If There's No Tomorrow

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  anger that erupted inside me like a volcano. “You and Megan got in the car with Chris and came to that party and you all thought he was messed up. You—”

  “We thought he was on something. We didn’t know definitely,” she said, nostrils flaring. “And he didn’t drive off the road and kill four people, did he? No.”

  My mouth dropped open. How could I respond to that? She was right, but it was also so damn wrong, because she was lucky—so lucky—that she was standing where she was and I was existing where I was.

  “Hey, is everything okay here?” Sebastian appeared at our sides. His hand landed on the small of my back as his gaze focused on Abbi. His jaw was hard, stare unflinching.

  “Yeah.” Abbi breathed in deeply. “Everything is fine. I’ll see you guys later.”

  Shoulders tensed, I watched her wheel around and stalk off toward where she was parked. Abbi had lied.

  Nothing was fine.

  * * *

  When I got home, my phone was ringing from my backpack. I slipped the bag around, dug out the phone and saw that it was Dad.

  “No way,” I murmured, silencing the call. I didn’t have the brainpower for that.

  I dragged myself upstairs and spent the next hour or so working on homework, which meant I didn’t get a lot done, because all I could think about was what Abbi and Dr. Perry had said. When Mom came home, I forced myself to go downstairs. She was just putting her purse on the table when I shuffled into the kitchen.

  “How was school?”

  “Okay.” I sat down at the table. “Would’ve been better if I had a heads-up about having to meet with a psychologist at school.”

  Mom stripped off her blazer. “I didn’t mention that because I had a feeling you’d get upset and I didn’t want you to feel that way before you went back. Today was tough enough.”

  “I wish you’d told me so I would’ve been prepared.”

  She came around the table and sat in the chair beside me. “The school contacted me last week about the grief counselors, and I thought it was a good idea.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I muttered.

  Mom smiled faintly. “There are things you need to talk about that I wish you’d talk about with me but might be easier with someone else.” She paused. “At least that is what Dr. Perry said.”

  Rubbing my brow, I closed my eyes. “Did you... Did you tell him what we talked about with the police?”

  “I told him everything he needed to know,” she answered. Her fingers folded over my left hand. “Everything you need to talk about.”

  I jerked my arm back and stood, latching on to the surge of anger I’d felt earlier when I spoke to Abbi. “I don’t want to talk about it. Why doesn’t anyone understand that? Respect that?”

  Mom looked up at me. “Because respect doesn’t always mean doing what is right.”

  “What?” I spun around and grabbed my bag. “That doesn’t even make sense.” Turning away, I headed for the stairs in the hall, prepared to stomp my way all the way upstairs. “That really makes no sense whatsoever.”

  “Lena.”

  I didn’t want to stop, but I did at the bottom of the stairs. “What?”

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  My spine locked up.

  Mom stood under the archway. The thin, well-worn blue blouse stretched at her shoulders as she crossed her arms. I thought about what Lori said about Mom doing okay since Dad left. If that were so true, then she’d be able to afford a new shirt even though she took extreme care of the old ones.

  “I was angry at first. Relieved that you were alive and going to be okay, but angry because you made a bad decision. But I’m no longer angry. I’m upset because of what has happened and what you’ve had to go through, but I’m not mad at you.”

  Staring at her, I couldn’t believe she was saying that. How could she not be mad?

  She drew in a deep breath. “I just want you to know that. I think you need to know that.”

  I didn’t know what to say. My knees felt like they were going to cave. Mom wasn’t angry, but it didn’t feel right. She should still be pissed at me.

  No consequences.

  I hurried up the steps before she said anything else. My bedroom door slammed shut behind me. I holed myself up in the room, pretending to focus on homework and coming downstairs only for dinner because I smelled fried chicken.

  There was no way I was going to turn down fried chicken.

  It was a little after seven when I changed into sleep shorts and an old tank top. Dragging a quilt over my legs, I fully intended to get back to the school stuff, but I dozed off without even cracking my History textbook open. It was a restless nap, one where I woke every fifteen minutes or so, but the last time I peeled my eyes open, I heard a door close. I turned my head toward the balcony. A surprising burst of chilly air rolled across the bed.

  Sebastian entered my room without a word.

  Groaning, I pulled a hand out from the quilt and rubbed the side of my face. “You know, what you’re doing is kind of like breaking and entering.”

  “Nah, I don’t think so.” He sat down on the side of the bed. “I’m actually just being courteous.”

  I lowered my hand, frowning at him. “How so?”

  “You don’t have to get up and open the door.” He winked, and I hated that it was sexy. “I am only ever thinking of you.”

  Rolling my eyes, I shifted so my legs were pointing toward him. “Whatever. Maybe I don’t want to see you.”

  “You could’ve just locked the door,” he pointed out. “If you don’t want to see me, that’s all you have to do.”

  I could’ve. But I hadn’t, because I wanted him to visit. I wanted him to be here even though I shouldn’t, but I wasn’t going to admit to it. “You’re impeding on my freedoms.”

  Sebastian tipped his head back and laughed. Loudly. My eyes widened.

  “Shh.” My head swiveled toward my closed door. “My mom will hear you.”

  “Pretty sure your mom knows I’m here every night.”

  That was pretty much what Lori had said. “But I doubt she knows you stay, like, forever.”

  “Probably not.” He moved, stretching out on the bed, his head on the pillows beside mine. “Were you sleeping already? It’s only nine.”

  “I was tired. Today was...” I trailed off. How in the hell did I describe today?

  “It was what?” When I didn’t answer immediately, he persisted. “It was like what, Lena?”

  I sighed heavily, loudly and obnoxiously. “It was rough. I feel like I’m ninety years old. I needed a nap by third period. My ribs ached all day, and I couldn’t take the pills the doc gave me, because I would’ve passed right out.”

  “And?” he asked when I went silent.

  “And...it was just hard.”

  Sebastian didn’t say anything, and I knew he was waiting for me to continue. Several moments passed and I tried again. “I was supposed to have Creative Writing with Megan. It was...” I swallowed hard. “Not having her in the class or at lunch was weird. I kept waiting for her to sit down at the table. Not going to practice felt wrong. Like I was forgetting something all evening.”

  “Same with the guys.” Sebastian crossed his arms loosely. “I expect to hear Chris throwing weights in the weight room. Phillip giving everyone a hard time. Cody standing next to me at practice.”

  There was just so...so much loss, so many things that would never happen again. I ran my finger along the edge of my cast as I let out a shaky breath. “I had to meet with one of the grief counselors.”

  “So did I,” he replied. “I think half the senior class did.”

  I slid him a look. “I have to meet with that guy three times a week.”

  There wasn’t a flicker of judgment on his face. “That will probably be good.”

  I wasn’t so sure of that. “Did you talk with them? Like really talk?”

  He was still for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah. It helped.” Hi
s gaze met mine. “It will help you.”

  Except Sebastian didn’t have the kind of guilt I needed to talk about.

  “What was going on with you and Abbi after school?” he asked, rolling onto his side so he was facing me.

  My shoulders slumped. The familiar crawl of tears was making its way up my throat. “Nothing.”

  “That wasn’t nothing that I walked up on,” he denied. “Looked like you two were getting heated with one another.” Sebastian lifted his arm and gently curled his fingers around my chin. He turned my head toward his. “Talk to me, Lena.”

  My gaze dropped as the feeling of his fingers seeped into my skin. “She’s...she’s mad at me.”

  “Why?” he asked, sliding his fingers off my chin. They traveled along my jaw, sending a shiver down my spine.

  “Because I’ve...I’ve shut her out,” I admitted, closing my eyes. His hand was still on the move, fingers sifting through my hair. “I haven’t talked to her.” It wasn’t the only reason why she was mad, but it was the only reason I could cop to, especially when he was touching me. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just... I feel responsible.”

  His hand stilled. “Lena, you’re not responsible. You didn’t get behind that wheel.”

  God, he didn’t know. He didn’t have a clue. I started to turn away, but his hand tightened. My eyes opened. His hand slipped from my neck, falling in the scant space between our bodies.

  Sebastian was on his side next to me, slightly raised on his elbow so his body almost hovered over mine. There was something wholly intimate about our positions, like we’d done it a hundred times. And we had, but what he admitted Saturday night had changed things. This wasn’t just two best friends lying in bed beside one another. He wasn’t just the boy next door anymore. We couldn’t go back to that no matter how we moved forward, and even though it was what I’d wanted for so long, it was terrifying.

  “Lena,” he whispered my name like it was some kind of benediction.

  “I don’t want to talk anymore,” I said. “I...I want you here, but I don’t want to talk.”

  Understanding flared. The look in his eyes changed, switching from concern to something wilder, sharper. He bit down on that bottom lip. Everything in the room changed in an instant. It was that extreme. One moment I felt like I was on the verge of losing it and now I was standing on a totally different cliff.

  He said he loved me—was in love with me.

  And I’d been in love with him since...since forever.

  I didn’t feel like I deserved that. Like I’d earned this opportunity or second chance. That I should be experiencing the quickening in my breath or the sudden heat that swept over my skin and flooded my senses.

  And maybe he didn’t mean he loved me in that beautiful, endless way I read about in the books littering my room. The kind of love that was like a chain connecting two souls, an unbreakable bond that prevailed over the worst kind of circumstances, the most horrific decisions. He obviously thought he did, but people believed and felt all kinds of crazy things in the face of loss, but those feelings drifted away and lessened once life returned to normal and the pain of loss faded.

  But right now, I didn’t want to acknowledge any of that or what led us to this point where things were no longer the same between us. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to explore the heat building low in my stomach, the breathlessness in my chest that had nothing to do with my lungs or ribs.

  Maybe it was going back to school today. Or it was the unexpected talk with Dr. Perry and knowing that he knew. It could’ve been the confrontation with Abbi and facing the fact that out of everyone, she knew I left that party...that party sober enough to...to fucking know better. It could’ve been the talk with Mom.

  Maybe it was because Sebastian had said he loved me.

  It was probably all those things rolled into one wrecking ball of a mess, but couldn’t I...couldn’t I just, I don’t know, pretend for a little bit? Play out the fantasy in my head? My pulse was all over the place as my gaze tracked over the sharp angle of his cheekbones, down to the scar in his upper lip.

  I lifted my hand but stopped inches from touching him.

  A small smile curled the corners of his lips up. “You can touch me if you want. You don’t even have to ask.”

  I wanted to touch him, so very badly, but I hesitated. Touching him wasn’t pretending, and how would I come back from that?

  His chest rose with a deep breath. “I would love for you to touch me.”

  My breath caught.

  Tentatively, I splayed my fingers across his cheek. A jolt of exhilaration rushed me when I felt the tremor that rocked his strong body. His jaw was almost smooth under my palm with just the hint of stubble. I slid my hand down, sliding my thumb along his lower lip. His sharp intake of breath elicited a shudder. He closed his eyes when I followed the curve of his upper lip, feeling the indent of his scar.

  All these years, and I’d never touched him like this. Ever. I was lost a little in the moment, in the right now, as I coasted my hand down his throat. My fingers brushed over his pulse and I could feel it beating as wildly as mine.

  I kept going.

  Flattening my hand over his chest. He made this sound, this low gravelly groan that was part growl, and it was like taking a match to gasoline. A fire started. Emboldened, I went lower, following the taut ripples and planes. His muscles were hard, clearly defined like I always knew they were, like I’d always seen and only ever accidentally touched briefly.

  But this wasn’t brief.

  I took my sweet time, tracing just a finger over his abs and then two fingers, mapping them out, committing them to memory.

  I kept going.

  My fingers drifted around his navel and lower, reaching the band on the flannel bottoms he was wearing. His body jerked again, bringing him closer. His thigh pressed against the side of mine.

  This isn’t right.

  I shouldn’t get to do this, but knowing that didn’t stop me. Slowly, I lifted my gaze to his.

  His eyes were blue as the deepest seas I’d never seen in real life but had circled on that map above my desk. Somehow our faces had gotten closer and closer during my exploration. Our breaths mingled together.

  I closed the distance.

  The contact of my mouth against his was just as shocking and electrifying as it had been the first time, maybe even stronger now. It was just the sweetest, gentlest of pressures. Only my mouth moving against his, and then his hand was on the nape of my neck.

  I made a sound I’d never heard myself make before, opening my mouth to him, and whatever control Sebastian had, whatever was holding him back, snapped. Sebastian kissed me, really kissed me. My heart threatened to explode. His tongue slipped in. He tasted of mint and him. My hand moved to his hip and flexed, urging him closer, but he couldn’t get closer. Not with my sore ribs and the bum arm.

  But he kissed me, drank from my lips and mouth and my sighs. And he moved down, nipping at my lower lip, drawing out a moan, and he kissed his way down my throat when I kicked my head back, giving him more access. He licked and sucked, paying special attention to this spot just below my ear that had my toes curling and my hips twitching restlessly. Then he was devouring my lips once more, our tongues tangling and the only sound in the room was our panting breaths.

  I had no idea how long we kissed. It went on for forever, and there was no faking or pretending each time we dived back into each other, wanting and silently begging for more. Friends did not kiss friends like this. They didn’t clutch at one another like we were, my fingers digging into his hip and side, his hand a firm hold on my neck, unwilling to let me go even though I wasn’t running.

  And still, we kissed and kissed.

  When his mouth finally lifted from mine, I pressed my forehead into his shoulder. Breathing heavily, I curled my fingers into his shirt. For what felt like an eternity, neither of us moved and then he shifted back down on his side, curling his hand over my hip. His hand moved, drift
ed up and down my back in long, smoothing strokes, and his breath danced warmly on my cheek.

  And we didn’t talk the rest of the night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE