The Truth About Letting Go Page 5

I take another out of his hand and put it in my mouth. “Where’s your room?”

  He drops the square mints on the counter and rubs his hands together. “Come on.” Picking up the bags, he takes off down a narrow hallway.

  “Is anybody else here?”

  “They don’t get home til six.”

  “And you don’t have any brothers or sisters?”

  In the hallway are pictures of baby Jordan, elementary school Jordan, middle school Jordan. Then there’s an artistic black and white portrait of a woman. She’s on the beach and the wind’s pushing her short, dark hair around her smile. “Is this your mom?”

  Jordan pops out of what must be his room. “Yeah. What are you doing? Stop looking at those.”

  He reaches for my arm, but I pull it away and laugh, running down the hall. He’s right behind me. “What are you trying to hide?”

  Then I see it and squeal. “You’re wearing a denim suit!”

  “Step away from the horror.”

  “Did your mom have that custom made? I’ve never seen anything like it!”

  “Yes, you have, and it’s still horrible.”

  “It even has a matching denim vest!”

  He grabs me around the waist, easily lifting me off the floor and through the door into his room. He puts me down, but his arms are still around me. They’re warm, and I’m surrounded by the smell of fresh-cut grass, the creek. My eyes travel from his blue shirt to his face, and his expression changes.

  “Jordan, I—”

  He leans down and cuts me off with a kiss. Soft, warm lips press over mine gently. I only hesitate for half a second before reaching up and weaving my fingers into his hair. I open my mouth, and the flavor of mint grows stronger as our tongues slide together. A burst of energy floods my chest, and suddenly, I’m kissing him again, faster, like I can’t get enough. He’s keeping my pace, and for the first time in months, the painful sadness is gone. In its place is this new feeling, this tense anticipation. I love it, this excitement canceling out that wretched sadness.

  Our mouths break apart and we both gasp. He presses his forehead to mine, but my eyes are still closed. I’m smiling.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, pulling me into his chest. “I didn’t mean to—”

  But I don’t want to hear that. I reach for his face again, pulling it down to mine. I want more of the good feeling. He lifts me, and my hands stay on his cheeks as I kiss him again and again. A noise comes from his throat, and it’s like gasoline on a fire. All of me is hot and desperate. I barely notice as we fall back onto his bed, me on top, my fingers searching for the buttons on his new shirt. They’re easy to unfasten and soon, I’m sliding my hands over his smooth chest.

  He groans and pulls back. “Ashley…” his voice is thick, but I don’t let him finish. I kiss him again. His hands go to my cheeks and he holds my face above his. We blink a few times, studying each other in stunned silence. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.

  Without giving myself a chance to think or second-guess, I grab the bottom of my shirt and whip it over my head then quickly lean back into him for another, deep kiss. His tongue slides around mine, and I can feel his fingers lightly touching the skin of my back, slowly tracing their way up to my bra. I shiver and lift my chin as he kisses my neck, drawing a soft noise from me. I’m desperate with anticipation, ready to remove my bra myself.

  This is crazy. I’ve never done anything like this before. And why is he hesitating? From the way I’m sitting on him, I can tell he’s ready. But at that moment, he takes hold of my waist and lifts me with a frustrated groan. He sits me on his bed and walks across the room, back to me and both hands on top of his head. My breathing is hard as I watch him lower his arms and cross them over his chest. He’s breathing hard, too.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, still not facing me. “I didn’t mean to go that fast.”

  “It’s okay. I was going fast, too.”

  My heart’s thudding, and my legs are quivering. Finally, he turns around to look at me, and when he does, he flinches. Quick as a blink, he slips off his shirt and wraps it around me. I pull it on, and the scent of him is all over it. Watching him now bare-chested, I’m having a hard time seeing why we stopped.

  With a frustrated noise, he turns away again. “We can’t do this.”

  “Why not? You said nobody’d be home for hours.”

  It’s not like I came here planning to break the seal or anything, but maybe… Jordan feels so good, so safe. I’ve stopped believing in waiting, and I’m ready to do anything to get back to that place we just were, back to that release.

  “It’s not that,” he says.

  I look around his room, brown walls, an old movie poster, a pennant for State. I guess I never thought about how much I don’t know about Jordan. “Do you have a girlfriend or something? At another school? In Glennville?”

  He walks over and sits on the foot of the bed, far away from me. “No.”

  I slide toward him, closing the distance. He looks at the floor, and I watch the muscles in his jaw tense.

  “I don’t understand,” I whisper, reaching out and touching his face, trying to get him to look at me. “What’s wrong?”

  His eyes finally meet mine, and it’s like I can see the fight going on behind them.

  I smile, trying to ease the tension. “You’re a great kisser. Let’s start there.”

  I lean forward and his eyes flick to my mouth. He quickly stands up again and crosses the room, his back once again turned. “I seriously can not believe this,” he breathes.

  I slap my hands on the bed and stand up frustrated. “Whatever, Jordan. You’re acting weird, and I’m going home.”

  I pick up my shirt and start turning it right-side-out.

  “Wait,” he says. “I’m sorry. I just… I was trying to think if there was some way we could… without… that would still make you happy.”

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but you can either tell me what’s up or—”

  “OK, just…” He steps back and crosses his arms over his stomach. Then he takes a deep breath. “Wow. This is so far off the record.”

  I watch him rub his forehead and then cross his arms again. I have no idea what he’s about to tell me.

  “Whatever it is,” I say. “Just say it.”

  Another deep breath, and his face flushes. “I’m saving myself.”

  Everything goes quiet in his room. My eyes squint. “What?”

  “For marriage. You know? Like in the Bible?”

  I almost drop my shirt. “Of course I know. I live in First Presbyterian Falls, don’t I?”

  “Yeah, well,” arms cross again. “It’s sort of something I’ve been talking to Dr. Andrews about. I think, well, I’m hoping to visit some missionaries this summer. Maybe stay with them a while and then decide.”

  “Decide what? If you’re going to become a priest?”

  “I’m not Catholic.”

  Now I’m mad. “What the hell, Jordan?”

  “I think I want to be a pastor. You know, and go to seminary. But I want to be sure. It’s a huge responsibility. People’s souls and all.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I’m stunned. And furious. And humiliated. “There is no way.”

  “Why not? I’m not that bad.”

  “For one, no pastor kisses like that.”

  Blue eyes meet mine, another deep breath. “I’ve dreamed of kissing you for—”

  “And what about the whole journalist thing?” I turn my back and slam his shirt on his bed before pulling mine over my head. “You’d make a way better journalist than some stupid pastor.”

  “Being a pastor isn’t stupid, Ashley. It’s a calling. And a major responsibility.”

  “It’s stupid, and I can’t believe you’ve gotten sucked into some mythological brainwashing—”

  Jordan catches my arm and gently stops my movements. “Hang on,” he says. “What are you saying? I know you go to church.”

  “
Not anymore. I’ve stopped listening to make-believe.”

  “It’s not make-believe.”

  “Prove it.”

  His dark brows come together over his eyes, and I feel that old familiar tightness in my chest. The pain is back, pressing on my lungs and making it impossible to breathe. I want to scream, I’m so mad at him. And just as fast I just want to go. Leave. Get the hell out of here.

  In two movements, I pull my arm away and grab my shoes. I’m out of his room and swiping my bag off the counter in less than thirty seconds. I barely hear him calling after me when I’m out the door in a run, not looking back.

  Before Dad was sick, he and I would run a mile together every day. On the weekends, we’d go farther. He always wanted us to run a marathon together one day. I haven’t run since September, but my legs haven’t forgotten. I break into a jog, my strides even and measured, and the burning in my chest grows stronger. I don’t care. I’ve lived with that tightness, that inability to breathe for months. Pushing at it, making it hurt more are images of Jordan. His smile, his bright blue eyes, him holding my hands in both of his to comfort me, him lifting me up and kissing me. I run harder.

  Finally I’m home, and I burst through the back door. No one is here, I’m sure of it, but I wouldn’t care if they were. I run down to the basement and start stripping off my clothes. I whip my shirt over my head and throw it in the washing machine, then I pull off my tights, my skirt, and throw them in. I unhitch my bra and throw it in followed by my panties then I slam the lid shut. Just then, I realize my face is wet. I’m crying. I slide down to the floor, pressing my shoulder against the cold metal washing machine. Hugging my knees to my chest, I press my forehead into them and squeeze. I can still feel Jordan’s arms around me, his fingers tracing the skin of my back. I don’t know how far I would’ve gone with him, but now it’s all ruined. I can’t believe he’d decide something like that, believe something so stupid.

  Tears stream down my face, and I suck in a breath with a jerk. He was my friend. He was… maybe something more. But it doesn’t matter now. I’m as alone as ever, and he’s just another loss to add to the list.

  Chapter 6

  I pause when I see Jordan at his locker the next morning. I ignored his texts last night as well as his phone calls. I went to bed early, so I have no idea when Mom came home. She was gone when I left, and I didn’t have much to say to Mandy on the ride in. But she’s gotten used to that from me. She’s preoccupied with the Rockstar’s return.

  Jordan’s wearing one of the new pair of jeans I picked out for him with a black t-shirt, and he looks really cute. A flash of me twirling my finger around a dark strand of his hair blinks across my mind, but I turn quickly to my locker. My eyes are focused straight ahead as I feel him stand beside me. I don’t look.

  “Hey,” he says softly.

  I don’t answer.

  “I guess… I wasn’t sure about Friday. If we’re still on?”

  I grab my notebook before slamming the metal door and facing him. His blue eyes are worried, and I grit my teeth before exhaling an answer.

  “Sure. I mean, why not? At least I know you won’t try to jump me in the parking lot or anything.”

  His expression relaxes. “You wouldn’t have to worry about that anyway.”

  “Well, don’t get any ideas. It’s just me keeping my word. I have no plans to get married at eighteen.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m pretty sure you know.”

  He’s right at my side as I quickly walk to class. “You think I want to get married at eighteen?”

  “I don’t know how else you’re going to do it. Unless that ‘saving myself’ speech is some line you use to get out of things you don’t want to do.”

  He glances quickly around the hall before catching my shoulder and stopping me. He looks straight into my eyes, voice low. “I didn’t want to get out of anything yesterday. Stopping that, with you, was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

  Anger is replaced by tingling satisfaction in my chest. “Then I guess the question is whether you think we should be on for Friday. I don’t want to be responsible for your corruption or whatever.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in made-up stories.”

  “I don’t. But apparently you do. I don’t want to spoil your priest-worthiness.”

  He exhales a small laugh. “Never in a million years.”

  “What?”

  “I never would’ve thought you’d want to have sex with me so bad.”

  “Dream on, Jordan. I never would’ve thought you’d be so dumb.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m on high honor roll this quarter.”

  We’re at my class, so I turn and face him. “I mean about falling for the scare tactics. All that crap they tell us about waiting and saving yourself. And then don’t get married until you’re thirty. It’s illogical. And biologically impossible.”

  He leans against the doorjamb. “I’m taking it one day at a time.”

  “Well, good luck with that.”

  “So we’re still on for Friday?”

  I shrug. “Why not? I’ll wear my habit.”

  “A Hawaiian nun?”

  “You’re right. I’m not the nun.”

  “I’ll keep my eye on you.”

  * * *

  I’m sitting in the bleachers after school as Mandy crosses the field to talk to Amber. She’s required to be at practice this afternoon, and since she’s my ride home, so am I. I wonder why I didn’t think to catch a ride home with Jordan. Then I shake my head. Even though we’re still on for Friday, it doesn’t mean I’m riding his crazy train any more than absolutely necessary. His crazy “I drank the Kool-Aid” train. I suppose I could walk home.

  Mandy gestures toward the field where some of the boys are throwing a Frisbee. I look up, thinking how glad I am to have the rest of the year off from cheering as I watch the track and field team practice. Some of the girls are stretching and preparing to run. Directly across from me I notice a glint of blond hair. A guy’s rounding the final curve of the track. His shirt is off, and he’s slim with lines all over his torso.

  He has perfect posture as he glides, smooth as a deer down the track, his legs pounding in rhythm. It isn’t until he gets closer that I see it. My throat hurts as he speeds nearer, then he slows to a stop by the bench a few yards away. I watch him take a long drink, unable to tear my eyes away. All my anger at Jordan is forgotten, and I feel like I might cry. The memory is so strong. I’m so confused.

  The guy’s honey-blond hair is plastered to his forehead, and I watch him pick up his T-shirt and wipe his face with it. My chest aches as he lifts the cup to his lips and his eyes lock on mine. They’re green. But otherwise, he’s almost exactly like…

  “Dad,” I whisper as my breath catches.

  He smiles at me, and my grip tightens on the bench where I’m sitting. I’ve never fainted in my life, but I think it’s about to happen.

  The guy walks toward me, and it’s as if everything—the cheerleaders moving side to side clapping, the Frisbee throwers, the sprinters, even the bleachers around me—go blurry, and we’re in a separate tunnel moving toward each other. Only I’m sitting down.

  He stops at the waist-high fence that divides the field from the stands and leans his forearms on it. “Hey,” he says with a casual smile. “You new, too?”

  I don’t think I can speak.

  “No,” I hear myself answer in a shockingly calm voice.

  “It’s just… I didn’t see you before the break.” His voice is smooth and has a vibration that makes me think he could be a singer. Low and rippling, it massages my insides. I almost close my eyes.

  “I wasn’t at school that week.” I still feel light-headed, but my voice keeps answering him as if nothing is going on inside me.

  “Did you have it too?” He wipes his head again with his shirt.

  My breath is so shallow, he has to see it. “What?”

  �
�Bronchitis? Pneumonia? All I know is one minute I’m sneezing and the next I’m in bed with a fever and a 20-pound weight on my chest. I felt like the walking dead.”

  He is the walking dead. He’s my dad, alive and in teenage form.

  I have no idea what this means or what to do with it. It’s as if my desperate wish to have Dad back has conjured up this creature that ran to me out of nowhere and is now standing in front of me smiling and talking. I shake my head. It’s also very possible I’m going totally nuts.

  This guy is not my dad. But he is interesting.

  “No. I was… My…” I don’t want to say it.

  He doesn’t know about my dad. I like that he doesn’t know about my dad. I like that it feels like something has changed for a moment. That how mad I am at Jordan is almost completely wiped from my mind.

  Almost.

  “It’s okay.” He straightens and pulls his shirt over his head. I can’t help staring at his very fit body. “What’s your name anyway?”

  “Ashley.”

  “I’m Colton, but I hate that name. Call me Colt.”

  Colton Sterling. Mandy. She wondered what I would think when I saw him. I understand now. She already knew two things I didn’t. He could be my dad’s long-lost son they look so much alike, and he is exactly my type. He’s everybody’s type.

  “I heard there was a new guy.” My heart is still recovering, but my breathing has calmed some.

  “Yeah. Shit, you’d think nobody ever moved to this town the way people act.” He winks. “You don’t seem too impressed.”

  “I don’t? I mean…” I try to cover. I’m not about to tell him I’m definitely impressed. “It’s probably because it’s so late in the year for you to start. Why is that?”

  “Because I’m bad, Lady Ashley.” His eyes narrow with his grin, and I remember how I felt in Jordan’s bedroom. Hot.

  It takes me a moment to tear my eyes away. I glance out at the field while he finishes the water and crumples the tiny paper cup in his hand. “So what’s the deal with this luau Friday?”

  I shrug. “Tradition. You going?”

  “Are you?”

  I think of Jordan with the glasses on his forehead. I think of Mandy and her pouting over how long it took this guy to return to school. “Yeah, I have a date.”