Where the Road Takes Me (27 page)

You must make a choice, to take a chance, or your life will never change
.

She reached up on her toes and kissed my nose. “You’re my change, Blake Hunter,” she said quietly.

I smiled and stuck my magnet on the fridge. Then I kissed her temple and tugged on a strand of hair.

You were born phenomenal.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Blake

Mom’s eyes narrowed as she looked between Chloe and me. “So, you’ve been gone all this time, and you’ve crossed
one
state border . . . twice?” She took a sip of her drink and placed it carefully back down on the diner table.

“Yeah, but there was this peach and this egg and this man-made, welcome-to-earth UFO,” I said seriously. “What else is there to see?”

“You should have seen him at the UFO.” Chloe giggled. “It was like the greatest thing he’d ever seen.”

“It was!” I was too excited. Turning to Chloe sitting next to me, I added, “Apart from you, of course. You’re definitely the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She scrunched her nose.

“That was pretty lame, Blake.” That came from my own mother. “Remind me to teach you some better lines if you’re attempting to woo her.”

I shrugged and stuck my nose in the air. “No woo attempt needed. She’s already bat-shit crazy in love with me.”

I got a backhand to my stomach. That one came from my own girlfriend.

Chloe went back to our new hotel; the balcony on the other one was too small. She wanted to give Mom and me some time, which was perfect because we both had something we needed to say.

Mom settled her arm in the crook of my elbow as we walked through the park near the hotel. “I kicked your dad out. He’s living with his mistress. We’re getting a divorce, Blake. I’m sorry.”

I wanted to care, but I just couldn’t find it in myself to do so. “I don’t know what to say . . . that it’s about time?”

She laughed.

“I mean I get that he’s my dad and all, but he’s kind of an asshole. If you knew that he was cheating, why did you stay married? It’s not like you guys lived together—not really. And I was old enough to know what was happening . . . so it’s not like you did it for me.”

We stopped walking and sat on a bench. She turned before speaking so her entire body was facing me. “I don’t know, a lot of reasons. It’s hard. We got married under the wrong circumstances, I guess. We weren’t really dating when I got pregnant with you, and he wanted to do the right thing. So he proposed, and we got married. I don’t know that we ever loved each other, not in the true-love sense.” She sighed. “I used to believe so much in the idea of love that I thought we’d get there someday.”

“And now? You don’t believe in love anymore?”

“Oh no,” she said quickly. “I still believe in
love
. Just not between your father and me.”

“Is that why you started drinking?”

She nodded. “I didn’t mean for it to get so far out of hand—for it to turn into an addiction the way it did.”

“I’m not judging you, Ma.” I settled my arm on the back of the bench. “You fought it right? You knew it was a problem and that it had affected your life, and you fought it. You beat it, and you came out on top. I can’t really ask for much more.”

She laughed quietly. “Who raised you?”

“You did,” I assured her. “When it was important, you were there.”

“I don’t know, Blake.” She brushed something off my shoulder. “I think you raised yourself, and you did a pretty good job of it.”

Silence fell upon us as I watched a sadness take over her. Her eyes misted, and she visibly swallowed. I knew she was on the verge of tears. I’d seen it before but not like this. When I’d been in middle school, I’d gotten most improved and MVP in this tiny junior league. Back then, basketball had been just a sport, not a future, but she’d still been so proud of me. Before I’d gotten my license, she’d been the one driving me to practices—early mornings, after school—and all my games. She’d always been my endless support and probably the reason I am where I am, and I’d never even thanked her for any of her encouragement. I’d never even told her about how it helped to get me to where I was.

She sniffed and wiped her cheek.

“Ma?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Thank you.”

She let out a nervous laugh. “For what, sweetheart?”

“For being my mom. For supporting me, even when you had no idea how much it would pay off.”

“I don’t really understand what you’re talking about, Blake.”

I released all the air in my lungs. “I got into Duke, Ma. I got a full athletic scholarship. Basketball.”

She raised her hands to her mouth. Then she cried into them. She wrapped her arms around me so tight I could barely breathe. But I didn’t care.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she laughed.

I shrugged and looked away. “I still don’t know if I’m going to take it.”

“What?” she screeched, then understanding dawned. “Because you want to enlist?”

I faced her again, and nodded slowly. “I want to do both. That’s the problem. I don’t know which one I want to do more.”

“Wow,” she said slowly. “I wish I could make that choice for you. Either way, I’ll support you. You know that.”

“Yeah, Mom. I know.” I tried to smile, but I could still see the sadness in her. So I changed the subject. “So, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

Chloe met us outside the hotel to say our good-byes.

Mom hugged Chloe longer than necessary, but Chloe didn’t seem to mind. “Thank you for coming to see us, Mrs. Hunter. Oh, and the car, thank you so much for the car.”

Mom patted the side of Chloe’s face and smiled. “Anything for you two,” she said, then to me, “Get a haircut, Blake. You look like a gigolo.”

I closed Mom’s car door and watched as she drove away.

“Yeah,” Chloe said from behind me. “My own private gigolo.” She smacked my ass.

“Should you have been paying me this entire time?”

She winked. “Maybe you’re not worth it!” Then she bolted, running away from me and back to the hotel room.

She got about ten feet before I caught her. “What the hell makes you think you can outrun me?” I picked her up and threw her over my shoulder. “You can’t even do two push-ups!” I smacked her ass and carried her back to the room. She laughed the entire time.

Chloe

I was sitting up in bed, with his head on my lap, playing with his hair. We were supposed to be watching a movie, but I didn’t think either of us was paying attention.

His eyes caught mine when he turned to look up at me. “What are you thinking?”

My eyebrows bunched.

“You always play with my hair when you’re lost in thought. What’s up?” He moved to get into bed and under the covers, tugging me down so we were lying face-to-face. “Talk.”

What could I say? I love you, but I’m scared that I’m dying? I faked a smile. “What did you and your mom talk about today?”

His eyebrows rose, as if he knew I was talking bullshit. He sighed before answering. “Her and Dad are getting a divorce—”

“I’m sorry, Blake.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. Mom and I are fine with it. She thought I’d be upset about it, but I’m not. I’m happy for her.”

His eyes drifted shut when I reached for his hair again, moving it away from his eyes. “What else?”

He leaned in closer, kissing me softly. I opened my mouth, inviting him. But he pulled back before he could get there. “I told her about Duke.”

My face lit up. “You did? And?”

“She said she would support me, whatever I choose.”

“Was she proud of you?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I also told her about how much I love you,” he whispered against my lips. His own moved to my neck. “I love you so much, Chloe.” His deep voice vibrated against my skin. “So much,” he repeated.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Chloe

My eyes fluttered open when I felt his lips on my back, moving lower and lower. I turned quickly. “What are you doing, boyfriend?”

He made his way back up, kissing each of my breasts on the way. We’d fallen asleep naked after making love for the third time. No. Fourth.

He smiled into my neck, bringing my body flush against his. I reached up to stroke his back. “No run this morning?”

He pulled back so I could see his face. His beautiful face and the beautiful smile that graced it. “No. Just wanted to lie here and hold the girl I love. I couldn’t leave you, even if I tried.” He shook his head, trying to move the hair away from his eyes. “Mom was right, I need a haircut.”

Laughing, I moved in to kiss his chest, skimming my lips along his collarbone. He let out a frustrated groan and pushed gently on my shoulders, making me look up at him. “We need to get out of this bed,” he said and then looked around the room. “Actually, we need to get out of this room.” He pulled away, and got up. “I’m gonna get rid of this gigolo hair before you get any ideas,” he stated, before covering his hard-on with his hands and making his way to the shower. “You’re gonna be the end of me.”

Heads turned when we walked into the salon. One hairdresser even froze mid-blow-dry. Her client yelped before she realized what she’d done. As always, Blake didn’t even notice.

“Can I help you?” the girl behind the desk said. She didn’t actually say it—more like
purred
it. And the eighteen-year-old insecure girl in me wanted to wipe the flirtatious smile off her Barbie-blonde head. He must’ve known, sensed it somehow, because he threw his arm over my shoulders, pulled me into him, and kissed my temple before answering her, “My girlfriend likes to tug on my hair when we . . . you know? I’m thinking it needs to be cut back a lot. She’s startin’ to hurt me.”

A few giggles were heard.

I blushed and covered my face in his chest. And then I stomped on his foot. Hard.

He released a pained cry before laughing. “See? She likes it rough.”

An older woman came over and shooed blonde Barbie away. She winked at me before looking up, up, up to Blake. “Your girlfriend’s beautiful. You shouldn’t embarrass her like that.” Then to me, “You want anything done today, sweetheart?”

I started to shake my head, but then an idea came to mind. “Would you have time to dye my hair?”

She eyed my hair quickly. “Just a touch-up on the roots?”

“Um. No, ma’am. I was thinking maybe go back to my natural color. I feel like being phenomenal today.”

Blake chuckled and placed an open-mouth kiss on my cheek, sucking hard.

“Gross.” I pushed him away and wiped my face. He laughed harder.

The woman behind the desk giggled. “I’ll wait until we have two free stations next to each other. I have a feeling he won’t like being far away from you for too long.”

He raised his chin. “Your feelings are correct, ma’am.”

He sat next to me, bouncing in his seat, his new haircut revealing more of his perfect face. “How much longer?”

I rolled my eyes and reached down into my bag and pulled out a lollipop for him. He took it, no questions asked. “Seriously, though,” he mumbled around the candy, “how much longer?”

“I don’t know, but look.” I showed him a flyer displaying a drive-in theatre nearby. They were showing
Hoosiers
, his favorite film. “Perfect,” he whispered. “You think you’ll be done in an hour?”

I nodded.

He jumped up. “Good. I’ll come back.” He started to leave but turned halfway, took the steps to cover the distance between us, and kissed me. “Don’t go anywhere. I love you.” And then he was gone, out the doors and into the sunlight. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who watched him leave.

“He a baller?” a man sitting in the waiting area yelled out.

My hair covered in plastic wrap, I looked around the salon, making sure he was talking to me.

“Yes, you!” he said.

I reared back, a little afraid of his tone.

“That’s Dennis,” the woman from earlier whispered. “He’s a little crazy but means well. He’s the town’s basketball historian. You best answer him before he loses his mind.”

“Yes, sir. He’s a basketball player.”

“Duke?” he bellowed, arms crossed over his fat gut.

“Not sure, sir.”

“Whaddaya mean you’re not sure, girl? He is or he ain’t!”

“Dennis!” the woman reprimanded. “Be nice to my clients or I’ll kick your fat ass out of my salon.”

His eyes went wide. “Sorry, Missy,” he drawled.

“He signed with Duke, sir,” I answered. “But he’s still deciding whether to enlist in the army or to play ball.”

He stood and strolled over to me, taking the seat Blake had just vacated. “Hmm,” he mused, “that’s a tough choice.” He kept nodding, as if he was the one to make the decision. “He a good man?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Blake’s the best man I know.”

“Blake?” He eyed the ceiling, deep in thought. “Hunter?”

I smiled. “Yes, that’s him.”

“And you love him?”

“Yes, sir. I love him,” I assured him.

“Well, then, you decide for him. A man is only as good as the woman behind him. Or under him! Or on top of him!” He winked while his body shook with laughter.

I paled, eyes wide.

“I’m just messin’, girl. But not really. What do
you
want for him?”

Forever, I thought. I want him forever. “It’s not my choice. It’s his. It’s important for him to make his own decision.”

“He told you that?”

“Yes.”

“Before or after he fell stupidly in love with you?”

I laughed softly. “Before.”

“Well, things change, girl. Maybe now he wants you to tell him what to do. Maybe he’s given you the cards, and now you have to deal them.”

Blake’s eyes widened when he stepped into the salon and saw my hair. It was the most natural it’d been since I’d started dying it. We paid and left, but he wouldn’t look at me. I didn’t think it was that bad. His strides were long and quick. I had a hard time keeping up with him.

“Blake!” I dug my heels into the ground. “What’s wrong? You haven’t mentioned anything about my hair. Do you not like it?” And there was that insecure teenage girl again. He grunted but didn’t say anything else. He took my hand and started walking to the car again. I stayed frozen, refusing to move, and refusing to let him move me. Dropping his hand and crossing my arms over my chest, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Talk!”

He let out a frustrated groan and then looked around, searching for something. His eyes lit up. He must’ve found what he was looking for.
Probably a ditch to throw his ugly girlfriend in.
He grabbed my arm, pulling me toward an alcove between two stores.

“You think I don’t like your hair?”

I nodded, pouting as I gazed up at him.

He looked around again before he cleared his throat. Gently, he tugged on my hand and led it down to his crotch, where I could feel how hard he was. I bit my lip, containing my moan at the feel of him in my hand.

He raised his arms, flattening his palms on the wall on either side of my head. “Does that feel like I don’t like it?” he whispered in my ear. “I need to get you back to our room, Chloe. Now.”

“Oh my God!” I quickly snapped on my bra and pulled on my shorts. “We’re gonna miss
Hoosiers
.”

He laughed, lazily shrugging his shirt back on. “I’ve seen it a million times. I can tell you exactly what happens.”

“That’s not the point. I want to see it. I want to see it with
you
. I want to fall in love with basketball the way you have. I want to feel what it feels like for you.”

“When did you do all of this?” I asked as I took in the trunk of the Jeep. He’d set up a blanket, food, drinks, and a jar full of lollipops.

“While you were at the salon somehow getting
more
beautiful.”

“This is amazing.”

He grinned and took up his position, knees up, legs spread, waiting for me. I sat cross-legged between them, like we’d done so many times out at my mom’s lake.

His arms wrapped tightly around me as he softly kissed my neck. “I love you,” he said. And it didn’t matter that it was the seventh time he’d said it that day. Each time it was said held a greater significance.

I tilted my head up to kiss him. “I love you, too.”

Blake

We watched the movie in silence. She got so caught up in it that she didn’t even realize that I was so caught up in her. I could watch the movie whenever I wanted, but this moment, with her, it was once in a lifetime. She sniffed, wiping at her tears as the final scenes played.

I knew what was happening without looking. It was the state championship game; they were tied at forty, twenty-four seconds on the clock. Hickory, the underdog heroes, had just called a time-out. Coach Norman Dale had given them the play, using Jimmy as a decoy. The players hadn’t wanted it, and Jimmy had spoken up, “I’ll make it,” he said. And the story went back to game play.

She leaned forward, her eyes glued to the screen as the seconds ticked by. I knew the moment the shot was about to be made. The sound of a ball hitting the hardwood floors. Once. Twice. Crossover. Third time. The music blasted. Chloe held a hand to her heart. Then that swoosh—that unique sound a ball makes when it passes through the hoop, nothing but net. And then the cheers. Not just on the screen but from the people around us. She let out a sob, so relieved that the shot had made it, and that Hickory had won. On the screen, the crowd swarmed the court, people hugged, people cried. In my head, it was silent, all but for the thumping of my heart.