Old Enough to Love…
By: Kristi Pelton
Text copyright ©2013
Kristi Pelton
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
Wow… I clearly need to thank my family who tolerated pizza rolls and chicken sticks when I was too engrossed in my writing to stop. I would like to thank my parents who introduced me to Oregon and its beauty when I was a kid; and now creating new memories with my boys.
Olivia…what can I say? You’ve read it a hundred times with a smile and you always continued to push me. We did it together! To the Barnes and Noble writers group: Alice, Karen, Mark, Phil, Dennis and George…and those now in Heaven: Bill, Eleanor, Karleen. It’s because of all of you that I continued.
Lisa Loewen…bless you! Thanks for your help in editing and non-tabbing!
Creating this work of fiction has been a blast…thank you to Journey, Kid Rock, Eminem, Gasoline Heart, and T-Swift for keeping the vibes going when I got lost.
Go Ducks…Go Jayhawks…Go Cubs
Mom, Dad, Kevin, Ben and Zach…I love you.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Prologue
My body felt weak. I felt weak, pathetic. He’d experienced the world and I’d experienced nothing. He moved toward me. He felt sorry for me. I was the girl who could barely breathe on her own.
“Don’t touch me,” I warned and he took another step. “Get out of my house.”
He retreated. He was leaving. That was for the best. He stopped at my desk and snatched up my inhaler then turned toward me shaking it.
“NO!” I hit his chest with my fist but he didn’t flinch. “I hate you,” I said coldly and tried to shove him.
“No. You don’t. You hate what I did. Now use the inhaler.”
My teeth clenched together and I refused. I was being stupid. I knew I needed the albuterol. My breaths were short and coming quicker.
“Come on Em. Take it.”
Being stubborn was one thing, being this stupid was another. I’m not sure I was done making my point, but my chest was about done. I knew this because the lack of oxygen had left my arms limp and light-headedness crept into me.
His arm wrapped around my waist and moved me to the bed. My head rested on his shoulder for its final time; as he slid the inhaler between my already parted lips, I wondered if he saw the irony in what was happening. As he compressed the tube and the mist entered my mouth providing my lungs with relief, he was essentially giving me life. But it was a life that I knew I would live without him now. The irony of this situation was that he was saving me and emotionally killing me all in a few moments.
ONE
Emma
“Come on, Reesy,” I shouted to our ten-year-old weimaraner. Her tail snapped back and forth as she whipped past me and up the hill. Summer vacation was finally over and this was our last day at the beach. Usually, this was my favorite place in the world but this summer completely sucked. As I ran toward our house, sand oozed over my freshly painted toe nails and nestled between my toes ready to stowaway.
A familiar whistle resonated over the roar of the waves. Saying goodbye to Austin was the worst part of my summer. He stood on the third floor deck of the most photographed home on the beach and shot me deuces, our greeting and farewell every summer. I flicked a peace sign in return and forced a smile. I’d had a crush on him forever. Our four year age difference wasn’t much to me, but I was like a little sister to him. I realized now, that would never change. It had always been a tossup, who I was going to marry or, at the very least, offer up my virginity to…Austin Falsone or Grant Meiers. Austin lived here in Cannon Beach. Grant would return to Ashland with us. They were as different as Lil’ Wayne and Michael Buble. With Grant, I pictured living on a beach, our blonde hair, blue-eyed kids wearing wet suits and catching the surf. With Austin, our brown-eyed, brown-haired kids were dressed in khaki shorts and polos, tossing frisbees. I knew for years that one of those scenarios would play out, but every summer my hopes of finding love dwindled. I was fifteen and outside of a few truth or dare games with my brother’s friends, love…romance had eluded me. Austin turned away and I watched him disappear between the French doors to his bedroom.
Reesy waited for me, alongside a fresh pile of steaming dog crap. “Nice, Reesy. Thanks.” A great end to an already crappy summer.
Mom forced us to carry plastic bags to keep the beaches clean. I didn’t really care that there was plastic between me and the crap; it was still freaking disgusting. And even though I wasn’t touching it, the warmth through the bag made me shudder; plus, I could still smell it. Holding my breath, I pulled it into the bag, tied the end and sidestepped the beach grass. Ryan was at the back door laughing. Older brothers were a pain, but at times, my overprotective one was a bigger pain than most. Reesy perched herself right in front of him waiting for attention.
“Great news. You’re riding with mom,” he said and his lip pulled into a bigger grin just before he crunched into an apple.
“NO!”
He shrugged. “She wants to talk to you.”
“What about?” I demanded.
Reesy almost purred as he rubbed her ears. “The punk.”
“He’s not a punk!”
“Let’s go, Reesy.” Ryan patted his thigh. “You’re wrong Emma. He is a punk. A punk who better keep his hands off you.”
The only thing I prayed for all summer was to feel ‘his’ touch once more and Ryan was the one person who would keep that from happening. Before I could control it, the bag and its warm contents left my hands and nailed Ryan in the back. He glanced over his shoulder at the plastic covered crap on the ground. I ran past and pounded his arm as hard as I could.
“You’re the punk! Come on, Reesy.”
Ryan continued rubbing her floppy ears so she stayed put. Nice! Even betrayed by the dog.
TWO
Mom was driving; I stubbornly kept my eyes locked on the edge of Highway 1. The view of the Pacific was freakishly awesome but no matter how often we drove it, it stressed me out. Scared of breaking through a guard rail and en
ding up in the blue water, I covered my ears with my Beats and closed my eyes.
Over the past couple of years, my brother and I had fought about who got to ride with Dad (the non-talker)—today, I lost, which sucked. My feet stuck out the open window and I tried to fake sleep. We’d barely past Tillamook before I felt the predictable tap on my arm. I opened my eyes, paused Adele and removed an earpiece.
“What?”
“You ready to talk?”
“About what?” Of course I knew what it was about. I looked at her out the corner of my eye. A lazy smile touched the sides of her mouth. She was pretty with her light brown hair pulled into a baseball cap. Outside of her inquisitive nature into every aspect of my life, she was beautiful and eloquent and funny. People migrated to her and an unspoken thrill shot through me when they would say that I was a miniature, Katie Hendricks or Kate, as she preferred. I didn’t see it though.
She hit the brakes with a sudden jolt, which made my stomach lurch. I peeked and saw the brake lights of my dad’s Land Rover as he slowed for an RV making the twists ahead. Passing was not an option on this road and unless the RV pulled off at one of the many lookout points or lighthouses, we were in for a long ride. Ugh! Seeing Reesy look out the back window of the Rover at us, made me smile. She liked me best.
Mom and I were in her silver Honda S2000 convertible with the top down. There were only a few months out of the year in Oregon that the top could be down and August was one of them. Ashland was still three hours away.
“Emma. Really?”
“Really what, Mom? It’s not worth talking about.”
“Sweetheart,” she said with a pitiful inflection. “I know this summer was hard for you. Given what happened, right before we left. This is the first year I’ve reconsidered our texting and cell phone rule.”
“Such a stupid rule,” I muttered softly unsure if she heard. No texting allowed on the summer getaway. What a load of crap! Our house on Cannon Beach was awesome but staying for two months was brutal. No phone calls, no texts…strictly ‘family time’ is what she called it. I called it my father’s lame attempt at fighting technology and controlling my life. Ryan called it bullshit; one summer he actually bought a cheap phone and paid for minutes. I was too scared to outright break the rules but snuck a couple of calls on his.
Summers in Cannon were easier on Ryan. First off, he was a dude—a dude’s dude. As long as he had Grant, a football and some chicks, he was golden. The Meiers vacationed from Ashland to the beach just like us. Seth Meiers was a freshman at the U of O. And Grant, well, he and Ryan were both turning 18…SENIORS! Their summer consisted of football, girls, more football and more girls. Cannon Beach was ideal for them—a tourist spot that brought in a new crop of girls, weekly.
The boys had it right, the girls were completely predictable. Cannon was never what people expected. Upon arrival, they would find a cold beach and even more frigid water. Sure enough, these teenage girls would arrive beach equipped with their swimsuits—voila, senior guys to the rescue—always prepared with an extra sweatshirt or jacket. Conversation started and a week-long relationship begun. Obviously starry eyed and pathetic in their simple thinking, most girls were had from the beginning with my brother and his best bud. Watching them exchange addresses as the girls bit their cheeks and fought back tears—VOMIT!
I swore to myself years ago I would never reduce myself to such lies and tactics, but the guys never really seemed interested in me.
“Emma, after that night, you asked us for space. We’ve given it to you. But we need to address it now.” She took a sip of her Diet Coke.
Fortunately, the wind had shifted my hair to the left side of my head and created a curtain between us. “Mom. It doesn’t matter. An entire summer has gone by. He probably forgot about me, anyway.” The thought made my stomach twist.
“I seriously doubt that. You are a beautiful girl.”
The word girl made me cringe, and I turned toward the ocean taking in a slow breath of air.
“I know you think you probably know everything when it comes to sex and relationships, but honey, I want to make sure if you have any questions that you come to me.”
The wind blew my hair back and I offered her a smile. “I don’t have any questions.” I had SO many questions, I didn’t know where to start. I knew how to get pregnant and how not to get pregnant. But the rest was a little fuzzy. Oral sex really scared me and sex itself, I could only imagine. Watching Fast Times at Ridgemont High with Ryan and his buddies was somewhat educational. I remembered in the movie that Brad jacked off in the bathroom thinking about Linda; then she busted him and got grossed out. Stacy got pregnant by Mike in an act that didn’t look like much fun. So, it wasn’t as if I was dying to do the deed, but I wanted to know the drill.
“Not yet. But, Emma.” She paused and I didn’t like her tone. “Guys your brother’s age have a mindset that is…”
“Perverted?”
She smiled. “I was going to say, sexual. And if you and Zach start dating, do we need to discuss abstinence and/or protection?”
My face flushed; I was thankful the sun was out hoping the reddening in my cheeks would not be as noticeable. “Mom!” I had only started my period five months ago. Mom says she was a late bloomer too. She also said it came with the territory of being a preemie. That was the story of my life.
“Honey, in June, when your father and I got home from Santa Monica and found the two of you together...” She alluded to it as if I’d forgotten. I was certain I would never forget that night. God! That had only been the greatest night of my pathetic life.
THREE
Exactly 71 days ago
The door bell rang as I finished drying my legs. I hurriedly tossed my towel on the hook and slammed the shower door, wincing as the glass rattled. I threw on my ratty PAC-12 T-shirt, sweat shorts and flew down the stairs. The shadow outside on the porch turned to leave.
“Hold up!” I shouted throwing open the door as he swiveled around. Water dripped on my shoulders from my wet strands of hair and I stood staring at him. His hair held the rain that had fallen from his car to the door. Attitude crept into me when he lowered his chin to look down at me, surprised to see a five-foot dwarf before him. (I was four feet, ten inches to be exact.)
“Hi,” he greeted with an exaggerated animation, as if I was in a Girl Scout outfit selling Thin Mints and had just rung his door bell.
I felt my lip snarl. “Hey,” I said coolly, trying not to stare, but his deep chocolate eyes immediately caught my attention.
“Is Ryan here?” he asked still speaking as if I were a child.
“Nope,” I snipped.
One side of his mouth pulled upward. “Oookaaay. When will he be?”
I let out an inflated breath and glanced at the clock behind me, then shrugged. My brother and his big punk-ass friends were annoying. I didn’t know this one.
He chuckled and the hair on my neck stood on end. He knew he was hot! He waited, silently. Was he expecting me to say something? My eyes widened and brows reached their peak on my forehead. “What?” I nearly shouted.
A gust of wind caused rain to sweep under the porch and spray his face. “May I wait, inside?”
My head instantly began shaking from side to side. “Neg-a-tive. You are a stranger and I am just a little girl.” Sarcasm dripped from my words.
This freakishly hot guy dragged his hands down his face and for the first time I noticed his smile. He leaned toward me, invading my space, and I drew myself away, suddenly feeling jittery inside. With the doorknob in his hand, he closed the door between us. I stood confused until I heard the chime a second time. Without me touching the door, it opened. He smiled a smile I could only describe as breathtaking and extended his hand. My eyes moved from his mouth to his extended hand then finally, landed on his eyes.
“Hi. My name is Zach Owens. I’m a friend of Ryan’s. I understand he is not at home, but do you mind if I wait?”
His face was tan and
his teeth were white which led me to swipe my tongue over mine.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
What was my name? “Um, Emma.” I stepped back so he could come in, suddenly paranoid I wasn’t wearing a bra. Not that it mattered; I had no boobs.
“Umemma? That’s one I’ve never heard before.” He winked.
Between my stomach doing a back flip and blood rushing to my face, I forced a laugh; I also recognized what he was doing. Ryan had warned me about the guys who had one thing on their mind. “Well, it’s just Emma. And FYI, your little smile may work for most, but I’m not your typical girl.”
His smile broadened. “Ryan’s supposed to have some football camp information for me.”
Football. Of course. I shrugged glancing around the room for any papers lying around.
“Hmmm. I give.” If there was one thing I was good at, it was hostility toward my brother’s buddies. His little posse of friends served as my protectors much longer than appreciated and it didn’t appear they were giving it up anytime soon. This guy was at least six feet, maybe taller, and though he wasn’t grotesquely muscular like Ryan, he was well built.
My T-shirt was wet from my dripping hair. “I’m gonna go dry my hair.”
“Go for it,” he said with indifference.
I rolled my eyes, making sure he saw.
Once I reached the top of the stairs, I burst into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, slathered on deodorant, dabbed on some make up, fastened my bra and took the stairs two at a time.
“Ryan still not here?” I asked, winded as I entered the living room.
His expression was one of confusion and my annoyance resurrected.
“What?” I inquired.
“Your hair. Thought you were gonna dry it.”
I reached up and fingered the wet strands as his white teeth became visible again. Oh my God! I think maybe he even laughed out loud. “Yeah. Well, I was wondering if you wanted me to text Ryan and let him know you’re here. That way you can get what you need and leave.”
Old Enough to Love... (Just One of the Guys) Page 1