by Lindy Zart
Her head lifts and she unflinchingly stares at me. The seconds tick by and turn into minutes; all the while our gazes remain locked.
“Tell me the truth,” I finally say in a low voice.
“It really is over, isn't it? He won't come back.” I don't answer. “I guess I knew that, deep down.” She takes a breath, pushing herself to her feet. “No.”
I go still, sure I heard her wrong. “What?”
“No. It's not Grayson's.”
I carefully get to my feet, dizziness making me unsteady. “How do you know?”
Wiping tears from her face, she says, “Because we haven't had sex in months. And I did. Once. So I know it isn't his.”
Swift anger replaces the empathy I felt for her only moments ago. “So you were going to trick him?”
Megan grimaces. “I'm not happy about it.”
“But you're not exactly torn up about it either.”
The grimace transfers into a glare. “It's a band member of Thrush. He's into drugs and a loser. He isn't exactly father material. I was drunk and upset over the breakup. I made a bad choice. I don't want my baby to have to suffer with a deadbeat dad because I lost control in a weak moment.”
“No. You were only going to take away Grayson's freedom and latch a baby onto him that isn't even his, that's what you were going to do. You were going to ruin his chance at happiness with me.” I take a step closer to her, hands fisted at my sides. “You were going to take away a child from a father without telling him he even had a baby, and you were going to make Grayson think a baby was his that wasn't.” I am inches from her now, glaring at her just as fiercely as she is glaring at me. “That is what you were going to do.”
“It doesn't matter now, does it? You know the truth. I'm sure you can't wait to tell him. I messed up. I did something stupid—more than once. Gloat like you want to.”
“I don't gloat, Megan,” I tell her through gritted teeth. Fight for us, Lily. Always fight for us, resonates in my head. “I fight.”
I raise my fist and I punch her in the jaw; pain shooting up my hand and into my arm. Megan cries out; a hand going to her face. Maybe that wasn't what Grayson had in mind, but she really deserved it. I try to shake the throbbing from my knuckles, meeting her wide-eyed gaze. “That's for Grayson. You tell him what you did, right now, and then you leave and never return.”
Despite the ache in my hand, I grin at the sound of her hurried footsteps clicking against the blacktop, growing fainter the farther away she goes. Profound relief slumps my shoulders. I think we finally might be okay. It seems as though everything is working against us again and again, but I refuse to let anything tear us apart from now on; not even me. Grayson is worth fighting for—always. And he is mine. I know that with absolute certainty now.
We are on a crazy roller coaster ride that has endless ups and downs, but no matter where we go in life, no matter what happens; we can't get off, and honestly, I don't want to. He makes me alive. He makes me furious and insane, but when I am not with him, I am so much less. He is in my veins and a part of me. Somehow, we would have met. Somehow, we would have ended up together. We don't just want each other; we need each other. I know this now. And whatever else may or may not be, I know this as well: I am not giving him up again.
[I KNOCK ON THE DOOR and let myself in, making my way into the living room. I sent him a text last night after the confrontation with Megan saying that I would talk to him today. I didn't want to intrude on their discussion and felt it wasn't my place to be involved, even though he had told me earlier it was. His response was one word: Okay. Of course that had me questioning how he meant it. Was it really okay? Or was that a sarcastic okay? Or was it a relieved one? I slept terrible because of it, missing him and wondering what they said to each other and how it all ended—worrying that he was upset with me for staying away.
“Hey,” I greet weakly, self-consciously tugging at the hem of my red and blue paisley skirt.
“Hey. I was just going to call you.” His eyes flicker down and up. “You look pretty.”
My face heats up. “Oh. Thanks. It's...” I take a few faltering steps toward him, stopping when I am just inside the doorway to the living room. “Mia keeps telling me I need to wear more...” I nervously gesture with my hands, the word I am looking for not coming forth.
“Skirts?” he guesses, one eyebrow lifting.
I grin, laughing softly. “No. Well, maybe indirectly, but not so plain clothes, I guess is what I meant to say.”
He frowns at my navy blue with white polka-dotted wedge sandals. “I see you don't have that problem with your foot apparel.”
I glance down. “No.”
His face breaks out into a blinding smile. “I'm glad that hasn't changed about you. It would be a shame if it had.”
My heart rate trips and stumbles at the beauty of his face, and I gather courage from it as well. “I came here for a reason today.”
“Oh? Other than the obvious, which was apparently to see me? Not that I blame you. I am absurdly good-looking.”
I blink as his grin widens. “Well, yeah...I mean, I came here to see you, but there is something I need to say to you, which is why...I came here.” I pause, trying to steady my pulse with a mental pep talk. You can do this. Be brave.
“Can I say something first?”
I close my mouth; equal parts relieved and annoyed by his interruption. I nod.
“You punched her?”
My eyes fly to his. At first I am not sure if he is angry or amused, but then I see he seems stunned more than anything.
“I know.” I grimace, rubbing my aching fingers. “I shouldn't punch pregnant chicks.”
Grayson snorts. “I can't believe you did that. I mean, you have no idea how much knowing you did that, turned me on.”
“What?” I croak.
He winces. “Yeah. Maybe I shouldn't have told you that? That's hot. Really, really hot.” He blows out a noisy breath and rubs his forehead. “I need to think about something else before I embarrass myself.”
“You're not mad?”
“No,” he says shortly, darkness flickering across his features and fading. “I'm not mad, not at you. I'm impressed and grateful that you felt the need to defend my honor that way—also turned on, but we already covered that.” He moves to the window, pushing the curtain back to look outside. “I thought I knew her better than that. I'm sorry she said what she did to you. I'm sorry you were worried about a baby and—”
“I would have stayed with you,” I blurt out.
He turns, studying my face.
“I know I said I wouldn't be able to be with you if the baby was yours, but I would have. I was being selfish and—and...illogical. Because we both know I wouldn't have been able to let you go and we both know I would have loved any part of you; even if it was part of someone else too.” I take a deep breath. “I'm going to tell you what I want from now on and I'm going to go after it, like I used to. And if I can't have what I want, at least I can't feel bad in the future, because I will have tried. I haven't felt strong in a really long time and I hate that I let the breakup alter so many parts of me and my life. I let it become my life.” I swallow, watching him watch me. “And what I want, what I've always wanted and always will want, is you. Like, forever. My love for you in unconditional, and it won't ever end.”
Grayson doesn't move and he doesn't speak for so long I wonder if he is going to tell me last night was mistake; that he didn't mean what he said and that he regrets everything that has happened with us in recent weeks. But then he's moving fast across the room, and then I am in his arms, and when we kiss, every part of me sighs. It is a sweet kiss. It is a vow. It is a promise. It is the two halves of Grayson and me merging into one; where we fit best.
He pulls away, regret at ending the kiss clear in his expression. “I want to show you something.”
“What is it?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Okay. Where is it?”
> “A few miles outside of town. You in?”
Giving him a suspicious look, I nod. “Sure.”
Grayson drives his old car; a 2000 white Ford Escort, and I am once again hit with surprise that he still has it, though I am also hit by a wave of tenderness. “There are a lot of memories in this car, aren't there?” I lovingly rub my hand across the cracked dashboard.
He glances at me. “Yes. Which is why I couldn't get rid of it. Too many good things associated with it.”
“Some bad,” I have to say.
“Some. Not as many as good. Remember prom?”
“Which one?” I ask, smiling at the memories of our teenage years. We went to prom together every year. No one even bothered asking either one of us because everyone knew we would be going together. I think everyone else knew we were supposed to be together before we even did.
“The one where I got a flat tire and you had to help me change it in your pretty purple dress.”
“I was so mad. I loved that dress.”^^
“We never made it to prom that year.”
It was my sophomore year. We spent prom night working on Grayson's car, ruining our clothes, and finishing it up with eating at A&W in Lancaster; complete with soiled prom gear and dirt smudges on our faces.
“It was okay. I had fun with you, minus the tire changing part.”
Grayson laughs, reaching across the console to take my hand in his. “We usually had fun no matter what we were doing.”
The car takes us outside of town in the direction of Lancaster; the next town over. The windows are down, allowing a cool breeze inside to play with my hair. Halfway between Fenni-
more and Lancaster, Grayson takes a right down a long gravel driveway. Healthy grass and rolling hills of green are on either side of us and not much else.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask curiously.
“Almost there.”
The car comes to a stop and Grayson turns the key in the ignition. Before us is the frame of a very large house with at least two floors. Men are at work, carrying lumber back and forth; the sound of hammers and drills filling my ears. I see a work trailer with KB Builders on it in bold lettering.
“You know the guy you punched last night?”
One eyebrow lifts, saying, yes, he does know.
“He works for this company.”
“Yep,” he says cheerfully. “Figured that out this morning when I stopped by. He didn't seem especially happy to see me. We talked a little. I think I redeemed myself in his eyes, but I'm not sure.” He suddenly laughs.
“What? What's so funny?”
“We both punched someone last night. That just struck me as funny.”
I grimace, the pain in my hand not letting me forget. “We are such badasses.”
He snorts. “Or crazy.”
“Yeah, we could totally do crazy.” I look at Grayson. “I still don't understand why we're here.”
He climbs out of the vehicle, leaning his head down to meet my gaze. “Come on.”
I slowly get out of the car and Grayson catches my hand as I stand, giving me a gentle tug. His face is alight with excitement, making him seem years younger.
“Whose house is this?”
He stops on a small hill, the wooden frame of the house a backdrop along with the sun. He opens his mouth, closes it, then slams his hands to his hips, giving me a fierce look. “Ours,” he grinds out, his stance and expression daring me to say otherwise.
The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. I try to answer and no sound leaves my lips.
“I mean, eventually...if you want it to be. Of course, it needs some work. Some walls, heat...that kind of stuff. A fridge would be nice.” His tone is light, but his eyes are hopeful, scared, and full of ferocity all at the same time.
“Are you saying...” I lick my dry lips and try again. “Are you saying you're staying here, that you're not going back to California? You own this land? This is going to be your house?”
“I bought the land. This is my house. This can be our house. You can pick out the colors for the walls and we'll buy everything new—all the furniture, beds, everything. You can make the house exactly how you want it to be.”
“When did you do all of this—start all of this?” My heart is pounding in my chest so hard I think it might stop beating altogether.
“When I realized it was futile to even consider living without you.”
“When?” I demand. I have to know. The reason why I have to know isn't as clear as the need.
“Around the time Megan went back. Before, actually. I knew I wanted to. I pretty much knew I couldn't keep living the way I was as soon as I saw you again,” he admits. “It was like I woke up from a haze the moment you looked at me and everything I had been doing up to that moment had been someone else's life. I didn't actually start any of the building until after she left...but yeah, I was thinking about it.”
“That long ago,” I murmur, inhaling deeply. We lock gazes. “What are you asking me?”
“I want us to have a life together, Lily. I need us to. I can't keep doing what we did the last two years. I won't survive it again.”
“What about your career?”
He hesitates, some of the joy seeping from him. His mouth pulls down. Grayson turns away, rubbing the back of his neck. He drops his hand and faces me. I know whatever he is about to say is something I don't want to hear. “I have to go back. At least for now.”
“So this won't be your permanent house?”
“Eventually it will be. But I have a contract with Rebel Records and—”
“You want me to live here, without you? You want this to be our house, but only I will live in it?” The volume of my voice is rising and I know workers are glancing our way, but I don't care. He just gave me hope and then just as quickly snatched it away.
“Just until I get the music stuff settled, Lily, that's all. Then I'll always be here. And I'll come back as much as I can until then.”
“You might be gone another two years.”
“If I can't—if I can't get out of the contract, then yeah, but I promise, I'll make this work. Somehow. I'll figure a way to be with you as much as I can.”
“No.”
He blinks at me. “What did you say?”
“I said no.” So close—we were so close. “I don't want pieces of you.”
Dejection slumps his broad shoulders and there is an air of defeat about him. “What are you saying?” He sounds so tired, old even.
I turn from the sorrow of his face, staring at another dream just out of reach. “We always push and pull with no clear destination. There is always some obstacle standing in our way. It is so exhausting. You want one thing and I want another. I feel like we're constantly fighting, constantly butting heads. I love you and I know you love me, but maybe—”
“Don't even say it,” he says, his voice low. “I'd rather fight with you every day than the alternative. Anything of you I can have—I'll take it. I'll take any part of you I can get, even if it's the negative ones. I can't be without you anymore. I refuse to. So you might not be okay with only having something of me, but it is enough for me. I'd rather have anything of you than nothing. You know it's true for you too. You're the same.”
His words overwhelm me. The tone of his voice, the intensity of his gaze, the way his jaw bunches and his shoulders hunch; it all strikes me with enormity. Grayson and the way he feels for me; it's always been too much. But anything else is not enough. This, all of him, this is what I want. I want the almost obsessed way he loves me; I want the frightening depth of passion he burns me with; I want all of him.
“Don't leave.”
“I don't want to go,” he says in a ragged voice, touching my cheek with his hand. “I want to stay.”
“So stay,” I plead, grabbing his face so his eyes cannot look away from mine. “Stay with me, Grayson. Please. You love me.” My voice trembles.
“I love you,” he confirms, staring into my eyes.
<
br /> “Then don't...leave me again.”
“I'll come back, Lily. When I get everything figured out, I'll come back. I swear it.”
I have this fear that if he goes, he will never return. Even with this half-built house. He could sell it. He could have it torn down. Nothing is definitively permanent anymore.
“Or you can come with me,” he insists. “Yes. You come with me. I can show you California. You can see my world. And soon, maybe in a few months, we'll come back, after everything is straightened out. The house should almost be done by then. Okay?”
Numbness seeps into me and I step away, dropping my hands from his face as I show him my back. “My home is here, Grayson.”
“And what about me?” he demands, placing a firm hand on my shoulder and turning me around. “I thought I was your home.”
It is the same thing that happened two years ago. We want and need different things. Our lives are forever going in opposite directions, with just enough of a passing to keep us tethered to one another. Are we truly never going to be able to be?
“This was my home too, you know, and I left it anyway,” he points out.
“I gave you up once. I am not doing it again.”
“You don't have to!” he shouts, frustrated. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Come with me.”
Unable to keep the words inside, I cry, “Why am I the one who always has to sacrifice? I let you go before and it was the hardest thing I ever did. And now I either have to let you go again or leave everything I know behind. Where is the fairness in that? Love isn’t supposed to be like this! It isn’t supposed to be so hard, so hurtful. It isn’t supposed to cause so much pain.”
“Yes. It is. It’s supposed to be messy. It’s supposed to be insane, hurtful, passionate, and even cruel at times. Because if it wasn’t, it would be worth nothing. Anything easy is shit, Lily. You don’t fight for easy things. You let them go.” He shifts his jaw back and forth. “And you talk about sacrificing like I don't know what it is, like I didn't give anything up, like the thought of being without you wasn't enough to make me want to go to sleep and not wake up, or drink myself into a stupor, or all of the other stupid, pathetic things I thought of doing after I left here.”