Abi and the Boy She Loves

by Kelsie Stelting

  I couldn’t help it. I looked at Jon. How stupid we’d been to part, not once but twice. To think that shouldering a burden alone would somehow spare the other. We were linked. In this incredible life, we didn’t have time to waste learning that lesson again.

  His eyes told me he felt exactly the same way.

  Grandma and Jorge exchanged “I do’s” and then we began the dance. The Scollers had rented a wooden dance floor for the reception, and I sat at the wedding party’s table while Grandma and Jorge began their first dance.

  With my chin resting on my folded hands, I watched them slowly turn in circles, every bit as in love as Skye and Andrew were on their day. Stormy was here somewhere, with Violeta. I smiled, thinking this was my goddaughter’s second wedding.

  “You look happy.”

  I turned to see Jon smiling at me.

  “Hey, you,” I said. I reached for his hand. “It was good, don’t you think?”

  “It was amazing.” He squeezed my fingers and sat down in the chair next to me. Tucking a piece of hair behind his ear, he said, “But the girl next to your grandma stole the show.”

  “Oh?” I quirked an eyebrow.

  “Yeah.” He scratched his neck. “I mean, I hate to say it, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her.”

  My cheeks warmed. “Yeah?”

  “Definitely.” His fingers traced a pattern on my bare shoulder as he moved my hair back. When his eyes met mine, there was so much feeling in them, I had no idea what to do.

  “Jon?”

  He took my hand and looked down. “We were so stupid. I was stupid.”

  I reached for his chin and held his face in my hands. “I don’t want to waste today feeling bad about yesterday.”

  He nodded.

  Leaning forward, I placed a kiss on his cheek. It was warm under my lips.

  “I got something for you,” he said.

  I bumped my knee against his. “You know, you’re supposed to get the bride and groom a present on the wedding day.”

  “Ah.” He pretended to be regretful. “I told you, you stole the show.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Well, I guess I could wait...”

  “No way.” I stuck out my hand. “Show me.”

  Jon reached into his pocket and placed a delicate silver ring in the palm of my hand, and my mouth fell open. “Grandma’s ring?”

  His eyes searched me, gauging my reaction. “What do you think?”

  “I...” Why wouldn’t my words come? I touched the stone and the smooth edges of the circle. “Grandpa gave this to her. They were nineteen.”

  “As old as we are.”

  I looked at him, confused. “How did you know?”

  He glanced at Grandma, who had broken her bubble with Jorge to send us an approving smile.

  “Grandma told you?”

  He nodded, taking the ring and moving my hand, slowly slipping it on my finger.

  “She said your grandpa got down on one knee, opened a box with this ring in it, and said ‘You’d be crazy to say yes, but will you?’”

  A small laugh escaped my parted lips, even though tears were forming in my eyes.

  “I know you asked me, and I already said yes, but it’s not because I’m crazy.” He reached up and ran his hand over my hair, tucked it back behind my shoulder again. “It’s because I’m not. Saying yes to you was the easiest decision I’ve ever made.”

  I held my hand to my chest, the ring and all its years of love under my palm. “Have I mentioned I love you?”

  He brought his forehead to mine, closing his eyes. “And I love you.”

  There, in his parents’ backyard, with my grandma dancing with the love of her life, I realized my home had been here all along. In the heart of the boy next door.

  Epilogue

  Four Years Later

  I hated moving. With a passion. But we were finally back in Woodman. Back home.

  I dumped a box of Jon’s social work textbooks he refused to get rid of in the guest room and stood up to wipe my forehead. A stinging sensation spread, and I jerked my hand away. This damn, beautiful diamond ring had scratched me. I needed to be more careful.

  A shutter sounded, and a flash of light filled the room.

  I jerked upright and saw Grandma holding up the digital camera we’d gotten her for her birthday. “You scared the crap out of me, Gram!”

  She focused on the screen and then turned it so I could see the most hideous photo ever taken of me. “One for the newlyweds’ family album,” she said.

  “Uh huh,” I said. “Sure.”

  “I would help with unpacking, but...” She shrugged from the old chair she sat on surrounded by boxes and flipped to the next page of her magazine. “I guess I’m too old.”

  I rolled my eyes at her smug smile and left the room. Only half the trailer to go.

  Evan peered at me from behind a box. “Where do you want this?”

  Making out Jon’s chicken scratch was near impossible. “It either says kazoo or...kitchen.”

  “I’ll put it in the kazoo then.”

  Laughing, I passed him and Frank and Roberto until I got back outside. Thank goodness the girls were in the kitchen unpacking because I could see how this moving thing could quickly become a weeks-long ordeal now that I actually owned a few things.

  Jon stood with his dad in the trailer, arguing over what should come out first in the Jenga-pile of furniture they’d loaded up.

  When he caught my gaze, he said, “I’m taking a break,” and jumped out. It was almost easy to forget he was ever injured now. “Please tell me we have some water left in the cooler.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded and started back toward the porch. Off to the side, by the porch swing, we had a blue cooler full of drinks for everyone who’d come to help.

  After I picked a couple of bottles out and handed one to him, he sat back on the swing, and I flopped down beside him. I rested my head on his shoulder, not caring how sweaty it was.

  “Whose idea was it to move in the middle of August?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, but we should take away their sunscreen.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” I laughed and looked up at him. He’d been growing out his facial hair. I liked him clean-shaven, but this was nice too. More mature.

  “At least we have a little time to get unpacked before I start my job.”

  With half a smile, I nodded. It would be nice to keep him from commuting an hour or more every day, depending on his caseload. I was afraid of finishing my program online though. School had never been my strong suit. Was I really cut out for the hours of solo studying it would take to get my law degree and pass the bar?

  “Get out of your head,” he said. “You’re going to do great.”

  “How do you always know what I’m thinking?”

  “We’ve been together too long.”

  I shook my head. “Five years is not too long.”

  “Neither is forever.” He smiled at me, his eyes soft, his lips...

  I pressed my own to his. Perfectly kissable.

  When we parted, he stared over the grassy front lawn. “What’s next?”

  “Maybe the couch?”

  “No.” He shook his head and locked his beautiful green eyes on mine, all humor gone from his expression. “For us?”

  Flutters started low in my stomach and rose through my chest. We had nothing but time—forever. A home with extra bedrooms. A fenced-in backyard. Careers. Plans. I bit my lip, knowing what was left.

  I’d dreamed of having a child. One who looked exactly like Jon, with bright green eyes and a smile that could instantly melt anyone’s heart. I hoped they’d have his laugh and his sense of humor and his heart for others. But now something deeper called to me.

  I bit my lip. “What if we adopt?”

  His eyes flared open. “Really?”

  I nodded. “I want to do for someone else what Gram did for me. I want to give them a home.” I squeezed his hand. “A family.�
�

  He reached out and brushed his thumb over my cheek. “I love your heart. I couldn’t think of anything better.”

  “Are we ready?” I asked.

  He pulled me close and held me to his side. “With you? I’m ready for anything. Everything.”

  Him sitting next to me was already everything. But maybe I could live with a little bit more of forever, whatever it would bring.

  Thank you for reading the final book of Abi’s story. To stay in her world just a little longer, get the FREE story of her and Jon’s wedding at newsletter.kelsiestelting.com/abi-three. Keep turning the page to get a free excerpt of Skye’s story!

  Chasing Skye: Sneak Preview

  Chapter One

  Kellum Watts burst through the door, parting his lips in an apologetic grin. “Sorry I’m late!”

  “The first day, Kell?” the teacher asked. “Not a good way to start out.”

  “I know,” he smiled again, shaking his damp brown hair around his face, and Mrs. Valor practically melted into a pile of blushing, Kellum-loving goo. “It won’t happen again.”

  Every line that formed around his eyes when he smiled etched itself permanently into my memory. No dimple left behind.

  He slid into an empty seat reserved especially for him between Saffron and Zack. Saffron reached out and scratched Kellum’s shoulder with her French-tipped nails. Kellum matched her adoring smile with one of his own and hooked the strap of his backpack over his chair, then scanned the room.

  His brown eyes met mine.

  I looked down at my notebook.

  “Well, now that everyone’s here, we can get back to class,” Mrs. Valor said.

  She continued with the first-day speech teachers gave every year, which usually included a syllabus and the word “respect.” Between wondering if Saffron could smell his cologne and fretting about volleyball tryouts, I barely caught a word.

  The bell rang, and I retreated to the hallway, not wanting to see if Kellum would carry Saffron’s books.

  “Hey, Skye!” Kylie appeared beside me.

  I jumped, putting my hand over my heart. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  She laughed and shrugged. “How was A&P?”

  “It was okay,” I replied without asking how she already knew my class schedule. In two years of knowing her, I’d learned to just go with it and enjoy her uncanny knowledge of everybody’s business. “What classes do you have?”

  “Oh, this and that. We have English and history together.”

  The warning bell rang, and she waved goodbye before veering off down a different hallway. I took my time walking to Spanish where I found Señora Luna standing in front of a full classroom wearing a gaudy sombrero.

  For the next hour, she gave us the cultured version of Syllabus Day (“¡Respeto!”) and then I made my way to the free reading period. I suffered through Mr. Winkel’s nasally reminder to read a book and write a report every quarter before the bell finally rang and I could go to weights class.

  The gym lights were off as I walked down the sideline to the girls’ locker room, but light from the windows shined on the volleyball net. Excitement crackled through my muscles and danced over my skin. New year, new volleyball season, new position, new me.

  I stepped down the stone stairs to the dingy locker room and saw Rachel and Shelby were the only other girls there. Both of them were on the volleyball team with me the year before, so I figured we’d be a good group.

  We talked about our summers and volleyball tryouts, then headed back to the gym.

  Coach Rokey waited for us in the corner by the door. About fifteen guys already circled around him, and I hoped Kellum would be in the group. When we got closer, I heard his laugh before I saw him. It brought a smile to my lips.

  Rokey used his finger to count everyone out. “Okay, follow me.”

  We walked through halls, giving me a better view of Kellum. His shirt sleeves were cut off so low I could see the muscles work in his shoulders as he walked.

  Coach Rokey led us to an open area in the weight room, and Kellum stopped in front of me. He must have grown over the summer because he stood several inches taller than my 5-foot-six frame.

  “You’ll be in groups of three according to ability,” Rokey told us. “Girls, you’ll go together. Kellum, Bryant, Kaiser, you’re a group…”

  After sorting us into groups, Rokey had us bench press. Shelby barely managed 75 pounds. Rachel followed at 105. When my turn came, Coach joined our group to spot me. I’d been nearing the record of 120 pounds all summer, but I was about to press 125.

  Laying on the bench, I stared up at the bar, wrapping my hands around the cold metal. Feeling every bit of the weight, I lifted it from the rack, lowered it to my chest, and started the slow push up. My arms froze, elbows bent, and I struggled to get past the stall in my lift.

  “Come on!” Rokey urged.

  Grunting out a breath, I broke past the invisible stop and pushed the bar all the way up for one rep. I racked the weights, making a satisfying clang of metal on metal.

  Coach grinned down at me. “This is what you get for coming to summer weights!”

  I’m sure my face was all sorts of red and unattractive as I sat back up, grinning.

  Zack slapped me a high five. “Nice!”

  I blushed, thankful for the cover of exertion. Sure, I wanted Kellum’s best friend to recognize me, but not especially for bench press.

  “Embrace it,” Rokey said. He must have caught the blush.

  Shrugging, I tried to make my face normal. Thankfully, Rokey released us to go change, and I didn’t have to stand around the rest of the boys much longer. I caught Kellum looking at me on the way back to the gym, but he was probably just surprised about the record.

  The guys and girls split at the gym entrance, and we made our way toward the locker room.

  My arms ached as I struggled to change out of my gym clothes. “I’m gonna be sore tomorrow,” I said, groaning.

  “Man, I wish I could lift like that,” Rachel said.

  “Yeah,” Shelby said, “but too much muscle slows you down in volleyball anyway.”

  I jerked my head back, shocked. Was she being serious?

  “What do you mean?” Rachel asked, reading my mind.

  “The college coach I talked to this summer at camp said he’d trade speed for power any day.” Shelby cast me a sideways glance. “Bulky girls are just slower.”

  I could practically feel the cold cement floor on the underside of my jaw. She had to be kidding.

  “You have to have power to hit,” Rachel shut her locker. “And serve.”

  “That’s just what the coach told me.” Shelby sat down and started knotting up her shoelaces.

  I remembered the college where she went to the camp. A division two, nobody school.

  “What was their record last season?” I asked, trying not to let her comment make me regret all the hours I spent in the weight room over the summer.

  Shelby looked at me finally, her eyes narrowing once she realized what I meant. “This coach came from Upton, 32-1 last season. But don’t worry, Skye. There are lots of bigger girls on community college teams.”

  Shelby shut her locker, smiled at me, and flounced away.

  I ground my teeth, mad at what Shelby said and madder I let Shelby have the last word.

  Rachel opened her mouth, “I—”

  I shook my head.

  “But—”

  I raised my hand. “That doesn’t even deserve a response.”

  I tried to believe that lie, but I couldn’t. The truth was, it stung, especially coming from a senior.

  Rachel and I made small talk while we finished changing and then headed to the cafeteria. We were lucky enough to fall in line a few people behind Kellum and Zack.

  Kellum looked straight at me. “Hey, what was the record before, Skye?”

  It took me a minute for my brain to connect with my mouth. “Um, 120, I think.”

  “Cool. Good
job,” he said and turned back to Zack.

  An insuppressible smile stretched my lips, and it lasted for a full five minutes until I saw Shelby at the table. Most of last year’s volleyball team sat together, and I took a seat as far away from her as I could.

  Volleyball tryouts dominated the conversation. Tryouts at McClellan weren’t really tryouts. Since it was a smaller school, everyone got to be on the team, but we did have to fight for playing time in the positions we wanted.

  Kylie waved her carrot stick around as she talked. “You know me. Middle hitter, all the way.”

  “Same,” Rachel said, shrugging. She’d played the spot for the last three years. Trying out was just a formality for her at this point.

  Just as I opened my mouth to talk, Shelby told everyone she wanted to be libero, meaning she’d get to wear a special jersey and play back row the entire game. She thought it would give her a better chance at playing in college the next year.

  A few of the girls told her she would be great for the position.

  I kept my mouth shut.

  The second half of the day passed much the same as the first half.

  English, “r-e-s-p-e-c-t.”

  American History, “Remember the Alamo?”

  Calculus, “The limit on a bad attitude does exist.”

  Journalism, “Being a good journalist is about more than the quality of your work.”

  Of course, everyone would forget the whole good-attitude thing less than a week in—including the teachers—and school would be back to normal.

  What I’d been looking forward to all day finally came: the final bell. I threaded my way through the throng of students rushing to get home and made it to the locker room, changing in record time.

  I had on my favorite kneepads along with spandex, a cutoff T-shirt, and a pair of broken-in volleyball shoes. Within fifteen minutes, I had stretched and was practicing my serve.

  “Ladies!” Coach Umber’s voice rang throughout the gym. “Take a seat at center court.”