Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  He closes the refrigerator door and stalks toward me.

  “Women must throw themselves at you, if you act like this around everyone.”

  He shakes his head and clasps my hips when he’s within arm’s reach. “They fight over me, claw each other’s eyes out when I walk by.” I shiver when he runs his nose up the length of my neck. “Every woman in the world wants a piece of me.”

  Sighing at his playful words, I can’t help but wonder how much of it is truth. Simone, the girls at the ball field—they all wanted a piece of him.

  “Every woman? A little arrogant, don’t you think?”

  “Yet, here I am with you,” he whispers against my mouth.

  “With me,” I pant as his hips finally make contact with mine.

  “Only you.” His lips take mine in a fevered kiss, one hand around my hip and the other cradling my head.

  His mouth leaves mine, trailing delicious kisses down my throat.

  “I love you,” I whisper as his ear nears mine.

  “I know,” he says on a breath, trying to play off his body’s reaction to my confession, but he becomes more rigid before a small tremor rocks through him.

  When he pulls his head back, a wide grin splits his face.

  I bite my lip to keep from mirroring him.

  “One more time,” he pleads.

  “Just one?” I tease, my lips quirking at one corner.

  He shrugs. “Maybe a million then.”

  “How about one time each day for forever?”

  “Make it ten times a day and you’ve got a deal,” he bargains.

  “I love you,” I repeat, leaning my head down to his.

  His kiss is tender, worshipping, reverent, and I’m weightless as he lifts me up and carries me to my room.

  When he deposits me on the bed and walks out of the room, I frown at his retreating back, but he reappears with a small box in his hands.

  “We already did gifts at my parents’ house,” I chastise, even though my blood is pumping harder at the sight of the tiny jewelry box.

  I got him a new phone since he cracked the screen on his a couple weeks ago and insisted on continuing to use it. He gifted me with more bath and body stuff—in his favorite scent, of course—than I’ll ever be able to use in a lifetime, and a personalized playlist he says is our love story. I’m equally excited and nervous to listen to it.

  “I didn’t want to give this to you in front of family in case you hate it. I don’t want you to feel obligated to respond a certain way.”

  My heart thunders and my hands shake to the point where I almost drop the box when he hands it to me. He climbs on the bed behind me, pulls me back against his chest, and continues to shred any restraint I had on my anxiety.

  “I didn’t want to ask you the question with an audience. I wanted you all to myself when you said yes.” I blame the breath escaping his mouth and washing over my shoulder for the chills wracking my body as I prepare my rejection to the question he’s asking too soon. I love him, there’s no denying that, but four months is not long enough for this big of a leap.

  My eyes catch the diamond band on my left hand, hating and loving it at the same time. I’ve found two perfect men—one I’ll hold in my heart and one I’ll spend eternity with.

  “Bryson, it’s too…” my voice trails off as I flip the lid of the box up. It’s not a diamond or an engagement ring facing me, but a gorgeous heart bolo necklace with a baseball through it.

  I look over my shoulder, my brows furrowed together in confusion.

  There’s a glint in his eye, as if he wanted me to believe he was proposing. Thankfully, I don’t see hurt, just understanding, as if he also knows it’s too early to speak of such things.

  “And the question?” I prod.

  “Go to opening day with me?”

  “I already told you I would.”

  He shrugs, a wide smile on his face. “I just wanted to make it official.”

  He reaches behind him and pulls a shirt from the back waistband of his sweats. “I got you this, too,” he says, spreading it out on my lap. The front has the Oregon State Beavers logo and the back has a big number two with his name above it.

  “I want everyone to know you’re mine.” His arms wrap around me as he kisses my neck.

  “I want that too,” I tell him, pushing him until he’s flat on his back and I’m straddling his waist. “Looks like I owe you another gift.”

  He waggles his eyebrows. “What do you have in mind, beautiful?”

  I shrug. “A little of this, a little of that.”

  “You know how much I love a buffet.”

  His arms move north under his head while my mouth moves south.

  44

  Olivia

  “You, my smoking hot short stop, are going to be late for the game,” I tell Bryson as he runs around the apartment looking for the last few things for his gym bag that I suggested he get together last night.

  “You’re still coming, right?” His eyes land on the necklace he gave me at Christmas. I only take it off to shower and that’s because it tangles in my wet hair.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I kiss his lips and chuckle with a soft push against his shoulders when he tries to take it further. “Emerson will be here in a bit to pick me up. We’re going to swing by and grab Ainsley, then we’ll be at the ballpark.”

  He stands, reaching down to cup my cheek. “Cheer for me.”

  “You know I will.” I smile up at him and tilt my head into his touch. “I’ll embarrass you and you’ll never want me to attend another game.”

  “Impossible. You look great in my jersey,” he says before scooping up his gym bag and walking toward the door. “I love you, Liv.”

  “I love you, too.”

  For the first time in a while, I sit quietly on the couch and take stock of my life. The bad days are gone for the most part. The worst since before Thanksgiving being just a week ago, but I imagine the anniversary of Duncan’s death will always cause me grief and sadness.

  Bryson held me while I cried, and I did something I thought I’d never do. I offered him the chance to watch a few of our videos together. He held me close and laughed at some of Duncan’s humor and his tears wet my shirt at some of our pain. The whole thing was amazingly cathartic.

  Spending each day doing common domestic things over the last couple of months has been good, but it’s falling asleep with his lips against my skin and waking up with his arms wrapped around me that means the most. I never knew my heart would heal as much as it has, and I owe most of that restoration to him.

  A sharp knock on the door pulls me from my reflection. I grab my purse and jacket, knowing it’s Emerson on the other side.

  I give her a quick smile and lock the door behind me.

  “Well, aren’t you just the perfect girlfriend,” she says while my back is to her. “He’s got you wearing his number and everything.”

  I grin at her when I turn back around, but don’t say anything.

  She wraps her arm around my shoulder as we make it to her car. “Thank you.”

  Her voice is low and filled with an unnamed emotion.

  “For what? Wearing a shirt?”

  She shakes her head and my eyes scan her face, seeing how serious she is. This isn’t joking about being whipped or having Bryson wrapped around my finger. We’ve had those conversations before, and this doesn’t feel like that.

  “Thank you for loving him so fiercely. Thank you for being the sister I’ve never had.”

  I stop us in our tracks and wrap her up in a hug. She holds on, squeezing as if she can’t let go, so I break our connection first.

  “I love you, too, you know?” I bump her shoulder with mine as we make it to the parking lot.

  “Who doesn’t?” she says with a quick smirk.

  I shake my head and snort. Sometimes, I wonder if the twins didn’t have their emotions reversed in utero. Bryson is the loving, doting, occasionally emotional one, and
Emerson, although built with an amazing body every woman would love to have, is cocky, arrogant, and full of herself.

  Opening day for Oregon State is incredibly crowded. Parking was a time-consuming feat, and the rush of people toward the entrance gate was incredibly similar to how I imagine the Pamplona Running of the Bulls would be. It took me nearly forty minutes to make it to my seat. Emerson opted to grab a glass of beer on the deck while I went straight to our section in the covered area behind home plate.

  Ainsley texted that she wasn’t feeling well when we were on the way to her dorm. I have a feeling it has something to do with JJ, but her texts were short and clipped, assuring me she just felt under the weather with promises of attending the next home game.

  The teams are just now beginning to hit the dugouts and Emerson still isn’t back. I smile at Bryson and give him a quick wave when he looks over. He blows a kiss in my direction, and a small rush of heat hits my cheeks, part embarrassment, part love for that man.

  “So good to see you, Ollie.” I freeze, clenching my eyes shut.

  The familiar voice makes me want to cry, run, and jump up and hug him all at the same time. The voice is so familiar to his, my eyes burn when I even consider the unearthly possibility that Duncan is standing behind me.

  After Bryson was so kind, caring, and understanding during my grief on the anniversary of Duncan’s death, I realized I’d never change where I am today. Bryson’s arms are where I feel like I was always meant to be.

  It still doesn’t keep the slight feeling of shame from hitting me as I sit here at an Oregon State baseball game wearing a big number two and Bryson’s last name on my back.

  Knowing I can’t ignore them, I turn my eyes and give a tiny smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Kelly. It’s good to see you, too.”

  A tender smile is on Mrs. Kelly’s lips. “Your mom says you’re doing well. We spoke last week.”

  I nod, swallowing hard to try to remove the lump that has formed.

  “Number two,” Mr. Kelly says, pointing to my jersey. “It was always a good number on you.”

  I give them both a weak smile. What do I say right now? I never told Bryson I’ve worn this number on my back for years. That it was Duncan’s number when he played ball in high school. Or that I realized they wore the same numbers during fall training and the first practice I went to when the girls in the stands were fawning all over him. When I woke up this morning and put this number back on my body, I had never felt more proud to wear it again, but now, with Duncan’s parents here, his dad pointing it out, all the kismet energy I felt is washing away.

  Mrs. Kelly reaches for my hand, and I offer her mine with quivering lips and trembling fingers. “Don’t be upset, Ollie.”

  Her voice is comforting, just as it has always been, even in dire moments. She’s always been strong, even when her son was withering away. She’s always held herself together and her faith never faltered even while she was losing her only child, proclaiming Duncan was no longer suffering.

  “Your mom told us how happy you are, how wonderful Bryson is to you.” Her genuine smile helps to ease my nerves just a little.

  “It’s too soon,” I whimper as tears build behind my eyes. She shakes her head, refusing my words. “I’ve abandoned him.”

  “No, sweet girl,” Mr. Kelly says, taking my other hand. “You’re happy, and that’s what he always wanted.”

  The tears fall freely, rolling down my cheeks and releasing onto my shirt from my chin.

  “Do you love him?” I nod, unable to deny my feelings for Bryson, refusing to taint the fact that I’ve given him my whole heart with a lie, even though I know it may cause them pain. “That’s all that matters. Love doesn’t work on a schedule, Ollie. More often, it finds us when we need it the most.”

  “I’ll always love Duncan, too.” I don’t know why I feel the need to tell them, but it feels good when the words release.

  “We know,” Mr. Kelly assures me. “He would be happy for you. He is happy for you, of that I’m certain.”

  They each release my hands after a gentle squeeze.

  “I didn’t expect to see you today,” I confess, changing the subject as I try to get my emotions under control, even as my tears refuse to stop falling.

  Mrs. Kelly hands me a tissue as her husband begins to speak.

  “Oregon State is my alma mater, as you know. We’re also here because we’ve started a baseball scholarship in Duncan’s name. They’re going to introduce the recipient during the stretch.”

  We sit and talk through the game as Bryson’s team fights hard to maintain a one run lead, only to lose it in the ninth. Not once does the shame for being here and loving Bryson return as we talk about everything under the sun, including the fact that I still haven’t returned to school—a conversation I’ve had more than once with Bryson.

  We say our goodbyes as the teams leave the dugouts and head back to the locker room with their heads hanging low, disappointment on each of their faces. I hate that they lost. It’s not that big of a deal considering how many games they’ll play, but I know how bad it can be for moral at the start of a season.

  “They seem like nice people,” Emerson says as we walk out of the complex. She joined us about twenty minutes into our reunion, even chatted along and interjected a few times, but never questioned who they were.

  “Duncan’s parents,” I explain.

  “Oh,” she says, her voice soft. “Wow. Are you okay?”

  “I am now.” I smile in return, feeling a huge weight lift off my shoulders. Until they gave me their heartfelt approval of being with Bryson, I didn’t realize how much I needed it. It’s almost as if the final piece I knew was missing has fallen into place.

  She rubs her hand over my back as we head to the truck. We’ve had a couple conversations about my history with Duncan, and I know Bryson has filled in the rest. She’s always been respectful of the heaviness the subject brings.

  Her hand tenses on my back, causing me to follow her eyes across the parking lot. Bryson, JJ, and Liam make their way toward us, smiles on each of their faces. Well, Liam looks like he’s on the prowl once he spots Emerson, and JJ’s mouth turns down in a frown when he notices Ainsley isn’t with us.

  “I thought SLS was coming?” JJ questions once he’s within earshot.

  I smile when Bryson positions himself around my back, arms around my waist. “She texted and said she didn’t feel well.”

  “She was fine last night,” he says, letting that little morsel of information slip.

  I cock an eyebrow up at him and Bryson chuckles in my ear, but it’s Liam who comments. “Shit or get off the damn pot, JJ.”

  “Pot, kettle,” Emerson mutters.

  The sudden tension in Bryson’s arms doesn’t go unnoticed. I pat his forearms in reassurance. I know he doesn’t like the idea of Liam and Emerson, but he can’t deny the chemistry they have, and I know he can see how much he’s changed over the last couple months as Emerson keeps him dangling in the wind. I never thought it would be Liam who insisted on a wholesome relationship, but stranger things have happened. Emerson wants no part of commitment, and Liam is the one insisting on it before he takes things further with her.

  Of course, Bryson hates every second of it.

  I turn my attention away from JJ’s defeated face and the stare-off going on between Liam and Emerson. I cup Bryson’s newly bearded face in my hands, relishing the feel of the soft hairs on my fingers. “I’m sorry for the loss.”

  He kisses my lips in full view of everyone around me. “Just one game, beautiful. We’ll beat ‘em next time.”

  “I know you will,” I agree.

  “I want to get you home,” he whispers in my ear. “Celebrate opening day with you opening your legs.”

  He’s grown increasingly dirty as time has gone by. I don’t know whether he’s just now getting to how he behaved with other girls, or there’s something about me changing how he responds physically. I hate to think he may have felt like h
e couldn’t be himself completely from day one, so I convince myself we’re evolving together.

  “Not much of a celebration. We do that almost every day.” I kiss his lips, nipping the bottom one before pulling away.

  “I celebrate every second I spend with you.” He leans in, taking my lips in a passionate kiss that should probably be reserved for the privacy of our own home, but I’m past caring. The only thing I have on my mind is this amazing man who helped me through some of my weakest days and loved me during my darkest nights.

  “That’s a lot of seconds,” I tell him when he eventually pulls away.

  “Billions,” he agrees. “And I’ll love you madly with each and every one.”

  Epilogue

  Olivia

  Three Years Later

  I smile at my family, including Bryson, his family, and the Kellys as I’m showered with mortar boards along with the rest of my graduating class. Graduation, a day I never thought would happen four years ago. Having a future filled with love and understanding wasn’t something I could even fathom on my best days after Duncan passed away. Now, the possibilities are endless, no goal unreachable.

  I started back to school in the fall, one year after meeting Bryson—one year after my life started over. Today is the first graduation of several I have coming, my end goal being a psychologist who counsels those struggling with their grief of losing a loved one. I want to pay it forward by helping others who struggle daily just to get out of bed; those who are so weighed down by their grief, they can’t seem to function. I know exactly how they’re feeling and hope to prove to them that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

  “I’m so proud of you,” my mother says, wrapping her arms around me. Tears glisten in her and my father’s eyes as I brush windblown hair behind my ears.

  I hug all the people who came to share in this special day, saving my favorite for last. It feels like an eternity before Bryson wraps his arms around me, turning us both in a circle as he kisses my lips.