Changing Forever (12 page)

“What are you thinking about over there?” he asks, resting his warm hand on top of mine. It sends those crazy butterflies loose again. The ones I’ve been feeling whenever I’m around him.

“How nice it is to do something besides study. Sometimes I overwhelm myself, you know?”

“I feel the same way. I stress out when I have a game but being out here now, like this, is one of the most relaxing things ever. I’m always working toward making the pros, and if I’m not throwing the football, I’m not any closer. School, work … it’s all necessary, but it’s not going to get me to where I’m going.”

I turn my head until I feel the worn flannel blanket against my cheek. He’s staring straight up at the dark sky, but I know he sees me from the corner of his eye. “I get what you’re saying. I wish I could skip undergrad and go straight to grad school.”

“What do you want to be when you grow up, Emery?” he asks, finally turning his eyes to me.

I swallow, feeling the empty pit in my stomach. Usually when I tell someone what I want to do with my life, they ask why. I have my manufactured answer, but I know that won’t work with Drake. And maybe, just maybe, if I extend a small branch to him, he’ll give one right back to me. “I want to be a child psychologist.”

The corners of his lips turn up. “So I’m lying with the future Dr. White? What makes you want to do that?”

His smile slips as he watches me struggle to form an answer. It shouldn’t be this hard after all this time but it is. “I want to help children who are hurting, especially the ones who no one else can reach. The ones who bury everything inside so deep that it takes a special person to help them find who they are again.”

“But why do you want to do it?” His voice is low and soothing, like he knows he’s about to get more from me than just an answer to a simple question.

Closing my eyes, I see that day. The day things changed.

My mom has had the old wooden jewelry box sitting on her dresser for as long as I can remember. If I tried to explain it to anyone, it wouldn’t do the box’s beauty justice, but the hand painted pink roses on the top are what draw me in. Pink’s my favorite color, and nothing beats the smell of my grandma’s rose garden. The old box makes me think of so many good things, but I don’t understand why she’s giving it to me today. I know how much she loves it.

It’s not my birthday, and Christmas is months away. The last couple days I haven’t listened to her as well as I should have, picking ripe tomatoes from the garden and sneaking away to eat them. I also snuck into her closet and made a huge mess as I tried on all her high heels. Maybe she’s giving it to me because she wants me to be better.

“Emery, baby, open it up,” she says softly.

I follow her instructions, afraid she’ll change her mind and ask for the box back. As I open it, the welcome smell of cedar hits my nose. Inside is a silver locket with roses etched into it. I recognize it as the one she said grandma gave her when she graduated from high school. She’s only told me the story ten times, and I’ve always hoped she would give it to me when I graduate high school. But I’m only four and that’s a long time away.

“Can I wear it?” I ask, running the cold metal between my fingers.

“Yes, I want you to have it.” A tear slips from her eye, but I didn’t think much of it, not then.

“Why?” I ask curiously.

She shakes her head, using her sleeve to wipe her eyes. “I don’t need it anymore, and I want you to have it.”

“Can I put it on?”

“Why don’t you leave it in there for now so you don’t lose it. Take it on up to your room. I’m going to go run some errands, but Beth is downstairs, and she’s going to watch you.” Beth’s in high school, but she stays with me a lot in the summer when my mom needs a break.

“Okay,” I say, wrapping my arms tightly around her neck. “Thank you, Mommy. I love it.”

“I love you, baby.” Her voice breaks, but at the age of four, things like that don’t send up many warning flags.

As I disappeared up the stairs, I didn’t think it would be the last time I’d see my mom in a long time.

I tell Drake everything. Maybe it’s because we’re tucked away in the dark, and I feel less exposed because he can’t see me. He’s quiet, and I’m grateful he lets me get everything out uninterrupted.

“I’m sorry you didn’t have your mom growing up,” he says when I’m done. His hand still rests on mine, squeezing it every now and then.

“You know, after a while, you learn to adapt. Sometimes I just wonder if I overcompensated.”

“In the end, I think things always work themselves out.”

A breeze blows through, sending a chill down my spine. “Did I tell you what was in the locket?”

He shakes his head, staring at me intently.

I reach my hand under my sweater and pull out the tiny silver heart. I’ve worn it around my neck every day since my mom left me. Opening it, I wait for him to find it with his flashlight. “It’s her. She put her picture inside.”

He studies it for a minute before looking back up to me. “You look a lot like her.”

“I’ve been told that a time or two,” I say, feeling the tears building in my eyes.

We sit silent for a while, me trying to recover from giving away so much of why I am who I am … and him … I think he’s coming to grips with the fact that I’m
not perfect. Or my life hasn’t been anyway.

“Have you seen her since?” he asks, cutting through the silence.

I nod, not willing to go into any more detail. I’ve given him enough for one night. “What about you? Any secrets you’re hiding?”

He wets his lower lip before his eyes find me again. “Nothing I want to share.”

Looking away, I try hard to squash the regret I suddenly feel. I gave him more, so much more than I’ve given anyone, and he doesn’t want to share anything about himself. I passed the ball to him, and he doesn’t want to run with it. I guess I thought if he told me something, we’d be forever bound by our secrets.

He runs the back of his fingers against my cheek, bringing my attention back to him. “Emery, I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you, but there are things I don’t talk about. With anyone.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

Besides the loud truck going by on the street, it’s quiet again. I’m about to ask if he’ll take me home when he speaks again. “Do you remember how big it seemed when we walked in today and the lights were on? Do you remember stepping out onto the field?”

“Yes, this place is huge.”

He nods, agreeing with me. “I get sick before every game. Everyone thinks I’m this cool, calm, collected guy who can just step onto the field and make magic happen, but inside, I’m scared to death. You step out here and there’s voices, the roar of the crowd, reporters wanting to ask a few questions … it’s too much sometimes.”

“Why do you do it then?”

“Because I’m good at it. Because it’s going to get me somewhere.”

“There are a lot of things out there that will get you somewhere.”

He lets go of my hand and sits up. “It was his dream, and I need to see it through.”

Sitting up next to him, I ask, “Whose dream?”

“My dad’s,” he replies, running his fingers through his hair. My hand reaches up to rub his back, but before I actually touch him, I pull away, not sure if it’s my place.

“Why did you say it was his dream?” I ask, remembering his exact words.

Glancing at me with pained eyes, he says, “Let’s leave that one alone.”

I’m disappointed, but in a way, I understand him. It’s not easy to open up, and it takes a lot of trust. Maybe he just hasn’t gotten to that point with me yet.

The wind has picked up, and I wrap my arms around my legs to chase away the chill. “Are you cold?” Drake asks as he runs the back of his hand up and down my arm.

“A little.”

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, standing up. “I’ll give you a ride back to your dorm.”

Part of me wants to stay here so I can pretend for a little longer. Pretend that this is all I have to do, sitting on this worn blanket staring up at the stars, but it’s not reality
.

Standing up, I stretch my arms over my head to loosen my stiff back. It’s been a long day. It’ll be nice to throw on some sweats and crawl into my warm bed.

Drake rolls up the blanket and tucks it under his arm, taking my fingers between his again. “You don’t mind this, do you?” he asks, raising our joined hands up slightly.

“It’s okay,” I reply shyly.

He smiles, leading us back across the dark field and down the dark hall. He doesn’t say a word until we’re back to his car. “This night didn’t turn out exactly how I’d planned, but I’m still glad we came.”

“Me too.”

He lets go of my hand, brushing his fingers across my cheek. His eyes have the intensity they held that day in the library. This time I lean in, attempting to meet him half way, but he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and backs away. I don’t know what it is about him, about us, but I’ve never been more pissed about a non-kiss. Maybe it’s because I’ve never wanted someone to kiss me as much as I want Drake to kiss me.

As he walks away, I climb through the door he opened for me, and collapse into the passenger’s seat. There’s a familiar tightness in my chest because of what just happened. I hate how he can brush this stuff under the rug like it’s nothing, because it’s starting to mean something to me.

I stare at him as he climbs in but he won’t look at me. I hate this feeling. Ignoring someone is rejection in its worst form. He starts the car, quickly throwing it in drive. “Listen, can we get together tomorrow to go over the speech? I really feel bad about last week.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I want to,” he replies in a way that doesn’t give me much leeway.

“Call me when you get up then. I don’t have anything planned,” I whisper, pressing my forehead against the cool window.

I wonder if he knows how much he irritates me when he comes close to taking whatever is going on between us to another level then pulls away. I wonder if he realizes how badly I want him to press his lips to mine … so badly that I’m thinking about it right now.

Inhaling a deep breath, I close my eyes. Tonight on the football field was perfect. There wasn’t anything fancy or glitzy about it. It was just us, and I opened up to him in a way I rarely do with anyone. I never feel like he’s judging me, and that freedom feels nice.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, drawing me back in a couple minutes later.

“I’m fine. It’s just been a long day.” I’m trying hard not to tarnish the nice night we had.

As he pulls into an empty space in front of my building, I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the door. I’m ready for these awkward moments with Drake Chambers to end. I just want to climb in my bed and wake up tomorrow with a clean slate.

“Emery!” he yells as I make my way up the walkway.

For a minute, I think about ignoring him, but in the end, I face him, trying to bury away the stubborn part of me.

“Thank you … for tonight,” he says, tucking his hands in his front pockets.

“Yeah, it was nice. Thank you.” And just like that, he turns and climbs back into his car.

I’m left wondering if he feels anything like what I feel, or if I’m just wasting my time on something that will never be.

I
FUCK
THINGS
UP
, that’s what I do. I’ve proven it over and over again. The other night with Emery … she gave me another chance after I acted like an asshole in the library, and I pretty much did the same thing to her all over again. I wanted to kiss her so badly, and I felt like she wanted it, too. In the end, I was too afraid of what that next step would mean.

I’m always in control, but I feel it slipping whenever I’m with her. So far, I’ve been lucky enough to catch myself before I fall completely. I just don’t know how much longer I can hold on. Emery’s not the type of girl I’m going to be able to kiss once and then walk away from, and I don’t have time after football and personal issues to take on a relationship.

When I called her this morning about getting together to run through our presentation, I didn’t expect her to suggest we meet in her room. I’ve been in girls’ rooms—that’s not the problem—but this is Emery. She pulls me in. She
tests me. She makes me want something I shouldn’t even be thinking about, but yet I can’t let her go.

Gripping an iced latte in one hand, I use my other to knock. I stare at the old hollow wood door while I wait for her to answer, rocking back and forth on my heels. We ended things on a strange note last night, or should I say I did.

As the door swings open, I can’t take my eyes off the girl in front of me. Gray sweats and a white t-shirt never looked so good.

“Hey.” She smiles nervously, motioning for me to come in.

“I brought you a little pick me up.” After handing her the latte, I walk to the center of the room, glancing around for a place to sit.

She lets out of soft moan that makes it hard to just stand here. The more I’m around her, the more I want her … all of her. “God, this is so good. How did you know what I liked?”