Two Blue Lines (Crossing The Line #1)

by Sc Montgomery

  No, I was shaking in my Vans because my future, all I hoped to be, could come down to these next few moments.

  As I approached her bed, Mel cracked her eyes opened and watched me.

  I didn’t say anything.

  She didn’t say anything.

  When I got to her side, she lifted her fingertips in a beckoning motion until my hand was within reach, then she gripped it like a drowning woman with a life preserver as her eyes filled with tears.

  We simply stared at each other for several moments as her tears fell unheeded to the pristine pillowcase beneath her head.

  “I’m sorry, Reed,” she finally whispered. “So, so sorry.”

  I used my free thumb to try and clear some of the tears from her cheeks, but it was pointless as hundreds more replaced them. “I know.”

  This just made her cry harder.

  “I love you so much,” she sobbed.

  I dipped my head. God, how I wanted to tell her I loved her, too. But we needed to hash this out first.

  . . . Man up, son. Do the right thing. Your heart already knows what it is.

  “How is the baby?” she asked.

  I peeked back up at her. “She’s fine. Really good, actually.”

  She smiled through her tears. “Told you it was a girl.”

  I huffed a small laugh. “Yeah. You did.”

  She ran her thumb along my knuckles. “I can’t wait until I’m well enough to go see her.”

  I nodded once.

  “Guess we need to think of a name. I know we didn’t really talk—”

  “Melissa.”

  Her deep, pained eyes seared me. “What?”

  “I think you know what.”

  Silence.

  Utter, devastating silence.

  “Melissa!”

  She blinked away the tears that had begun to form on her lashes again and I hated myself for making her cry as she lay in an ICU bed. But I needed to know. Now.

  I hooked a chair with my foot and scooted it over to sit next to her without letting her hand go. I took a breath and gentled my tone. “Mel. Please. I need to know . . . is she mine?”

  Her impossibly huge eyes scanned my face. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t . . . you don’t know?” I dropped her hand and ran my palm down my face. Oh, God.

  I leaned over, drew the baby’s face into focus, a myriad of emotions urging me forward. “But it’s . . .” I swallowed thickly. I could do this. “But it’s either me or Jonah . . . right? That’s it?” I forced myself to make eye contact.

  Her face went totally blank. Then her brows turned down in a confused frown. “Jonah? What are you talking about?”

  My stomach curled with nausea and dread formed icicles around my heart. This was worse than I’d thought. If not Jonah, then who?

  Had I misheard so badly? And beat the living hell out of my best friend over nothing . . . Oh, shit.

  “Reed?” She shifted in the bed and focused on my face. “I’m confused. Why would you think she was Jonah’s baby? I’d never . . .” Fresh tears filled her eyes to overflowing. “I’d never cheat on you. Oh, God. You think . . .” She slapped a hand over her mouth.

  “You said—” I stopped myself. I was more than turned around with my chaotic thoughts.

  She struggled to sit up with an expression of fierce determination on her face. She cringed a bit and held a hand to her stomach, reminding me that it was only last night that she’d had a baby cut from her body and very nearly died doing it. I probably needed to leave this alone for now.

  I stood. “You know what? Let’s talk about this later.”

  “No! We’re going to talk about this now.” She sucked in a breath and pulled herself higher on the pillows. “Sit back down.”

  She eyed me until I relented, though guilt was kicking me in the balls. I’d hear her out, then I’d go.

  She licked her dry lips and refocused on me. “That baby is not Jonah King’s. That’s impossible. And you have to know I’d never cheat on you. God, Reed, we’ve been together too long . . . I love you too much.”

  “Then how can you not know whose she is?” But as I asked the question, the answer slammed into me with the force of a freight train.

  No. No. No.

  November 1st

  Pieces of My Heart

  Melissa continued to stare at me as the mantra of denial screamed through my brain.

  NO.

  “Tell me,” I demanded. “Tell me what I’m thinking is wrong. Tell me . . .” I couldn’t even speak the words. Could someone have violated my girlfriend and I not have known? No. No way. She would never have kept something like that from me.

  I studied her face for a clue, but she’d closed herself off from me, her eyes clouded with regret.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  “Sorry for what, exactly?” I hated that my voice broke.

  She glanced down at her hands as she toyed with the edge of the sheet. “For lying to you. For lying to everyone. I should’ve told you. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t. I was just so . . . so . . .”

  “You were so what, Mel? What’s going on here?”

  She lifted her eyes to mine and they were surprisingly dry. Strong. Defiant, even. “I was scared, okay? Ashamed. I hated that I was so weak and I didn’t want you to know, so I didn’t say anything, and it was stupid and wrong and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She dropped her head, her fingers clawing and gripping the bedding into a desperate handful.

  I scooted closer and grabbed her hand, forcing her to release the sheet and interlaced our fingers. “What happened, Mel? You can tell me now.”

  She blinked without looking up and tears cascaded down on the sheets like a rain shower. “I got mad at you for ignoring me at the King’s party, so I was pouting alone in one of the back bedrooms. He was drunk and he found me there . . .” She swallowed.

  I squeezed her fingers for support. And though I had some idea what she was about to tell me, my mind rebelled, hoping against hope she was going to say something—anything—else. I schooled my breathing and waited for her to go on.

  “I tried to get away from him, but he was bigger than me.” She wiped the tears streaking down her face as she told me about the locked door, the smell of sweat on her attacker’s body, the way he cranked up music and covered her mouth to muffle her cries. “It was over so quick, I barely had time to register what had happened. Then he started saying how I’d been teasing him, flirting, that I wanted it . . . and I’d better not say anything or I’d be sorry. He’d hurt me, my brother, you. Then he’d tell you what a whore I was. That I’d come on to him. I felt so dirty and cheap. And weak.”

  Now she met my eyes and I saw the true depth of the agony she’d been hiding away all this time. “I wondered if I’d really done something to bring it on. Were my shorts too short? My top too tight? Had I said something—?”

  No!

  Anger surged through me that someone would hurt her. Threaten her. And use me against her to do it. I jumped to my feet and collected her in my arms. “Oh, baby. Who? Who did that to you?”

  She wrapped her arms around my neck, her hot tears soaking my T-shirt. I barely heard her reply, but when it registered, every single cell in my body froze.

  “Noah.”

  I dipped my head to rest on hers, not trusting my own reaction. How did you kill a dead man?

  “I’m so sorry,” she said yet again.

  I drew back, angry this time. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Mel. He did that to you. He’s to blame. Not you.”

  Her gaze dipped, then she met mine again. “I know that now.”

  “When did that happen, anyway?” My gut clenched when I thought about not being able to protect her.

  “I told you. At Jonah’s. The night of Noah’s going-away party.” She looked at me expectantly like I should remember. Well, at least that explained the ‘Jonah’ part. And why she’d been acting so weird around him. Damn. Guess I owed him a big fat apo
logy.

  “So when you were being wheeled away to have the baby and you were begging me not to hate you . . . ?”

  She bit her lip. “I couldn’t stand the idea that if something happened to me and you somehow found out through DNA or whatever that the baby was Noah’s, that you’d never forgive me.”

  “Of course I can forgive you. Like I said—”

  “I know what you said, but I should’ve told you right then and not listened to his threats. I should have trusted that you wouldn’t have believed him. But I was shaken up, embarrassed . . . stupid. Then I found out I was pregnant and I didn’t know what to do.”

  A blond nurse came in and interrupted us while she checked on Mel’s IV drips and vital signs. She smiled sweetly before sailing out again.

  “So what now?” Mel asked once we were alone.

  “Whadya mean?”

  She sucked in a breath like her words were painful. “I mean, are we broken up now? Are you gonna stick around and see if the baby is yours? What’re you thinking? I know that this situation is totally screwed up and I’d give anything to go back to what we were before and I’m sorry we can’t.”

  I tilted my head, surveying the pieces of my heart.

  Yes, we were young.

  Yes, this situation was jacked the hell up. The road ahead treacherous.

  Sure, things would be tons simpler if we could go back to our lives a few months ago. Before Noah attacked her. Before the baby.

  But I wasn’t sure I wanted that. I studied this girl before me, with her luminous black-brown eyes, nose dotted with freckles; the one who grew from loving anime and horror movies when we were thirteen into Twilight and boy bands (gag) as we got older . . . the girl who’d always, always held my heart. Always known my heart. My secrets. My fears and nightmares. Because I’d shared them with her and felt safe doing it.

  And I was so very sorry she felt she couldn’t do the same. At least not this time.

  And we’d made a baby together.

  I could care less what DNA said. I’d decided just that morning that that little girl was mine.

  But did Melissa still want me?

  I blinked, squeezed her fingers, asking her something I’d asked her before. But, somehow, today’s answer was so much more important. “What do you want, Mel?”

  “I don’t want you to leave me. But I don’t want to be selfish. I’d understand if you needed to wait and see with the baby.”

  . . . Man up, son. Do the right thing. Your heart already knows what it is.

  My dad was a genius.

  “What about her? She’s mine.” I smiled.

  “I . . .” She smiled back tentatively, confused. Then her smile spread into a relieved grin. “Oh.”

  I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. “It doesn’t matter who made her,” I whispered. “I’m her father, okay?”

  She nodded, staring at me.

  I kissed her again. “I love you, Mel. And I love that little girl. I’m not going anywhere.”

  November 1st

  Best Friends. Forever?

  When visiting hours were over, I left Mel and searched the waiting room for her parents. They weren’t there, so I told the help desk volunteer to let them know I’d be back and took off. I had something I needed to do.

  On the way down the elevator and out to the car, I called Roxanne like Mel had asked me to, and let her know everything was okay.

  And it was.

  I couldn’t have named why, but it was like a million pound weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Maybe because I’d subconsciously known Mel was hiding something from me and now everything was out on the table. Every painful, ugly thing.

  There was just one more ugly thing that needed fixing.

  So I hopped in my car and drove straight for Jonah’s. The drive was quicker than I would’ve liked . . . I needed some time to process all this new information, to work out what I was going to say to him. Somehow, an apology didn’t seem enough. But, as I drove into his droopy, tired neighborhood, I realized it was all I had to offer.

  When I drove into the King’s driveway, Jonah’s mom came down the front steps with the little kids in tow, looking even drearier than all the surrounding houses; than the storm clouds that rained down pain on me the day Mel and I broke up.

  She stopped when she saw me, her eyes dead.

  I rolled down my window. “Hey. Is Jonah home?”

  Her response was monotone, and it seemed to take all her energy. “No.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  Her eyes dipped and I wondered if she had any idea that I’d beat the shit out of him last night. “No.”

  “Oh. Okay, thanks.” I started to roll up my window and paused. “Will you tell him I came by when you see him?”

  She nodded and started loading the kids into their dusty minivan.

  Reversing out of the driveway, I tried to think where he could be. Then, suddenly, I knew.

  Letting my grief over all that’d happened fill me, I headed to Surfside. To Lettie. To my best friend.

  Sure enough, I found him sitting on the sand, a few feet from Lettie’s cross, facing the ocean.

  With a deep breath I approached and sat next to him. He didn’t say anything for a long while, didn’t acknowledge me. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye and saw the nasty purple bruise high on his cheekbone, his swollen eye, busted lip. God.

  “How’s Melissa?” he finally said, his voice low, unemotional.

  “She and the baby are gonna be all right.” I studied him, trying to gauge him. Was he angry? Hurt? Even worse, totally detached?

  His dark, wounded eyes met mine then, and I saw the depths of his pain.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling like I was spitting into the ocean. A little bit of nothing to a world of hurt.

  He looked away, still silent.

  “Why didn’t you say something? Hit me back? Anything?” I waited until he faced me again. “I was wrong and you took it. Why, Jonah?”

  His shoulder lifted in a one-sided shrug.

  “Jonah!”

  “What?” he exploded. “What do you want me to say? I took it because . . . because . . .”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve always taken it.” His words slipped out on a pained whisper and were nearly eaten by the fierce breeze. “Because it’s who I am. Jonah King, punching bag. Nobody. Why should it be any different with you?”

  Agony ripped through me all over again. “No. Jonah. I was wrong. So wrong!” I studied his disbelieving, stoic expression. “You don’t even know why I was pissed, do you? Do you have any idea?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it matters!”

  He shrugged again and shifted to gaze at the ocean, sadness rippling from him. Had I lost my best friend forever?

  “Jonah.” He didn’t move, but I could sense he was listening. “Mel . . . she told me just before the baby was born that she might not be mine.”

  Now he did face me.

  “I thought she was saying it could be yours, man. But I was wrong and I’m so freakin’ sorry. I should’ve known better.”

  Confusion washed down his features. “How’s that even possible? If not yours, then whose?”

  I swallowed and took my turn to look away, to the rolling waves that had always comforted me. I could feel his eyes boring into me. I decided just ripping off the Band-Aid was the best thing. “She was raped.” I took a breath and met his eyes. “By Noah.”

  Jonah’s expression went blank. That’s the only way to describe it. Nothingness. “When?”

  “At his going-away party.”

  Understanding dawned in his face. “Oh, God.” His pained words nearly killed me all over again. “I’m so sor—”

  “No. Don’t you dare apologize for anything your brother did. Don’t.”

  He shook his head fiercely. “No. I am sorry. For what my brother did and . . . and . . .”

  I waited. What coul
d he have to be sorry for?

  “And because I thought maybe something was up that night, but I ignored it. I was trying really hard to stay in the house, out of Noah’s way. He was being a drunk asshole. Violent, angrier than usual.” He hung his head. “Shit. I feel like such a dick. I should’ve said something.”

  Something weird started ticking inside me. Hurt, all over again. “What do you mean? Said something about what, exactly?”

  “I was walking out of the bathroom and I saw Noah go into the back bedroom and slam the door. I heard music crank up crazy loud. I thought I might’ve seen a girl in there, but I blew it off. I never thought . . . if I’d had any idea.”

  I dropped my head, picturing what he was saying. Where was I? How had I missed all of that? What might be different in my life if it had never happened?

  We were silent for several long minutes. There were no words. None.

  “So,” Jonah finally said. “Are we good? Do you hate me now?”

  I peered at him sideways, my head rested on my folded arms on top of my knees. “Do you hate me now?”

  “Nah, dude.”

  I nodded and sighed. We’d be fine. Eventually.

  November 2nd

  Mom brought me some stuff from home finally, including my diary. I needed to get some of this gunk out of me. Reed knows now. Everything. And he still loves me. I can hardly believe it. Before he left last night, he even made me promise to get some counseling and talk to someone about what happened. I swore I would, and I know I need that. I do. I want to heal more than anything. It’ll probably take a while for all of this to process and settle, but for the first time in months, I really think everything’s going to be okay.

  My parents know what happened to me now, too. While my dad and Chris waited in the waiting room this morning, I cried and sobbed in my mom’s arms when she asked me about what I said to Reed just before the c-section. I saw the disappointment in her eyes, and I just couldn’t take it, so I told. All of it.