First Came You (Fate #0.5) (4 page)

I’ll never understand the stories Maria and Crystal and the other girls from school tell me about their boyfriends. All of them afraid to use the “L” word, too macho to let their girls know what they mean to them. I’m the luckiest sixteen-year-old girl in the world—I’ve never had to second guess how dedicated my guy is to me. If he’s not telling me, he’s showing me.

“Of course I know that. You’d never let me forget.”

“And do
you
love
me?
”

“More than all the stars in the sky. Don’t
you already know that?”

He leans down and kisses my lips, soft and slow, his tongue dipping out to taste me. Knowing I’m uncomfortable out in the open where my parents might find us, he pulls back and caresses my cheeks with his thumbs. “I’ll never get tired of hearing you say it, Gabriella. Ever. And the sooner we tell your parents that you’re marrying the boy next door, the better.”

I shake my head—my relentless hero. He’s always dropping mini-proposals here and there. I take them half-seriously most days, but on nights like this—when the air between us is so thick with love, lust, and devotion—I want to wrap my arms around his neck and give in to his every wish.

“We will. I promise. I’m yours forever, love. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll tell them soon. Trust me. I know what I’m doing. I’ve already dropped a few hints to Gina and I can tell she’s not freaked out, so maybe we’re worrying for nothing. My parents are wonderful people—the best a girl could ask for—and above all else, they’ve always told me to follow my heart and do what makes me happy. Once they know
you’re
what makes me happy, they’ll welcome you with open arms . . . once the dust settles. But we can’t go in there guns out and hearts talking for our heads. They’ll think we’re two love-sick kids.”

“Gabby, I’m so love sick I can’t see some days.” His smile reaches his eyes, his adoration for me pouring out of his sparkling, green globes.

Oh, Tommy, my prince, how I adore you.

“Then let me handle it. I won’t let you down.” I reach up on tip toes, and kiss his forehead this time. He needs reassurance and a hot-blooded make-out session will only get his hormones flaring again. This soft, simple kiss is a pledge to make this right.

“I trust my life in your hands, Gabby. You call me your hero, but baby, you’re mine. Always and forever.”

“Always and forever,” I repeat, the same way I do every night before we part. It seems silly that we’ve invested so much in each other so young, but to us there’s nothing silly about it. I’m sure most guys Tommy’s age aren’t this open with their feelings, trusting with their hearts, and willing to go all in, so I thank the twinkling stars that dangle above our heads for blessing me with such luck.

When we reach my house, Tommy drops my hand—another thing we’ve gotten used to doing without being aware of it—and ushers me upstairs. I turn the knob, peeking back at him with a soft smile and tired eyes. Time has not made me tired, pretending has.

“Good night. Love you,” I whisper, holding this knowledge to myself as if it’s some secret gift.

Winking, he tucks his hands into the pockets of his denim shorts and nods his head, letting me know he’ll wait for me to get inside. “Love you, too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Yes, see you tomorrow.
Tomorrow is a new day. And it will probably be a doozy, because I’m busting at the seams with so much joy, love, and excitement that I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this secret.

The next morning I wake to the clash of pots and pans and way too much rattling from the kitchen for this early on a weekend. When I take a whiff of the aroma dancing its way to my bedroom, I realize Mom’s already preparing her typical Sunday feast.

Stretching out from under my fluffy duvet, I breathe in the buttery yellow warmth seeping through my curtains. I dangle my bare legs over the side of the twin-sized bed, readying myself with eagerness for the start of my forever.

I haven’t been on this Earth very long to be able to declare such assumptions, but I’m pretty sure there isn’t anything in the world that beats waking up knowing there’s someone in the universe who loves you as much as you love them. To some, my happy-go-lucky outlook on life might seem juvenile and ignorant, but to those people I say, “Fuck off!” They must not have a Tommy in their lives.

With bare feet, I search the carpeted floor for my slippers. My toes touch the plush terry cotton and almost robotically slide themselves inside. A creature of habit, I stand from the bed, reach for my robe and make my way to the bathroom to brush the sleep grime off my teeth and the bed head out of my hair. As I turn on the light, I hear the groan before I see the person it comes from.

“Shut that, Gabby! Please. Too bright.”

Gina is sprawled out on the floor in last night’s clothes. Not that I remember what she wore or where she went, but one can only assume that a girl doesn’t wake up first thing on a Sunday morning and throw on a sequined halter top and mini skirt.

I rush to comply with her desperate demand, flicking off the vanity lights.

She groans, and I scoot down next to her on the floor.

“Rough night?” I ask, removing her matted hair from her make-up stained face.

“The roughest,” she grunts.

“Want to elaborate?”

“I want to puke.”

“How much did you drink?”

“Too much.”

“You gonna be okay for supper?”

Her hand flies up in the air, trying sloppily to cover my mouth. She misses my lips and smacks my nose instead. “No talk of food. Ever. I don’t think I can eat ever, ever again.”

So dramatic.
Drunk Gina always is. I laugh at her expense, but I kinda feel bad for her—must come as part of the sister-connection thing.

“How’d you get past the parental units like this? I swear I think you have super powers.” I couldn’t sneak in in that condition, even if I had the ability to make myself invisible.

“I wish I had super powers right now, Gabby. Anti Hangover Man, please rescue me.”

“Would you settle for Tylenol Man?” Giggling at her pained but hilariously pathetic expression, I get up and retrieve her relief in a bottle, handing her the pills and a glass of water.

She’s taken care of me plenty of times. I don’t mind reversing the roles to show her I love her drunk ass. “Here, drink up. I’ll go get some comfy clothes from your bedroom and we’ll clean you up in case Mom comes looking for us. Church is in two hours, we didn’t go last week.”

“Oh, church,” she cries. “I forgot about fucking church.”

“Gina!” I reprimand. I’m no saint, but really? Those two words shouldn’t go together. “Come on. I’ll help you. I want to talk to you, anyway. That ought to sober you up.” I can use my strongest ally in my corner today.

“God Himself, the Pope in all His holiness, and the Dalai fucking Lama couldn’t sober me up right now.”

“Such blasphemy, you drunken whore.”

“I only speak the truth. That happens after a bottle of tequila.”

“An entire bottle?” I’ve seen Gina hobbling in and spending the morning after in Hangover City enough times to know getting drunk ain’t for me.

“No, you literal human being you, not the
whole
thing,” she drawls out, wiping some spittle from her lips. “I left the worm.”

“What worm? Ew, Gi, what are you talking about?” She’s lost me. Maybe I am as naïve as she always says I am.

“Are you really this innocent or is it all a show? Are you telling me you’ve never gotten drunk before?”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“It’s a rite of passage, young lady.” She winks, making me wonder where my wiser, responsible, older sister has gone. Maybe it’s the remainder of the alcohol sloshing around in her belly, but whatever it is, it’s time to wake her the hell up.

“I don’t drink because I don’t think Tommy would like it.” I jut my chin, as if I’ve just said the smartest thing anyone’s ever spoken.

“Huh? What does Tommy have to do with—” There’s the sister I know! Her pallid complexion loses even more color, realization setting in. “You and Tommy? Tommy Edwards and you? Are you shitting me, Gabriella? Our mother is going to light four hundred candles at church today.”

“Oh, stop it,” I grumble, throwing a damp cloth her way. “You’re so over the top. And don’t act so stunned. You saw us kissing last week; I’m surprised you didn’t already go spill to them.”

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think anything of it. I figured he was just finally giving in to those puppy dog eyes you follow him around with all the time.”

“Well, you’re wrong. And if you paid more attention, you’d see that he has those same eyes for me, my dear. He’s even more pathetically in love than I am, so take that!”

“In love? Gabriella.” She laughs, suddenly sober as the day she was born. “You’re still in high school. You can’t possibly be in love. You and Tommy can’t—”

Okay, no matter how much I love my sister, her disbelief in my relationship with Tommy stings. “We can’t what, Gina? What do
you
know about love, anyway? Did you find it at the bottom of that tequila bottle last night or was the worm as slithery and slimy as all the losers you usually date? You’re just jealous.”

Her eyes go wide and her posture slumps. “Jesus H, Gabby, way to knock a sista when she’s down and out.”

The sallow look in her usually lively eyes makes me wish I hadn’t been so harsh. “I’m sorry. That was mean, but you don’t understand, Gina. This is real. I think it’s time I talk to Mom and Dad.”

Gina busts out laughing, not even trying to hide her enjoyment. “Oh! This is going to be fun!” She rubs her hands together, wiggling her eyebrows. The effort must be too much for her still-drunk ass because she winces, bringing her hand to her head.

“Keep it up. You’ll get yours,” I joke.

But the joke’s on me.

Knowing my parents—Gina’s right. If I wind up going through with telling them, dinner is sure to be a show fit for daytime drama.

In record time and with no sign of Gina’s clash with the night before’s mayhem, we ready ourselves for twelve o’clock mass and wind up in the second pew—as always—with Mom and Dad. We’re also smack in the center of Father Owen’s scrutiny and ever-roaming eyes. Creeps me out.

Bowing my head to say the prayers Father is reciting, I shudder at the touch of my mother’s hand on my knee. I glance up and in her direction, admiring the beautiful smile beaming from her still young-looking face. Mom’s forty-five but doesn’t look a day older than thirty. She’s timeless and elegant, and always put together effortlessly. Especially for church. Traditions and upbringing aren’t lost on her; she still wears a tasteful dress and stockings, the crucifix she was given for her baptism hanging daintily from her smooth, wrinkle-free neck.

Still holding Mom’s cocoa brown gaze, I smile back and then focus on the priest at the pulpit. Mom nudges me this time, making me wonder why she doesn’t want me to pay attention to the sermon.

Pinching lips and brows, I silently ask her what’s up.

She leans lower to whisper in my ear. My stomach flip flops, knowing she never dares to speak during mass. Interrupting God’s word is sacrilege to this woman. What the hell—oops, I mean heck—is going on here?

“Mom you’re freaking me out,” I whisper, not moving my lips.

“We need to talk,” she whispers back.

“About?” Jesus, save me.

No smile, no frown, no sign or hint of this being a good or bad thing. “You know what.”

I do?

Crappers, I do!

This has to be about Tommy. She saw the hickey. Or my sister told her! I swing my head to my left, glaring at a clueless Gina. I have no idea how she could have spilled the beans already.
That little witch!
Wait until I fill Mom in about Gina and her worm from last night.

Before my anger towards the blabber mouth can bubble and brew any further, Mom reaches for my hand and squeezes. Not a warning squeeze but a loving squeeze. Her touch radiates compassion and nurture and all things motherly.

“We’ll talk about it when we get home. Invite him for supper.”

Taken aback but totally optimistic, I falter in the wooden seat, causing the kneeler at my feet to fall out of its upright position. The loud bang echoes throughout the church, turning a few heads and initiating a disapproving glare from Dad. “Sorry,” I whisper, still shocked by mother’s sincerity.