The Way We Are

by Shandi Boyes

  Some letters were only three paragraphs. Others were three pages long. But they all end the same way.

  I forgive you.

  I don’t know how much time passes before Savannah lifts her head off my chest. It's long enough her eyes have dried, leaving nothing but a pair of sparkling green irises I know all too well, but nowhere near long enough to shift the sentiment in the air back to a comfortable setting.

  “Ryan... I...”

  She glances up at me, her eyes speaking the words she can’t force out her mouth. She wishes circumstances were different—that she could kiss me like her eyes say she wants to—but she can’t. Five years didn’t just pass in silence; so much more happened—stuff she wants to share but can’t. Not yet.

  “One day?” I question, praying I can still intuit her thoughts as well as I used to.

  “Yes,” Savannah answers with fire in her eyes, a promise. “I want to tell you everything, Ryan. I just can’t. Not yet.” Her nostrils quiver as she strives to ignore the moisture pricking her eyes. “I just hope you won’t hate me when you find out how foolish I’ve been.” Her words are a whisper, forced through a sob she's barely containing.

  I curl my arms around her tighter, hoping a little muscle will add to the truthfulness of my next statement. “I’d never hate you, Savannah. Not in a million years.”

  My hand floats across her face to clear away a sneaky tear dribbling down her cheek. My hands are still taped from my fight, but that can't hide the softness of her skin. A cashmere sweater recently removed from the dryer—that's what Savannah's skin feels like. Warm and tenderly soft. Familiar.

  I should drop my hand from her face, but I can’t. The tension building between us is electrifying. It crackles and hisses in the air, spurring on my pursuit with a confidence I haven’t had in years. I feel fucking invincible, like I have the entire world at my feet.

  The rise and fall of Savannah’s chest quickens when my hand trails across her pouty mouth. I’m barely touching her, but the breathless moan my touch instigates makes it more dangerous. She stares at me, the plea in her eyes as unmissable as the bulge in my shorts. I want to kiss her—I’m dying to kiss her—but I won’t. Not yet. She isn’t mine. As much as this kills me to admit, she is still his. The way she defended Axel proves this without a doubt. If she weren't, she would have thrown him to the wolves as she did me years ago.

  What Isaac said earlier tonight is true: Savannah is with Axel for a reason. Until I discover why, the facts won't alter. I wish I could force her to leave him, but I've matured enough the past five years to know that could end disastrously for me. I tried to force Savannah's hand years ago; it destroyed our relationship to a point of no recovery. That's why we haven't spoken in years. I refuse to make the same mistake twice.

  Placing my hand under Savannah’s chin, I raise her eyes to mine. “Promise me, Savannah—”

  “I promise,” she interrupts as her eager-to-please eyes flick between mine.

  I’m excited she’s willing to agree before she knows what I’m asking. I'm going to hold her to this promise for the rest of my life, so I need her to fully understand it.

  “The letters—”

  “I know, Ryan,” Savannah interrupts again, stepping back from our embrace.

  Even with tonight being uncomfortably muggy, I feel instantly cold.

  “Believe me, I know they’re not going to be pretty. They are most likely going to break my heart, but I don’t need you to spell it out for me, Ryan. I can read your eyes as well as you can mine. I know."

  The strength of her last two words nearly knocks me on my ass. They weren't delivered by a girl I used to know, but by a girl I've always known: Savannah, the prettiest and most admired girl I've ever met.

  I cough to clear the anger from my voice before saying, “Axel...”

  My words trail off when Savannah shakes her head. It isn't her denial that has my words clogging in my throat; it's her retreating frame slowly backing away from me.

  "I know that too,” she intuits, her words throaty and honest. “He won't hurt me, Ryan. I won't let him." Her shining eyes dance between mine as she murmurs, “And neither will you.”

  She waits for me to acknowledge her statement with a nod before pulling open the trap door of our treehouse. While cradling her box with one hand, she uses the other to scale the ladder on her right.

  Once the lower half of her body is lost in darkness, she returns her eyes to mine. "I would never, ever do anything unless I believed in it."

  The truth in her eyes as she recites one of River Phoenix's favorite quotes packs more punch than her actual words. They reveal I'm not the only one feeling the familiarity buzzing in the air—the sense of home. They also show one man doesn't own her. She's as free as the wildness reflected in her eyes.

  "You need to trust me, Ryan. I'm still the same Savannah you remember; I just went down a wrong track a couple of years ago. I'll find my way back home, because no matter how hard I try, I can’t forget my roots." She ends her comment with a smile I’ve missed seeing the past five years.

  "Savannah," I say, halting her departure mere seconds before the dark night shadows her.

  “Yes,” she replies, flicking her eyes upwards.

  I smile to ensure she sees the sincerity in my words. “Happy birthday.”

  She smiles a wicked grin that does stupid things to my insides before whispering, "I knew that too."

  6

  Ryan

  I wait for the rumble of Savannah's engine to fade into the distance before climbing down from the treehouse. While sitting at the base of a maple tree that's older than me, I remove the tape from my hands. The events of my night roll through my head, but instead of starting at the beginning, they start at the end and work their way backward.

  It was so surreal seeing Savannah here, in our treehouse, the last place we kissed. It's also bizarre she left with the box I never intended to give her. I can only hope she was honest when she said she understood my objective, or I may wake up to more than a nasty hangover in the morning.

  While the events of my night continue playing through my head like a movie, I trek through the back entrance of my house. As suspected, my father has fallen asleep in front of the TV, wearing a stained wife-beater shirt and a pair of old shorts from his college days. The nearly empty bottle of whiskey tipped at his side reveals he isn't asleep; he's stone cold drunk.

  My family relishes this time of night, as it's the only time we are guaranteed peace from his malicious taunts and even more vicious hands. That's the reason the broken AC hasn't been fixed since it died three years ago. Keeping my dad fueled with whiskey is more important than my mom living in comfort. It's one of the many sacrifices she has made during their nearly twenty-year marriage.

  Not wanting my mom to clean another brown stain from the carpet in the morning, I head toward my dad instead of my bedroom. The grunt he releases when I pry the bottle from his grip freezes my heart. He doesn't usually make a sound when he's passed out. Not a fucking peep. I don't know how many times I pressed my fingers to his neck to check for a pulse during middle school. He constantly had one—unfortunately.

  The liquor spilled over the rim smears onto my hand when I screw the cap onto the bottle and set it on the coffee table his feet are resting on. The scent is strong, nearly as potent as the one leeching from Axel's pores earlier tonight. He stank like a distillery, making me believe he had more than his fair share of celebratory drinks.

  Suddenly, my mind spirals when my play-by-play rundown of tonight’s events jumps forward in the timeline. It stops at the section where Axel threatened retribution for the sneaky glances Savannah gave me all night, the one where he guaranteed Col’s slap wouldn’t be Savannah’s first taste of violence.

  Fuck!

  I charge out my front door before my brain even registers my legs are moving. My feet thump the floorboards of my front porch so hard, I awaken my father. He yells my name three times before I’m even halfw
ay down the cracked sidewalk, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

  The pledge of protection I made tonight wasn’t my first. We were only eight the first time I promised to protect Savannah. At the time, I assumed my oath would center around keeping her sheltered from my father's antics. I had no clue it would be from a man people assume she loves.

  I know Savannah doesn't love Axel. I just wish everyone else knew it.

  It takes me scanning my nearly isolated street three times before I remember my truck is parked at Bob’s Burgers. While grumbling a string of curse words under my breath, I push off my feet, my fast pace spurred on by the anger stripping my veins of oxygen.

  Dogs howl when I race down the alley separating my half of Ravenshoe from Savannah’s fancier side. My lungs hunt desperately for air as I continue sprinting through the eerily quiet streets, but nothing slows me down.

  The panic burning my throat eases when I spot Savannah's car parked at the front of her six-car garage. The driver's side door of her little hatchback is hanging open, and the bright security lights ensuring her family mansion can be seen from space halos her honey-colored hair.

  I slow my pace as I round the curve in her driveway, giving my tired body a chance to appreciate the air I'm gulping in. I'm a runner, but sprinting over four miles at a sprinting speed has taken its toll on my body. I’m sweating profusely, and my muscles are burning like I’m standing directly on the sun. Although nothing would have stopped me reaching Savannah, seeing her safe and untouched allows me a small moment of reprieve.

  The air I’ve only just guzzled sucks out of my lungs in a brutal grunt when Savannah’s comes into full sight. It isn’t just the way the moonlight captures her hair that has me recoiling; it's the fact she isn’t alone.

  Axel’s arms are curled around her midsection, and his head is burrowed into her stomach. If it weren’t for the angry red lines streaming down his cheeks, I would have read the situation entirely wrong. He isn’t sampling a part of Savannah’s body I have no doubt tastes as sweet as the color of her hair. He’s on his knees, pleading for forgiveness.

  “I didn’t see him strike you, babe. If I did, I would have stopped him. You know I’ll always protect you.”

  My fists firm at his blatant lie. He saw Col slap Savannah—he even added to the taunt by saying it wouldn’t be the last time she gets hit. He’s a fucking liar.

  “Please, babe. You know I’m telling the truth. I’d never lie to you. It’s you and me, babe. Always and forever. Remember?”

  Anger slicks my skin when he tightens his grip on Savannah's thighs. My first thought is to yank him away from her and finish what I started earlier tonight, but for some odd reason I can’t force my legs to move.

  Not forward anyway.

  Remembering Savannah's earlier request for me to give her time to find the right path, I take a retreating step. Although I've witnessed my dad hold my mom in a similar clutch many times the past ten years—shameful tears and all—I trust Savannah. She's as smart as she is beautiful, so I’m confident she’ll see through Axel’s ruse.

  I’m not going far—only to the tree line sheltering Savannah’s mansion from the roadside. I’m close enough to pounce on Axel if he makes one wrong move, but not close enough to hear Savannah’s response to his repeated promise.

  If the anger radiating out of her in invisible waves is anything to go by, her reaction to his ignorance is anything but pleasant. Her tiny hands are balled into fists at her side, and her plump lips are practically nonexistent, having hardened into straight lines. Irritation isn’t the only thing Savannah’s eyes are carrying, though. She's as uncomfortable with her exchange with Axel as I am. And just like me, she’s at a loss on what to do about it.

  When Axel continues blubbering like an imbecile, Savannah loosens her fists so she can weave her fingers through his hair in a comforting manner. Although peeved she's offering him comfort, I suspect it’s her maternal nature coming into play.

  Savannah is a nurturer; she has been since the day she took her first breath, so expecting that to change is as impossible as erasing racism with a click of my fingers. I’d love both things to be an easy fix, but that isn’t how things work. I know that better than anyone.

  Another five minutes pass before Axel's groveling ceases. He stands from his begging position, dusting the gravel off his knees. With a gleam in his eyes that reveals his tears were nothing but a hoax, he bands his arms around Savannah's back and acquaints their lips. Their kiss barely goes beyond a PG 13+ rating, but anger scorches my veins like Satan is prepping them for his latest recruits.

  I thought Axel's pathetic grovel would be the worst thing I'd encounter spying on their exchange like a freak in the bushes, but this tops the cake. I can't believe Savannah fell for his ruse. She's smarter than this. The girl who challenged every boy in our kindergarten class to arm wrestle her to prove girls are as strong as boys is smarter than this.

  Before I can get annoyed at Savannah losing a trait I’ve always admired, Axel withdraws from their embrace. He trails his index finger over her lips, clearing away evidence of their kiss as quickly as the moisture dried on his cheeks, then raises his eyes to hers. "Tomorrow, me and you, babe, lunch at the wharf." His monotone leaves no doubt his comment isn't a suggestion. It's a demand.

  Savannah replies, “I can’t. I have plans tomorrow.”

  “With who?” Axel asks, his mannerism a stark contrast to the person blubbering like a baby minutes ago. He glares at Savannah like she is gum stuck on his shoe, the suspicion in his eyes volatile.

  Even from a distance, I can’t miss Savannah’s quick swallow. “It’s just a get-together with family.” She musters an uneasy smile before asking, “Did you want to come?”

  Axel recoils like her last question was accompanied by bucket loads of vomit. “Family? Yeah, no thanks.”

  After pressing his lips to the edge of Savannah's hard-lined mouth, Axel heads to his car parked halfway down the driveway. With the poor lighting and my panic sky-high, the gleaming red paint of his sports car wasn't noticeable during my sprint down the gravel path. Like he could be any more of a douche, he jumps into his car through the open rooftop instead of using the door like a normal man would.

  When Axel fires up his engine, Savannah shuts her car door, then makes her way to the front door. She has only scaled three of the many stairs leading to her mammoth residence when Axel calls her name.

  He waits for Savannah to face him before cautioning, “Tonight’s incident could have been avoided if you’d heeded my warning.”

  My suspicion piques when Savannah dips her chin, wordlessly agreeing with his reply.

  Pleased with her likeminded response, Axel smiles a slick grin. “Good. I’ll see you on Sunday. I want to catch up before we head back to school.” The greasy way he says “catch up” leaves no doubt on what he is implying.

  Not deterred by the late hour, Axel revs his engine, sending its loud rumble bellowing through the dead-quiet night. The deep growl of his motor nearly drowns out his next warning, “It will be better for all involved if you stay away from Ryan.”

  Assuming she will agree to his caution with the same eagerness she did the first time around, he floors the gas pedal. The smell of burning gasoline lingers when his car rockets toward the exit, his vehicle disappearing over the horizon at a record-breaking pace. I’ve barely had time to register what he said, much less respond.

  Pretending I can’t feel unease brewing in my gut, I return my eyes to Savannah, anticipating she’ll go inside. She doesn’t. She's standing in the exact spot she was before Axel’s brutish departure, her chest rising and falling in the same steady rhythm as mine. Our conjoined breathing indicates she's as bothered by Axel’s last warning as I am. There's just a slight difference: she’s not overcome with anger; she’s deliberating his suggestion.

  I’m not going to lie; that fucking hurts. We haven’t spoken in years, but I thought we broke through some mammoth barriers tonight. Fuck, I hope
I didn’t misread her, because she didn’t just walk away from tonight with my deepest, darkest secrets resting on her hip; she walked away with the piece of my heart she stole when I was only six.

  My thoughts stray from murky waters when, out of the corner of my eye, I spot Savannah spinning on her heels and climbing to the foyer of her family estate. I watch her in silence, my rapid heart rate matching her soundless steps.

  The stickiness coating my skin grows when just before she enters the sizeable door, her head slings in my direction. Even with half my face shadowed by the large trees edging her property, I know she spotted me spying on her. Not only does the guilt in her dilated eyes triple the longer she stares my way, so does the energy, which is as thick and dense as it was in our treehouse earlier tonight.

  A brick lodges in my throat when Savannah mutters, “Goodnight, Ryan.” Her voice is sickly-sweet, a stark contrast to the worry clouding her alluring eyes.

  When she remains frozen halfway through the threshold of her front door, I scrub my hand over the stubble on my chin, contemplating whether I should blow my cover.

  My pause is utterly pointless when I reply, “Goodnight, Savannah,” not even two seconds later.

  Savannah is discreet, but I don’t miss the faint smile tugging at her lips before she enters her home. It's a smile that reveals she isn’t bothered by my stalking. She's pleased.

  7

  Ryan

  “I’m coming, for fuck’s sake.”

  My last three words are for my ears, but I grumble them loud enough the waiters at Bob’s know I’m close to blowing my top. They’ve been ringing the bell on the kitchen counter at a record pace today. I haven’t had even a second to run my night with Savannah through my head for the hundredth time. With my sleep as lacking as my patience, I’m in a horrible mood.

  “Order 153 up.” I slide a loaded burger across the stainless-steel shelf before hitting the bell they’re in love with twice.