Every Breath

by Tasha Ivey

  Drew finally returns with two steaming plates filled with juicy pot roast, herbed potatoes, and roasted broccoli. “Hope you’re hungry. I got a little carried away with the portion sizes.”

  “I am, actually.”

  Halfway through our meal, my cell phone chirps at me, indicating a text message. I don’t even have to look at it to know who it is. “Sorry, Drew. Let me see what Callie is wanting.”

  “No problem at all. Tell her I say ‘hello.’”

  Callie: ‘Mak! How’s it going? Has Coach Hot Stuff kissed u yet?’

  Me: ‘Jeez, Cal, no. He says hi.’

  Callie: ‘Back at him. Just tell me one thing. Do u want him to?’

  Me: ‘I’ll call you later.’

  Callie: ‘OMG! U do! U better freaking call me later. <3 u!’

  I shove my phone back into my purse, and I can feel the heat of the redness rising in my cheeks. Do I want to kiss him? “She says ‘back at you.’”

  He narrows his eyes and smirks. “What else did she say?”

  “Just checking up on me.”

  He pulls his own cell phone from his lap to show me the screen. “Was it anything like the messages she sent me?”

  Callie Baxter: ‘Please tell me u kissed her already.’

  Drew: ‘Not YET. Probably not tonight. Don’t want to freak her out.’

  Callie Baxter: ‘Why r u so damn noble? Just DO IT!’

  Drew: ‘Maybe.’

  I slap my hands over my face. “Yes, very similar.” She’s now on my hit list for the second time today.

  Before I can register the sound of a chair scraping the wood decking, I feel Drew’s hands on mine, pulling them away from my face. “Don’t be embarrassed, and don’t be afraid of me. Ever. God knows, I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I saw you bite your lip when we met a year ago, but it won’t happen until I know you’re ready. And it won’t be because Callie thinks we should or even because I think we should. That rests in your hands alone. This is our first date, and you barely know me. We’ll take things as slow as you want.”

  Without meaning to, I sigh out loud. While he kneels beside me, Drew’s dark gaze remains focused on mine. Searching, as if he’s trying to look directly into my mind to see what I’m thinking. “Thank you. I’m still trying to figure all of this out. I don’t think I even know how to behave on a date anymore.”

  He squeezes my hands, still maintaining his hold. “Trust me. You’re doing fine.”

  Wow. He really is noble. And his honesty and openness about all of this make me want to be open with him, too. I want to tell him about Shane, but I’m not ready yet.

  After we finish eating, we move over to a porch swing at the edge of the deck in front of a small fire pit. We talk for hours about the school, his short football career, and our families. I’m enjoying every single moment: the rhythmic sway of the swing, the crackling of the fire, and Drew’s smooth baritone voice. It’s surreal and unexpected and perfect.

  He doesn’t take my hand again, but he does have his arm behind me on the back of the swing and occasionally twirls my hair around his finger or grazes his fingertip across my shoulder while he talks. He really is sticking to his word about not pushing anything out of my comfort zone, and I’m grateful. And a little freaked out that I’m also a tad disappointed. What is wrong with me?

  Drew glances at his watch and jumps to his feet. “Uh oh. I told Callie that I’d have you home by midnight.”

  “And . . .”

  “It’s three o’clock in the morning.” He shrugs and smiles sheepishly.

  “Seriously?” I get to my feet and rush over to where I left my phone on the table—with the ringer turned off.

  Eight texts. Six missed calls.

  ‘Ok babe, it’s 11:30. R u thinking about a goodnight kiss? ;)’

  ‘It’s 11:57. Can’t wait to hear how it went!’

  ‘Call me. I’m ready for the juicy details.’

  ‘Seriously, Mak?’

  ‘U r an hour late! Why aren’t u calling me?’

  ‘Why aren’t u answering me? Did I make u mad earlier?’

  ‘OMG! I’m sorry. Would u answer or call or something. Please?’

  ‘I’m at your house. Almost 3 hrs late, Mak. If I knew where Coach Gorgeous lived, I’d go there and kick both of your asses.’

  “Ouch, she’s mad, huh?” Drew looks up from his phone. “She’s been texting you, too?”

  “Yeah. What did she say to you?”

  He shakes his head and crams his phone into his pocket. “You really don’t want to know this time.”

  By the time Drew pulls into my driveway, we’ve both received four more texts from Callie, and she flies out of the house as soon as the truck tires hit my driveway.

  “Stay in the truck for just a minute,” he says. “I want to talk to her, okay?”

  I’m confused about why he wants to talk to her, but it seems important to him, so I agree. “Um, okay, I guess.”

  “Trust me.”

  Callie is standing on my porch with her arms crossed and tapping her foot. She. Is. Pissed. As soon as Drew approaches her, her hands start flinging around as she yells at him, and I can hear his muffled voice trying to calm her down and explain. But finally, he stills her hands and says something that has her completely frozen for a moment. Finally, she smiles and hugs him. Saying something in his ear before waving at me, she gets into her car and backs out of the drive. Hmm.

  Drew returns to open the truck door for me. “The coast is clear.”

  “What did you say to her? Why did she leave?”

  “Well, in a nutshell, I told her that I didn’t want to miss out on one of the most important parts of our date—walking you to the door—just because she was mad at us. And I told her it was all my fault.”

  Liar. What did he really say? “In a nutshell, huh?”

  He helps me down, fighting a grin. “Yep.”

  We walk silently up the porch to the front door, which is already open, thanks to Callie. Drew wears a warped smile, telling me that he’s hiding something, but he just walks beside me wordlessly with his hands clasped behind his back until we reach the screen door.

  “Makenna?”

  Turning to face him, I suddenly realize how he convinced Callie to leave and exactly what his motives are for getting rid of her. The infamous goodnight at the end of a date. “Yeah?”

  “I just wanted to tell you that I’m really glad you had dinner with me tonight. I had such a good time.” He looks down at me, his eyes glimmering in the soft glow of the porch light.

  “Uh, yeah. I did, too. Thanks for asking me.” My knees are weakening, threatening to drop me to the floor any minute, and my stomach has decided to do some circus-worthy acrobatics.

  “Did you have a good enough time to maybe do it again?” He picks his hand up to slowly trail his fingers down my arm until they intertwine with mine.

  “I did.” Omigosh! “Just let me know when.”

  “How about right now?”

  I feel my eyebrows crash into each other. “Now?!”

  He laughs, throwing his head back. “Well, if I could have my way, it would be now, but I’ll settle for tonight. You know, it is Saturday now.”

  “Tonight. Okay.”

  He beams at me, looking as if he’s going to jump right out of his skin. “I can’t wait.”

  “Okay, well, until tonight then.”

  “Until tonight. Sweet dreams.”

  I expect him to take his hand from mine and start backing away, but he remains fixed. He even holds my hand a little tighter and brings his other hand up to cup my cheek. Leaning down slightly, he kisses my forehead, his supple lips lingering for just a moment before he steps away.

  “I’ll call you later. Get some sleep, beautiful.”

  “Goodnight, Drew.”

  I somehow convince my legs to take me inside, and I close and lock the front door, stopping to lean against it to replay that moment and decide how I feel about it. It wa
s nice. Very nice. Am I ready to kiss him yet? No, I don’t think so, but I might be getting there.

  Before I can analyze it any further, my phone rings, and a quick check of the caller I.D. confirms my fear. Callie.

  “Hey, Cal. Listen, I’m so sorry about—”

  She cuts me off. “Oh, please, stop apologizing and tell me everything.”

  It’s been a few months now since that first date with Drew, and I’m a little ashamed to report that not much has changed. We see each other a couple of times a week—either at my place or his, and on occasion, we go out with Callie and Wes. We’ve fallen into a comfortable couple routine, I guess, but not much has changed as far as the physical aspects of the relationship. Sure, we hug and hold hands and all, but it’s strictly PG rated.

  We still haven’t kissed.

  I know what you’re thinking. It has been over three months. But he told me on our first date that the ball is in my court, so to speak, so he hasn’t even tried. He’s waiting for me to let him know I’m ready for that. And I’m just not yet.

  At first, I was excited to be in a new relationship, and I felt almost giddy those first few times we saw each other. I wouldn’t say I was excited at the possibility of something a little more physical, but let’s just say I was intrigued. However, once the brand new started to wear off a little, and I started to seriously consider his indirect advances, the thought terrorized me. I have only kissed one man, and I have only been with one man. He was going to be my only one.

  Until he was ripped away from me. My forever disintegrated in a matter of minutes.

  I still haven’t told Drew about Shane, but I’m not so sure that Callie hasn’t. He has been unreasonably respectful of my boundaries, so I’m suspicious of what he knows, but he hasn’t brought it up. Still, I can tell by the way he looks at me sometimes, that he’s not simply holding back because I haven’t given him the green light. His look is . . . sympathetic.

  “Hey, you!” Callie calls out to me from the end of the long stretch of hallway. “Stay right there. I need to ask you something, but I gotta pee first.”

  Ah, the plight of teachers everywhere. When you get the chance to go, you go.

  Callie has been surprisingly supportive of my painfully slow steps back into a relationship, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to finagle details out of me after every date. And she brings up far too often that Drew just may implode if I don’t take another step. But I always give her the same answer—soon.

  “Whew, girl! I didn’t think I was going to make it. I spent my entire planning period on the phone with Daniel Johnson’s mom. She’s convinced that Daniel isn’t failing math because he needs extra help. She says that he knows it so well that it bores him, so he refuses to do it anymore.”

  “Don’t you love those phone calls?” It seems like I get all of those parents. Parents who think their child deserves more attention than the others. Parents who refuse to allow their kid to go to tutoring because they don’t want anyone to know they do. Parents who attend every party we have, but never attend a conference.

  Callie slaps her hands together. “Oh, speaking of phone calls, that’s why I wanted to talk to you. I got a call from that lady at the recruiter’s office. She said they got a batch of letters in from our adopted soldiers.”

  Our classes are participating in an Adopt a Solider for the Holidays event that our local recruiter’s office puts on every year. Last year, my class made cards and sent letters all throughout the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays to our adopted soldier. I like to think we made a difference in his life and helped him to make it through the holidays, but he only replied once. A single sheet of paper that said “Thanks for the stuff.” Nevertheless, my class was really excited about getting a letter back from him, so I guess it was well worth it. And it did provide a good social studies lesson for them, too.

  Callie throws a tired glance at her watch. “Shoot, my class is almost back from art. So are you going to pick the letters up, or am I?”

  “I guess I can go pick them up after school.”

  Callie nudges me with her shoulder and winks. “I’m glad you said that because I already told her that you would be coming by.”

  “You’re really lucky I love you, you know. What would I do without you making all of my decisions for me?” Just last week, she volunteered me to bake ten dozen cupcakes for our annual bake sale, and yesterday, she told Drew that she and I would make sack lunches for the football team’s away game at the end of next week.

  She puts her hands on her hips and leans to whisper in my ear, her hair tickling my cheek. “Honey, if you only listened to half of what I tell you, Drew wouldn’t be standing over there looking like he’s about to eat you.”

  I spin around and see Drew talking to Mr. Burris, the elementary principal. And Cal is right. His eyes are voracious, making him look like a man who’s been stranded on an island without food for weeks. Once he realizes he’s been caught, he holds up his hands in surrender and his mouth curves up on one side.

  Mr. Burris finally realizes that Drew isn’t listening to a word he says. “Miss Madison, would you get over here and talk to him, so he’ll get back to coaching? We won’t win this week if you keep him all tied up.”

  I can feel my ears burning. I didn’t even know Mr. Burris knew about us. “Yeah, uh, did you need something, Coach?”

  Drew looks over at him, who seems perfectly fine with listening in on our conversation. “I’ll catch you later, Burris. I can’t wait to hear your ideas on how the team can improve.”

  “Really? Okay, I’ll see you in a while.” He walks away beaming.

  Drew shakes his head and laughs, taking a few steps toward me. “The things I do to see you for five measly minutes. You’re gonna owe me for that one.”

  “You know,” I argue, batting my lashes, “I don’t seem to remember asking you to come visit me today, so I guess you took one for the team just then. Pun intended, of course.”

  Seeming distracted, he nods toward the empty classroom behind me. “Hey, can we talk for a second?”

  “Oh, uh, sure.” Why does that combination of words sound so perilous? I mean, how many bad conversations start with that one ominous phrase?

  Stepping into the dim classroom, I’m suddenly panic-stricken and practically deafened by the swift percussion of my heartbeat hammering in my ears. The sharp scent of pencil shavings and markers do nothing to quell the instantaneous nausea plaguing my knotted stomach, which only worsens when I hear the soft click of the door closing behind me.

  “I want to talk to you about something important to me, and I hope you don’t hate me for this.”

  Oh, God. He’s really doing this, and all because I’m not moving fast enough for him. I’ve invested nearly four months into making myself comfortable with this relationship, for absolutely nothing. “Drew, I know I should be ready for more, but I’m just not. I’m sorry if this isn’t enough for you. Hell, I know it isn’t enough for you. I don’t blame you at all for feeling the way you do.”

  There. I did half the work for him. Now, he can just agree that he needs someone who can give him more, and we’ll both be on our way.

  He steps in front of me, gingerly placing his massive hands on either side of my head and tilting it up. “Makenna, what in God’s name are you talking about?”

  “I get it, Drew. Honestly, I do. You don’t have to sugarcoat anything. I knew from the beginning that you’d eventually realize how defective I am, and I’m okay with that. I don’t know how to be the person that you need me to be. It’s just not in me anymore. So, let’s save ourselves from any further drama and be done with this.”

  He gapes at me, speechless, and allows his hands to slowly fall away. Nothing about his stony expression gives me any indication that I’m wrong. His jaw muscles are bunched tight and his usually full lips are set into a thin line, refusing to allow any words to pass them.

  “I’m really sorry,” I say, taking a step back. “I did tr
y really hard.”

  At the sound of little footsteps marching down the hallway, Drew finally moves, dragging both hands through his hair and exhaling so deeply it sounds more like a growl. “I have to go, and we can’t have this conversation here. But we are going to talk about this. I’ll be at your house after practice tonight, and don’t even think about not being there. I will wait at your door all night long, if I have to.”

  Without waiting for any sort of reply, he storms out, toppling a chair and disrupting a pile of worksheets. He storms out! And I don’t understand what more we could talk about. I just gave him an easy out, and he didn’t take it.

  A sudden tugging at my skirt tells me that one of my students has found me. “Miss Madison?”

  I turn and bend at the waist to meet a pair of wide blue eyes, belonging to the very well-known Jase Mitchell. Well-known because, last year, he thought it would be a grand idea to bring in a backpack full of surprises—turtles and frogs. “Yes, Jase?”

  Jase looks up with a combination of concern and adoration. “Was that the football coach?”

  “Yes, sweetie, it was. Why aren’t you at recess?”

  “Was he mad, Miss Madison?” Jase asked, clearly not falling for my change of subject. “If he’s not being nice, you can sit with me at lunch today, in case he comes back.”

  Bless his heart. “Thank you very much, Jase, but everything is okay. He was just in a hurry to get back to the football players. Now, do you want to tell me why you’re not at recess?”

  His eyes fall to his shuffling feet. “I’m ‘spose to be going to the principal’s office.”

  “Uh oh. Why?”

  “Did you know if you pull off a lizard’s tail, it’ll grow back?” Jase’s eyes sparkle with his revelation. “Caydee didn’t believe me, so I pulled a lizard’s tail off and stuck it in her hair.”