covered inch. And

  by the time he unzipped my jeans,

  slid them off my quaking legs,

  my panties had soaked through.

  Jesus. Some things are worth

  waiting for, my California girl.

  THE “MY”

  Took me over the top. In that

  moment, I wanted to be his,

  and so gave him things I’d always

  resisted. BC (Before Cole), oral

  sex had been offered, and received,

  with definite boundaries. That night,

  we exchanged it with abandon.

  I opened my legs wide, pushed

  his face in between, urged his tongue

  deep inside me, asked his fingers

  to follow. I let him bring me right to

  the edge. Stopped him. “My turn.”

  He was down to boxers by then.

  BC, I’d been with a grand total

  of four men. And if I were to describe

  “size,” I’d have to say three average,

  one little. Comparing to breast size,

  three B-cups, one double-A. Cole

  is a C-plus, and while that didn’t

  surprise me, neither did I expect

  it. They say size doesn’t matter,

  but in my estimation, it makes things

  both problematic and sort of amazing.

  I quickly learned to relax my jaws,

  coax him inside my mouth little by

  little. It was intense, and all I wanted

  in those moments was to make

  him feel like the most important

  man in the world. I still had no clue

  how quickly he would become that.

  SIZE DEFINITELY MATTERED

  When he finally slipped inside

  me. If I hadn’t been so wet,

  it would have been uncomfortable.

  As it was, he filled me up completely,

  a sensation I had never known.

  He flipped onto his back, pulled me

  on top of him. His eyes never left

  my face as he lifted my hips, slid

  me backward, against his critically

  hard erection. A gentle push and when

  my own eyes jumped wide, he smiled.

  There was no pain, but extreme

  pressure against that deep internal

  spot some people argue does not exist.

  It does; at least I definitely have one,

  and Cole was the first guy ever to

  find it. I am not a moaner by nature

  and, in fact, have always believed

  all real-life sex-squeals were put on,

  some sorry attempt at porn sound-

  track noises or something. But, totally

  unplanned, unforeseen, and unbidden,

  a minuscule ah-ah-ah began in the back

  of my throat, grew into a steady ooooh

  as I climbed toward orgasm. It swelled

  into a small scream as I reached

  the plateau. A foreign place. Almost

  surreal, and he wasn’t finished yet.

  A shift of bodies, and then he was on

  top, rocking fast and faster into me.

  I locked my legs around his waist,

  lifting my hips to make him touch

  that elusive spot again. He took a long

  time. A very long time. We reached

  the pinnacle together. When our bodies

  were quite finished, still we stayed joined

  until we had no choice but to slip apart.

  Then Cole turned me on one side, urged

  me into the bowl of his body, held me

  there. Exceptional, he whispered into

  my hair. Extraordinary. Within a few

  minutes, his soft, steady breathing told

  me he was asleep. I closed my eyes,

  but didn’t tumble straight into dreams.

  Rather, I thought about how quickly lives

  can change. Because, while intellect

  insisted this was likely a transient connection,

  a sliver of emotion really hoped it wasn’t.

  I AM, BY NATURE

  An early riser. Even watery

  rays of predawn light will trigger

  the built-into-my-brain wakeup

  call. So the next morning, when

  my eyes stuttered open at eight

  oh six, my first thought was, Wow.

  That’s weird. And then, in this order:

  Who is in bed with me? Cole. Right.

  Wait. What day is it? Monday? No!

  I’ll never make my nine a.m.

  I extricated myself from Cole’s arm,

  still resting in the U of my waist.

  He moved restlessly, but the depth

  of his breathing indicated sleep.

  I grabbed some clothes, hurried

  into the bathroom to shower off

  the remnants of sweat-soaked sex.

  I was already struggling a little

  in my developmental learning

  class and didn’t want to miss it.

  I wrote a quick note to Cole: Have

  classes until four. Back by five.

  Hope to see you then. If not, when?

  I left it closed in the bedroom door,

  where he’d see it when he got up.

  Hurr
ied to class, and managed

  to make it with two minutes to spare.

  Spent the rest of the day trying

  to concentrate. Wondering if Cole

  would be there when I got home.

  NOT ONLY WAS HE THERE

  He and Spence had gone grocery

  shopping. The two of them were in

  the kitchen, slurping beer and doing

  their best to cook something resembling

  spaghetti. Darian diverted me to

  my bedroom. Thank God for Ragu!

  she said, laughing. Now, if they can

  just figure out how to do al dente.

  I put my books on my desk. Noticed

  that Cole had made the bed. “What’s

  up with all the domesticity?” I wondered

  out loud. “The way to a girl’s heart?”

  Just saying it gave the fractured cliché

  some weight. “Whose idea was it to make

  us dinner, anyway?” I expected her to take

  credit. But, no. Apparently it was Cole’s.

  He said he owed you. Darian smiled.

  He didn’t say what for, but I’ve got

  a pretty good idea. Girl, I’ve never heard

  you, like, howl before! Then she laughed.

  My face ignited, but I laughed, too.

  Well, a little. They heard? “Compared

  to you, it was more like a whimper. But . . .”

  I never shared the details of my sex life—

  or lack thereof. But I knew she really

  wanted them at that moment. I didn’t

  know what to tell her, except, “Cole

  is amazing.” In more ways than one.

  THE SPAGHETTI

  Wasn’t half-bad. In fact, bolstered

  by extra onion, garlic, and a fresh

  grate of Parmesan, the Ragu proved

  pretty darn good. The guys even

  seemed to understand the meaning

  of al dente. We ate. Drank a little.

  Enjoyed dinner-table talk about past

  problems and future fears. It was more

  domestic than anything I’d enjoyed

  since I was a little girl. The guys

  cleared and washed the dishes

  by hand. It was such a sweet gesture

  that later, when I had to go searching

  for my favorite knife, finally finding it

  in the drawer with the spatulas, it

  bothered me only a little. After dinner,

  we watched a scary movie on HBO,

  and by the evening’s end, the four

  of us were solidly a pair of couples.

  My homework suffered (in fact,

  it languished completely). But sex

  that night was even better because