Fuck. I knew Austin didn’t come from wealth, but I had no idea it was to this extent. This explains why he never wanted me to come over back in high school. It’s clear that what he revealed to me was only part of a larger picture.
“I’m telling you this,” she says, “because the reason Austin left without telling you has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with how he views himself. His entire life he’s believed he’s not good enough. I blame our mother for that. She never showed us love. I know she loves us, in her own way, but Austin doesn’t think anyone loves or cares about him, aside from me.”
My expression is somber. Impossibly, I feel my heart breaking all over again.
“My guess is that he doesn’t want you seeing this part of him, the broken part. Because my brother and I, we’re broken in ways people don’t understand unless they grow up in the type of household we did. We have abandonment issues, with our father leaving, our mother not stepping up and taking responsibility for her children. It’s humiliating.” She traces a pattern on the comforter, and her voice grows stronger. “Austin’s always believed that what he has, he doesn’t deserve. That he’s not good enough for the things he wants. I’m guessing one of those things is you.”
I groan through my hands. “That’s crazy.” But is it really? There’s always been a thin wall separating Austin and I. And I now wonder if he put the wall there not to protect himself, but to protect me from him.
“Is it at all surprising?” she asks.
Not really, no.
Austin is the best guy I know. But have I ever told him that? Does anyone tell those we love how they make us feel, how we’re grateful to know them, to have them in our lives?
My perspective on the matter shifts. I could have done a better job at showing Austin that he’s important to me. Instead of flinging hurtful words at him—coward—I could have tried to better understand his insecurities.
I didn’t even tell him that I love him. How can I ever expect to hear something like that from him if I’m too afraid to do the same?
I ask Lydia, “How does Austin know if someone loves him?”
“He doesn’t.” She says it so simply, as if it’s a fact. That isn’t right. “It’s hard for him to find trust in others. He knows people care about him, but love?” She shakes her head. “I’m pretty sure he thinks the only person who loves him is me.”
That’s not true. I love him. His friends love him. And in her own way, his mother loves him too. But how does one overcome a lifetime of thinking otherwise?
Now I see the truth in his actions, and mine. He’s not completely at fault. I share the blame too, for never understanding Austin’s fragile heart. Today, though, is when things change. “Is he home?”
“He hasn’t landed yet. Usually they keep our mother for a day or two before she’s discharged. He’ll bring her to his place, I’m sure.”
My flight leaves tonight, but it’s to Indiana. If I get to the airport early enough, there’s a chance I could catch a different flight to North Carolina. I need to talk to him. I can’t leave things between us unfinished. “What’s Austin’s address?”
Chapter 24
Austin
I’m the first person my mom sees when she wakes up at the hospital, groggy and in need of a bath. She blinks at me in confusion, then looks around the room: white walls, sterile environment. I wonder how much she remembers. She blacked out and, according to Dr. Johnson, was on the brink of death. I doubt she remembers a thing.
“How bad?” she asks. Her voice is a rasp.
There’s no point in describing the experience in detail, so I just settle on, “Bad enough.”
She nods, resigned by that. Reaching over, she takes a sip from the cup of water on her bedside table. “I thought you were in Europe.”
“I caught an earlier flight. Today was the last day.”
Remorse tightens her mouth. That familiar resentment claws at me. Knowing my mom feels guilt, yet is unable to change, sometimes makes me so angry I see red. But I’m tired and worn down and sad after leaving Logan with bad blood between us. So I let it go.
“How was it?” she whispers, leaning back against the pillows. She pushes a lock of oily hair from her face. The bottle hasn’t been kind to her. She looks ten years older, her skin sallow and saggy. But I can see myself in her. We have the same eyes, the same mouths, the same unruly hair. “Was it everything you’d hoped it would be?”
It was all that and more. I will never forget this summer. And I will never forget Logan either, no matter how much it hurts. The pain will fade, in time. God, I hope it fades, and quickly. “It was probably one of the few life-changing experiences I’ll ever have. I played soccer with some amazing people. I’m grateful to have had the opportunity.”
Her eyes are sad. She lifts a shaky hand to smooth the wrinkles in the blanket. “I’m so glad that soccer is able to take you places.” We both hear what she doesn’t say. Because I wouldn’t be able to.
I reach for her hand, far more forgiving than usual toward her. “Mom, putting me in soccer was the best thing you could have ever done for me.” I don’t know where I’d be without it. It gave me direction in life—something I desperately needed. While Lydia excelled at academics, I never did. I was good at running, kicking a ball, hand-eye coordination, pushing my body to its limits.
She nods and goes quiet. “When are you leaving?”
“Next week.”
She opens her mouth to say something else when the doctor enters. He smiles at her. “How are you feeling today, Ms. Rhodes?”
I squeeze her hand in support. “Better,” she says, and leaves it at that.
Dr. Johnson turns to me. “I’d like to speak to your mother about the program I mentioned to you earlier. Would you mind giving us some privacy?”
I perk up at that. “Not at all.” More than anything, I hope she agrees to this. It feels like the very last stop before we find ourselves trapped on a runaway train heading toward the cliffs.
I close the door behind me, wandering in the direction of the cafeteria. The walk helps clear my head. I haven’t slept in nearly forty hours. Mostly because I can’t get my mind to shut off. The truth is, I can’t stop thinking about Logan. The devastation on his face when we last saw each other. I hurt him—badly.
Will I ever stop running from the fear of someone loving me?
After twenty minutes, I return to my mother’s room to find her sitting in a wheelchair, a nurse at the back, waiting for me. I texted Casey when I landed to ask if I could borrow his car to drive my mom home from the hospital, and he agreed.
As the nurse follows us to the elevators, I ask my mom, “What do you think about the program?”
She looks up at me. Fear and hope war in her gaze. “I’m going to try it out. I think—at least, I hope—it will help me. Dr. Johnson said he’d email me the required information and paperwork. I also gave him your email as well, to send you the information.”
Unbelievably, I find myself still able to smile. “I’m happy for you, Mom. I really am.”
She blinks tears from her eyes and whispers, “Me too.”
The receptionist waves to us as we exit the building. I’m greeted by green trees, open sky. Paris was an ancient city of pale stone. A place of a long, complicated history and much change. North Carolina—not so much. Still, it’s been home for me all my life. But it won’t be for much longer.
Ignoring the twinge in my chest, I help the nurse settle my mother into the passenger seat. Then I round the hood, start up the engine, and we begin the drive back to her apartment.
“Wait.” She rests a hand on my arm. “Is it all right if we go to your house? There’s something wrong with my water pipes, and I’m not sure if they’ve been fixed yet.”
Actually, this works out. I prefer keeping my mom close by while she recovers anyway. “Sure.
” She’ll be able to shower at my place, eat food in peace. I have a spare set of clothes for her at the house.
The ride through town is silent. Once I leave for Liverpool, Casey’s new roommate will move in. Casey mentioned in passing that he planned on coaching a junior league in the fall, so I guess that’s how he’ll be spending most of his time. He never had any interest in the professional leagues. That’s completely cool. Different strokes, different folks. As long as he’s happy, then I’m happy for him.
Once we pull into the driveway and I help my mom inside, I head to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. “Bathroom is down the hall,” I say. Though she’s been here before, I’m worried she’s forgotten among the hospital ordeal. “You can sleep in my bed tonight. I’ll take Casey’s. Are you hungry?”
“A little,” she admits.
“I’ll order us some food. Pizza?”
Her eyes are bright as she nods. She’s my mother, but at the moment, she appears uncertain and incredibly small. So I go over and give her a hug. “Glad you’re okay,” I say.
“I know I don’t say it enough,” she whispers, her mouth trembling, “but I really am so lucky to have a son like you.”
Before I can answer, she disappears down the hall and enters the bathroom. A few minutes later, I hear the shower running. Gloria Rhodes may not be perfect, but she’s my mother. The only one I have.
Once I call for pizza delivery, I start packing up my dishes. I only have two of each—plates, bowls, cups, silverware. A colander. A skillet and baking sheet. Cheese grater. I take one of the paper bags from under the sink and start ripping it up to use as wrapping when there’s a knock on the door. Either that’s the fastest delivery on the planet, or someone’s trying to sell me something.
I open the door. My blood turns to ice in my veins.
Logan.
He stands on the front porch with dark smudges beneath his eyes, He wears a t-shirt, sweat pants, and sneakers. His dark hair is rumpled, his face drawn. I’ve never seen him like this. Like a ghost of his former self. And yet, I drink him in. It’s been less than a day since I’ve seen him, but it feels like years have passed. All I can think is that he’s here.
My mouth opens, then snaps shut. We stare at one another for an eternity. Finally, I gather enough courage to ask, “What are you doing here?”
His gaze lingers on my mouth. “Can I come in?” he asks quietly.
Wordlessly, I open the door wider so he can enter.
Slipping his hands into his pockets, he steps into the living room and looks around while I stand some feet away, wanting so badly to touch him but afraid I’ll fall apart if I do so. It takes all my concentration to appear bland and uninterested over the matter of his sudden appearance. “So this is where you live.” He turns to the side, listening. “Is someone here?”
The shower. He hears the shower.
“My mom.” It’s physically painful to have space between us, but I don’t know where we stand. I said horrible things to him. I have no idea if he’ll ever forgive me.
Suddenly, Logan whirls around. His eyes are piercing. “Don’t play for Liverpool.”
That stops me. “What?”
“Don’t play for Liverpool.”
My pulse trips in confusion, but also—dare I say it—hope.
“Lydia told me about what it was like for you, growing up. And I’m here to tell you that I’ve never met a stronger, more giving or compassionate person. Someone who deserves happiness, just as I do. Someone who was my best friend in high school. Someone who I thought I’d never see again, but who I was given a second chance with this summer.” His throat bobs. He looks to the side before his gaze returns to mine. “I know why you left.”
My body tenses up. A barrier has been stripped away, the barrier I’ve had for years to keep other people at a distance. But I should have known with Logan. He’s always seen me in a way no one else has.
His voice is low. “You think you don’t deserve love, is that it? Think you don’t deserve happiness?”
Those words hit too close to home. What do I say to that? To the truth? He can read everything in my eyes anyway.
“Do you think after all we’ve been through that I’m just going to let you walk away again?” His voice catches in his chest. It’s rough with barely tempered emotion. “I don’t give a shit about where you come from, or who your family is, or what demons you’re battling. You’re still the person I want to be with at the end of the day.”
I’m trembling. I hear the shower cut off. “My mother—”
“I know about your mother,” he says, and some of the pressure in my ribcage eases. He looks at me with total understanding. “I’m glad you opened up to me about her. If things are difficult, then I want to be by your side. I want to support you in whatever way you need me to.”
“Logan—”
“Because I’m not going to let you play for Liverpool. They’re not the team you need to build your career. And—”
“Logan!” I step up to him, and finally—finally—grip his shoulders. It feels so good to touch him. “I didn’t sign the contract.”
Now he’s the confused one. “What?”
“I said I didn’t sign the contract.” I was afraid to. Afraid that once I wrote my name in ink, there would be no going back and I’d realize I made a huge mistake. Something didn’t feel right about it.
He pauses. Says, slowly, “Where is it? The contract?”
I pick up the two contracts from the table and offer him both. I’ve yet to sign either.
“Why didn’t you?” he says. “Sign it, I mean.”
He looks at me, and all barriers are down. No more lying. No more pretending that what I want most in the world isn’t standing five feet away. “Because you wouldn’t be there.”
At this, he smiles. “If you think I’m going to let you move halfway across the world, you’re wrong.” He holds up one of the papers. “Sign this one. Come play for LA. You know this is the right choice for your career. Plus, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle a long-distance relationship.”
I don’t know what to say to that. He’s giving me a wish come true. “A relationship?”
“Yeah, I know you don’t do those,” Logan continues, breeching the gap. “But I forgot to tell you very important things before you left Paris.” He cups my face, and his thumbs brush my cheeks. “I love you,” he whispers, peering into my eyes. “I never told you that, but I should have. You’re the one for me. What we have, it’s real.” Then he leans forward and kisses me. It’s soft but intense, and at the first stroke of his tongue, I pull him closer, deepening the kiss. We take pleasure in the feel of each other’s mouths, and warmth shimmers in my chest. He is all I’ve ever wanted.
I pull back, but don’t release my hold on him. “I love you, Logan. I’ve loved you since I was eighteen years old.” The words are strained, but truer than anything I’ve ever said. “I’ve never stopped.”
He brings me forward, and we’re kissing again. The kisses start to grow hungry when the sound of the bathroom door opening causes us to pull apart.
A moment later, my mother steps into the living room, pulling up short in surprise as she sees Logan. “Oh.” Her wet hair is plastered to her head, but I’m sure she feels better now that she’s clean. “Hello there.”
Logan inclines his head. “Ms. Rhodes.” He approaches her and takes her hand.
“Are you one of Austin’s friends?”
“Actually,” he says, twining his fingers with mine, “I’m his boyfriend.”
My stomach clenches in happiness at that, and I stare at him with my mouth agape as he grins devilishly.
Her hand goes to her mouth. “I had no idea.” She looks to me with a happy smile. “Nice to meet you, Logan.”
“I ordered pizza,” I tell my mom. “It should be here in the n
ext ten minutes or so.”
“I’m feeling pretty tired. I think I’m just going to sleep, if that’s all right.”
“Sure. My bedroom is the last door on the right.”
My mother rises on her toes to kiss my cheek. “Love you,” she murmurs. A moment later, I hear the bedroom door shut.
“So.” Logan turns to me. “Pizza, huh?” He leads me to the couch, drawing me forward so I’m straddling his hips. Our arms wrap around each other, and our mouths come together, and it’s like I never left this place. Somehow, we always manage to return to one another.
We’re going at it on the couch, trying to quiet our breathing. There’s so much desire in this room it’s clogging the air. This man loves me. All of me. The thought tightens my grip in his hair, and he hisses out a breath that is pure lust.
“God, I want you.” His fingers dig into my outer thighs, then move upward, inward. He smooths a palm across my bulge, lingering. “I always fucking want you.” He gives me a gentle squeeze, grinning at the groan that comes out of my mouth. He starts rubbing me at a steady pace. My muscles are coiled, my body is tight. Even that small touch unravels me.
The last thing I want is to come all over my pants with my mother sleeping in the next room, so I brush his hand aside and flip him onto his back, devouring his mouth with tongue and lips and teeth. My heart is on fire for this man.
A sudden thought comes to me, and I pull away. “What’s going to happen when I move? Will we get separate places or—?”
“Well, I figure since we already lived together for the summer, we know we’re good roommates, right?” That grin, the one that tells me he’s up to no good, graces his features. I’m pulled toward it like a moth to flame. “I mean, I am your boyfriend now.”
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