The world flashes and streaks as they move me on a stretcher. Too bright to see anything clearly, but I feel it all, the chaos around me, throbbing in me. The frenzy of uniformed officers. My sister, Coach, and TJ in handcuffs in the yard.
Shouts and clashing invade my blood, louder with every pounding heartbeat, and I can’t tell what’s real or not. The blood on my hands, that’s real, and I shake with the cool stickiness of it. Tatum’s blood.
Then I’m in an ambulance, and the faded glow of stars in the evening sky is gone, the only calm I had to focus on. Without it, my panic rises. The night crushes me, like an elephant on my chest. Hands prod and poke my pounding head. A light shines in my eyes, and a mask is slid over my face. But someone’s got my hand, one of the techs. My blood covered hand.
“She’s pregnant.” I try to talk, to tell them. It sounds like a scream in my blood. But I’m not sure if anyone hears me.
I can’t hear what they say. Beeps and sirens vibrate through my bones, rattling in my skull like a freight train.
I only blink, but then I’m lying in a hospital bed, that same beeping, echoing and faint. Only a curtain separates me from a much larger, brighter room. Through the crack, I can see the activity of the ER.
I observe the people in scrubs walking back and forth, the IV and blood pressure cuff attached to my arm, the gown that replaces my clothes, all with an empty detachment. Touching the back of my head, my fingers outline the spot behind my ear that’s covered in a bandage. Then I do the same to my upper arm where Tatum cut me, it’s got a bandage over it as well.
It’s hard to determine what I’m feeling. It’s too much. I feel it all, but nothing at the same time. And I grip the nothingness, the void, unable to handle the rest.
But as the seconds tick by and I glimpse police uniforms in the room beyond the curtain, avoidance becomes impossible. A kaleidoscope of memories and thoughts rise in me, no matter how I push them down.
But while my hands shake and bones ache, I stay calm. The toxic panic doesn’t reach my mind. I raise myself into sitting with unsteady arms and wait for whatever will happen next.
A nurse pushes the curtain aside and smiles at me as she comes to my side.
“How are you feeling?” she asks as she checks the monitor and adjusts my blood pressure cuff.
I shrug, nausea beginning to spin in my stomach, and she adjusts the pillows behind me, using the remote to lower the back of my bed down.
She pauses in whatever she’s doing and stares at me, finally still enough that it doesn’t make me dizzy to look at her. She’s older with short spikey hair, and her smooth skin only shows laugh lines in place of wrinkles. “Can you tell me if there’s anything besides your head and arm that we should be worried about? We did an overall body check, but is there anything else we should know?”
I shake my head, stomach twisting. Nothing that medicine can fix.
She nods and starts slower, “The doctor thinks the injury in the back of your head is superficial, she stitched up the laceration, but wants to run some tests to be sure there’s no other damage. The cut on your arm was shallow and only required butterfly stitches. Someone will be in shortly to take you to get an x-ray and EKG. Try and relax till then. How’s your pain level on a scale of one to ten?” She keeps moving as she talks, adjusting things around the room.
“Seven, I think,” my voice is raspy. My head hurts, but not as bad as earlier.
“I’ll get you more medicine and a drink. Do you want juice or water?”
“Water. Thank you.”
She comes back a couple seconds later with pills and ice water that I slowly sip. By time they roll me away to another room with large machines, the medicine is kicking in and my stabbing headache is reduced to a dull ache. And the medicine helps to keep me in a fog, like a blanket I want to stay wrapped in.
I feel silly being pushed around the hospital. I’m pretty sure I can walk, but I don’t protest. The same nurse from earlier, Valerie, situates my bed when I’m back in the makeshift room with curtains for walls. I settle and wait. Wait for the doctor. Wait for the cops. Wait for my mom, who the nurse said they called. I don’t think ahead, I don’t think of what happened. I don’t think at all.
Until the curtain parts, and my lungs fill with so much trapped and avoided emotions, I’m close to drowning with it. It’s impossible to contain the surge of feelings. It burst from my eyes, and Drew’s face blurs as he steps into the room.
He hesitates near my side and I reach for him. With that slight movement, he sinks to the edge of my bed and touches his forehead to mine, his fingers caressing the side of my face. His words blur, and all I hear is the pain in his voice, the brush of his lips on my teary cheeks.
I grip his hand in mine, needing to hold him like an anchor, keeping me grounded in the moment when everything else is flying out of control. With a few deep breaths, I steady myself, feeling stronger with him so close.
“They let you out already? You’re here,” I reassure myself with both hands on his chest and pull back to look at him. “What happened?”
His eyes dart around my face before settling on mine. “They had to drop it. But baby, we can talk about that later.” His head drops back to mine, his whispered words easing into my bloodstream, soothing me. “You’re okay? I was scared when I heard something happened. Fucking terrified—but you’re okay.” His light touch travels up my neck, to the edge of the bandage on the back of my head. “You’ll be okay.”
I dip my head to let him get a closer look. “Does it look bad? Did they cut away a lot of my hair?”
My hair’s pulled back in an elastic band, the ends still stiff with blood, but I know they cut away some hair where they stitched and bandaged me up.
“Maybe they cut some, but only the edge. Don’t worry about that. That’s nothing.”
“I know.” Tears fall onto my hands. That is nothing, but I’m easing my way into the worst questions. “I—” I take an unsteady breath. “What about Tatum? Have you heard anything?”
I glance up when he shakes his head, his lips pressed together in a firm line, jaw working underneath.
He picks up my hand when I drop my eyes again. “She’s here, too, in a room. I haven’t been there yet. I came right here. But I heard she’s okay, too. I talked to her parents, they’ll be here soon.”
“And Scott?”
His eyes flash with something intense, but the curtain is pulled open again before he can answer.
The doctor steps through with two police officers following, but she turns to them. “If you’ll give me one moment to talk to my patient, she’ll be available to question shortly.” She nods them away and then her eyes flick to Drew.
“Can he stay?” I ask, heart leaping to my throat.
“If you’re okay with him here, then it’s fine.” She says as she steps to a computer on wheels and clicks through some screens.
Drew rises to his feet and stands beside the head of my bed, keeping a firm grip on my hand.
“Yup,” she smiles in my direction. “All the test came back normal. While your head’s going to hurt like hell for a few days to a week, there shouldn’t be any lasting damage. The stitches will need to be removed in about five days. Just to be sure, I want to keep you here for a couple more hours for monitoring. As long as you remain stable, the dizziness recedes, and you have someone to drive you, you’ll be free to go soon.” She types some things into the computer and then clicks a few more buttons. “I’ll give you a prescription of pain meds to take as needed, but no more than two every four hours over the next few days. The nurse will be in shortly with all your paperwork. Let her know if you need anything.” She adjusts her glasses then glances to me. “Any questions?”
“How is Tatum? And Scott? The others that were brought in?” I ask, letting the warmth of Drew’s steady touch seep into me.
“The girl, Tatum, is in a private recovery room. The boy, Scott,” she steps closer to me and her soft smile dips into a sympathetic frown, “he didn’t survive. He died at the scene. There was nothing that could be done.” She pats my hand with the tip of her fingers.
I hear her words, but they don’t affect me like I think they should. It just slides into another numb fact about the night.
“And the baby?” Drew asks, and his voice tears my heart in pieces.
“Baby?” The doctor jerks her hand away from mine and narrows her eyes in thought. “There was no baby brought in or mentioned.”
“Tatum’s pregnant,” his voice is low, thick. “Has anyone checked?”
“I hadn’t heard—” Her brows crease down, and she steps away. “I’m not her doctor, and her family has requested privacy. Excuse me.” She exits before we can say anything else.
I look to him, but his eyes are stuck to the spot that she disappeared through.
“Can we talk to her now?” A male voice asks on the other side of the curtain.
“Yes.” The doctor’s heels click on the floor as she walks away.
The curtain opens back up, like a revolving door, and Drew grips my hand even tighter as officers approach.
“Sir, can you step out while we talk to Ms. Shaw?” The smaller officer requests.
“Does she need a lawyer?” Drew asks, looking down at me. “I can get one here.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. We only want to question her about the events tonight. We already have a confession and the murder weapon with prints.” He pauses, and then lifts his chin to Drew. “But if you want to drag this out and make it difficult, then get a lawyer.”
I take breath. “You have a confession? From who?”
“Sir.” The taller officer pulls back the curtain, signaling Drew through.
When Drew still hesitates, I speak up to reassure him, even though I’m not at all sure, “It’s okay.”
“Brooklyn—”
“Go check on Tatum. We won’t be long, right?” I ask the officers, and they both nod.
“We need a witness statement from you. We only have a few questions.” The tall one states.
He’d been vibrating since he asked about the baby, and I knew the doctor’s evasion of the question did nothing to ease his worry.
“Drew, go check on her, please.” I place my other hand over the back of his holding mine. “I’m worried about her, too.”
His eyes shift over me, and then he dips down till our foreheads touch, and his hand cups the side of my face, heedless of the officers in the room as he speaks low to me, “I’m worried for you. I can’t help her, but I might be able to help here. Or at least be here for you.”
“Thank you.” I nod, accepting his support, wanting it, even though I had said otherwise.
His soft lips brush against mine, and his touch spirals through me, calming me as it gave me chills that prickle over my skin. Then he stands back up and faces the officers, not budging.
“I’d like him to stay,” I say and they glance at each other.
“Fine, for now,” the taller one sighs and drops the curtain. “Can you tell us your version of tonight’s events. With as much detail as you can.”
“I’ll be recording your statement.” The other officer states, holding out a small black device.
I begin from the moment Scott approached me after my meeting, telling the story like it wasn’t me. Like it was some history I memorized for class. I don’t stop till I reach the part where the cops showed up, and none of them interrupt me while I speak.
The tall one looks at his opened leather bound note pad and asks, “Did Chris Kelley, whom you referred to as Coach, did he appear under duress, threatened, or coerced in any way or by any one when he fired the gun at Scott?”
“No,” I answer immediately, thoughts snapping with what that question could mean. “No, Scott was leaving. He shot him in his back, no one made him do that.”
“That’s all we need for the official statement, but do you know or have any theories as to why this group targeted you?”
“My sister hates me, she said that she blamed me for our fathers accident, for when Mr. Kelley got reported in high school, and now she said I was ruining her business.” I take a breath, but force out the secrets, following my instinct instead of something else that urges me to stay quiet. “They were involved in gambling and drugs on campus.”
“We know,” the taller one with the note pad answers. “Detectives at the station were working with the college to investigate the drugs and gambling already. And with the evidence and statements from tonight, we were able to make the connections.”
I hear my mother before I see her when she questions a nurse as to where I am. Then she bursts through the curtain, only hesitating a split second at the sight of the crowd. She comes to my side with a wild nervousness that shakes her whole body.
“Oh sweetie, I got here as soon as I heard. Are you okay?” Her small hands hover above my shoulder, and her eyes sweep up and down me. Then she swipes her gaze to the officers before I can respond. “Is she okay? Is everything okay?”
The shorter one nods and pulls a few papers from his thin binder. “We were just leaving. If you have any further questions or additional information to share, you can contact officer Dale or myself at this number.” He points to a card stapled to the back of the pamphlet he’s handing me.
“I do have a question. How did the officers get there so fast?” I ask.
“The call you were disconnected from, that man reported it. When the patrol car was on his way, we received multiple calls about gunfire in the area.”
I nod, a small thankfulness towards Kyle for not keeping the information to himself.
“We’ll be in contact with you as the investigation proceeds,” he continues. “Your information is on file already, I believe, from earlier reports?”
“Wait.” My mother raises her hand to get their attention, her eyes still flicking to me. “What about—what about my other daughter, London? Where is she?”
“Well, Mam, she’s in custody at county lockup, but due to her current state she may be taken to Seaton Psychiatric hospital for holding.” The shorter one pulls out a card to hand to her. “You can call this number for more information.”
“What’s her current state?” She presses her hand to her head as she uses the other to take the card.
“She’s refusing to calm down and continues to be a danger to herself and others. Call the number. Maybe they’ll provide further information, but they might not.”
The officers leave, and my mother wavers between the card and me before sliding it into her back pocket. She settles her tear filled eyes on me. “I am so sorry, Brooklyn.” She chokes on her sob and sits beside me. “So sorry she hurt you. How are you feeling? What has the doctor said?”
“I should be fine, just a few stitches and a headache.”
Her lips twitch, but she can’t lift them from the weight of her frown, and she closes her eyes. “She hit you with a gun. Shot another girl. And a boy is dead. They told me on the phone.” Her shoulders sink under the weight of each sentence. “And it could have been worse. Oh, God. I am so sorry. So sorry, Brooklyn.”
“It’s not your fault.” I pull out of Drew’s grip to comfort my mother, placing a hand on her back. “Don’t blame yourself.”
“Isn’t it?” She drops her eyes. “I’m her mother. I knew she had problems. I should have done more for her. I should have found her sooner.”
“Ms. Shaw,” Drew’s stern voice demands attention. “You have a daughter here who’s gone through a lot tonight, but she is still trying to think of everyone besides herself. You want to do something? Think about her first.”
“Drew,” my pulse pounds as I look between the two, “she’s worried about—”
“I’m sorry,” he softens his tone and lowers his hand to the top of my head, his focus on me. “I don’t want to add stress—”
“He’s right.” Her thin shoulders lift with her intake of breath, and she looks up to me. “I shouldn’t lay my problems at your feet, it’s not right. I apologize. I’m a mess right now. Let’s focus on getting you home. Did the doctors say yet?”
“They said I need to stay a couple of hours for monitoring, and then I can go.” I lean back against my pillow, the ache in my head increasing.
“Do you need anything?” She asks.
“More water, please,” I request with my eyes closed.
When I open them, she’s gone, but Drew is sitting beside me, fingers trailing the edge of my face, staring at me like he’s trying to memorize me. “What happened after you were arrested?” I can see his refusal in his eyes so I continue, “You heard everything that happened with me. I don’t want to talk about me anymore, or think about me. Tell me what happened with you?”
“TJ’s the one that reported that I was intimidating him or some shit like that. When they released him, he said he feared going home. Said that I threatened other players, but they were too scared to come forward. I called the assistant coach to get a lawyer for me, but I guess he contacted Tatum’s parents or maybe the lawyer did that, I don’t know. But they somehow used their weight to get my hearing pushed up for bail, but before I even saw the magistrate, Kyle came in and took back his earlier statement. He admitted TJ was there that day and choked you. I think it all frustrated the hell out of the police involved, and with Tatum’s parents on their ass, they dismissed my charges with not enough evidence. Kyle met me outside the station when I was released and told me about your call. He said the police were already sent. It was Tatum’s parents who told me you were both here.” His chest rises and falls with the force of his breath. “I can’t believe she showed up there.”
“She said she wanted to talk to me.”
“She shouldn’t have been there.” His jaw works under his skin. “She doesn’t need to talk to you.”
My mother walks back into the room, setting a Styrofoam cup of water beside me, but she remains silent.
“Go check on her.” I know he wants to. I want him to. “Please, I’d like to know she’s okay, too. My mom’s here now, I won’t be alone.” He doesn’t move, but I can see the concern in his eyes. “You need to find out.”
“I won’t be long.” He pulls away like it’s painful, and it’s only as he disappears behind the curtain with one last look back that I realize, maybe it’s him who doesn’t want to be alone. But it’s too late to call him back.
I walk out of the ER with Drew’s arm around me, in a change of clothes my mother brought.
He’d come back from checking on Tatum quiet, with only a few words—She’s fine. She’ll spend the next twenty-four hours in the hospital. When I asked if she was still pregnant, my heart split for him with the shake of his head. But the look in his eyes said not to push. Maybe he’d talk more when my mother wasn’t around.
She’s gone to pull the car up to the front of the emergency exit, but before I can think of something to say to him, he stops mid stride next to me and pulls his body upright. Taller. Larger.
I follow his gaze to a well dressed couple stepping out of the door behind us, into the cool night, the emergency room light illuminating them.
It’s easy to recognize Tatum’s mother; they look just alike. But Tatum’s father—I assume that’s who the large man is beside her—has strong dark features that are nothing like his daughter’s.
“Andrew, are you leaving?” The man asks, one hand in his suit pocket.
Drew pulls me in close to his side as he answers, “Yes, sir.”
“Is this the girl?” He nods to me, but keeps his eagle eyes on Drew.
“This is Brooklyn,” his tone is cool and level.
“Brooklyn.” Tatum’s mother breaks from her husband’s side, and she extends a hand to me. “It’s nice to meet you. I want to thank you for what you did for my daughter tonight. We are grateful for your help.”
I shake her hand without stepping out of the warmth of Drew’s arm, allowing him to support half my weight since I’m still dizzy. I can’t think of what to say to these people and look for my mom’s car, but I don’t see it yet.
“We’d like to show our appreciation.” The man pulls his hand from his pocket, and I flinch, until I see that it’s a checkbook he holds. “Perhaps a year of tuition to Eastern?”
“Please, stop.” I put out my hand before he can click his pen. “I don’t want anything.”
His eyes narrow slightly, but it’s intense enough that I can’t look away, and ice drips down my spine.
“Well, that’s very nice of you, but don’t be foolish.” The man puts his hand out to his wife as she tries to interject, shushing her before he continues, “Maybe you need time to think about it? We’d only ask that you sign a non-disclosure agreement. We know you have to share details with the police, but we’d like to keep this matter private, especially my daughter’s actions, which were not ideal. We’ll deal with her lies, and can assure that she will not be returning to Eastern. She is coming home with us. All you have to do is name your price.”
My mom pulled up while he spoke and idles along the curb now.
“Go back in to Tatum, we’ll—”
“I don’t have a price,” I cut off Drew. “Tatum was scared tonight, I don’t blame her for what she did. I don’t need money to keep quiet. I don’t plan on sharing this story outside of court.”
“And what about you, Andrew? The truth can do damage to her future.”
He inflates beside me and anger vibrates from him into me. I slide my arm around his waist, trying to calm him.
“People can assume what they want. Looks like she got the perfect out tonight. Good for her.”
“Andrew,” Tatum’s mother starts, breathless. “We are sorry. We’re willing to help you—”
“No more help. I’ll pay you back what I owe, but that’s it.”
“Is everything okay?” My mother gets out of the car, but stays by the drivers door.
“Yes.” Tatum’s father nods in my mother’s direction and turns his hard gaze to us. “Then as long as we are in agreement, I’ll have someone deliver the paperwork.” He smooths the edge of his jacket and turns on his heel to go back inside the hospital. His wife follows with her hand gripping her necklace.
“Who were they?” my mother asks as they disappear inside.
“The other girls parents,” I respond, reaching for the back door of the car, but Drew pulls open the passenger side and nudges me to sit. When I turn to him, he dips and kisses my lips.
“Ride with your mom. I’ll meet you at your place. I’ve got my truck here.”
“You got your truck, from your house?” It sounded stupid, of course he did, but the idea makes my skin crawl.
“I didn’t go in. I only got my truck. A few cops were still there and had the keys.” He wraps both arms around me, pulling me against him in something sweeter than a hug, something more loving.
“You’re coming back to our place?” My mother asks from behind the wheel.
“Yes,” I answer, absorbing the last bit of comfort from his arms. “I love you,” I let it slip into his shirt before I pull away.
He pulls me right back into him, his lips brushing against mine in a light caress that’s heavy with his emotion. “I love you, too.”
Drew and I don’t even make a pretense of him sleeping on the couch. And my mother doesn’t say anything against him following me to my room after I’ve showered and she helped me wash my hair without getting my stitches wet.
“What happened with Tatum when you went to check on her?” I ask him as I curl into his side under the covers.
I feel his head shake above me but don’t move from the perfect spot between his shoulder and chest, close enough that I can hear his heart beat and each breath he takes.
His fingers never stop their path over any bare skin he can find, my arms, neck, stomach—hypnotizing and reawakening each nerve with tender pleasure.
“She was never pregnant. The doctors told me. It’s good I went when I did, or I would have never known the truth. I’m sure her parents have paid off the staff by now.”
“You think they would have lied to you, too?” I freeze in his arms, letting that piece fall into place. And as disappointed as I was that she would lie, I wasn’t surprised. Not after tonight.
“I know they would lie.” He adds his lips to the caress on my skin, brushing them across my forehead. “But baby, it’s you I want to talk about. You told your story tonight, but I haven’t heard how you’re feeling.”
I close my eyes and let his touch, his heartbeat, keep the most painful thoughts away. The medicine I took before laying down is starting to kick in, helping to keep me from thinking. “Right now, I’m feeling okay. Like this, I feel good. Tired, but warm and safe. I don’t want to think about the rest of it.”
“Then we’ll stay like this.” His fingers trail up and down my spine, and his chin rests on top of my head. “Go to sleep, baby. I’ll stay with you. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I cling to his waist and drift to sleep to the steady sound of his heart.
“Where did your mom go?” Andrew asks as he glances over his shoulder to the driveway where my mom’s car is missing.
“To visit London.” I grab my jacket from the coat wrack.
“Already?”
“She’s doing what she needs to do.” I give him a warning look to pull back his frustration, and I leave the house for the first time in days, relieved that there are no reporters out front this time. “How was practice?”
“It went as expected. Everyone’s distracted and it shows. Even with my suspension lifted, it’s going to take a while to get back into a new routine and for everyone to adjust with four main player’s suspended after the raid.” His hand slides to my back as he opens the passenger door. “They knew the risk when they got involved, though.”
I spent the week at home, not going anywhere, until now. I need my stitches removed.
Drew had been returning to campus during the day, but spending his nights with me. He doesn’t give any sign that I’m a burden, but I feel like I am, especially when he has to wake extra early to make it to practice on time. But he refuses to have it any other way. Just like he refuses to let me drive myself to the doctors.
“The investigators visited this morning.” I jump into my news the moment we’re in his truck, wanting to get it all out, and stop thinking about it. “They returned both of my phones.”
“Both?” He stops from turning the key in the ignition.
My throat thickens. “My newer phone they found destroyed on your property. But, my phone that went missing before, it was found in Scott’s room in the frat house.”
He swipes his hand across his mouth, sucking down the growl rolling from his throat. “Did they say he did anything with it?”
I shake my head. “I cleared it, so there was nothing for him to do. But I don’t know what he would have done anyways. I still don’t get what his end game was. London hated me, Coach Kelley wanted you to stop interfering with their activity around campus. I thought Scott and TJ were there because they were involved in that, but Scott was around before. Was it always because of London?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, maybe it turned into that, but I think he liked you, first. Tatum and her friends pushed him towards you. In the very beginning, I’d hear them encouraging him when we’d be out. It would always piss me off.”
“Yeah.” I breathe out air, letting the memories of Drew coming on to me light my darker thoughts. “You were jealous.” But I can’t quiet bring myself to laugh about it, not when thoughts of everyone else turn my stomach.
“I wouldn’t have admitted it, but hell yeah I was.” He turns the key and his truck hums as it starts. “You’re the only person I’d get jealous over.” He presses me to my seat with his lips over mine, and nibbles on the bottom one before sweeping his tongue into my mouth. His hand comes up to the back of my neck, but when his fingers hit the edge of my stitches he slows. “Crap, we’ve got to go to make your appointment.”
I nod, lost in the tingle that travels over my skin from his kiss.
His hand travels down my body, light and playful as he coasts his palm over my jean covered thigh. “I wish you were wearing a skirt.”
I do laugh then and push on his chest, letting the brief bubble of happiness rise to the surface. He’d been so careful with me all week; I liked this return of his flirty side.
He smiles, his lips sliding against my cheek as his hand travels up my stomach. “Maybe you could show me your tits while we drive?”
“Drew.” I slap his hand as his finger hooks in the top of my shirt.
“I’m teasing you.” He places a lingering kiss to my chin and pulls away. “I like the way you react. But admit it, you like teasing me, too.”
“Maybe.” I arch my back to show off my chest, still shaking with suppressed laughter as I trail my hands over the curve of breast, adjusting my bra to lift the cleavage.
“Hm.” He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches me. “I love it. Let’s get this appointment over so I can play with them, too.”
“Do you not think that’s a good idea?” I ask, in his arms, in my bed. This was becoming my new favorite thing. Relaxing in his arms, feeling the truth in his heartbeat, talking to him without hesitation or restraint, completely at ease.
“No, I want you to. I told you before; you should do what you want. You shouldn’t be the one that has to hide.” His fingers tickle on my arm, hesitation in his breath. “My only concern is if you really want to. If you’re ready to.” He traces the slight scab still left on my shoulder, and his breath shallows. “We talk, but we haven’t talked about how you’re feeling much. I know you’re strong, but it’s okay if you’re not ready, it’s only been a week. I can’t pretend to understand, but I’m here for you, and I’d do anything to protect you from more pain.”
I let his words sink in and kiss his bare chest, over his heart. “I know you would, and that helps, that’s enough. I could wait to go back to school, or not go at all, but… I really don’t want to sit at home anymore with only my thoughts. I know I don’t talk about it, that’s because I don’t want to think about it. That’s why I loved working with the kids, I never thought about myself when I was with them. School lets me get out of my head, too. I had thought about completing the semester at home, but talking to my professors today, my English teacher encouraged me to still come in. And the others didn’t say I couldn’t come to class. Plus, going out today with you was nice.” I smile against his chest as my fingers graze over his lower stomach, and he clenches his muscles there. “I know what happened was bad, but I don’t want to focus on that. I want to be happy, and you, here with me, makes me happy. Why shouldn’t I be?”
“You should be.” He rolls me onto my back, bracing his hands on either side of me, trailing kisses along my neck. “You. Deserve. To. Be. Happy. I. Love. You. Beautiful.” His fingers slide the strap of my tank over my shoulder as he places one last kiss there, and then he lifts his eyes to mine, pulling on every single one of my cells. “I’m in love with everything about you.”
My fingers thread through the back of his hair as I pull his face to mine. “I love you, too.”
His lips overtake mine, moving in gentle emotion charged caresses that circulate to my toes and fingers. And I feed into it, building the current with my fingers sliding up his back, nibbling at his bottom lip. Tasting him. But he takes his time, we both do. Kissing and touching till my muscles are about to snap with need. For more. For him.
He peels my clothes from me, removing each item with caresses of fingers and lips, but he always returns to kissing me before taking off the next thing. I take as much care with him, feeling each goose bump that breaks out in waves over his skin with the palm of my hand.
But still our lips find their way back together, like a magnet, like a necessity, like the air we needed to breathe. When he rocks into me, I trace the outline of muscles on his back, arms, torso, anywhere I can reach. Memorizing everything about him, focusing on what makes him gasp, or moan, or what touch sends a chill over his skin. When he finds a rhythm that has us both moaning, we drink each other in, mouth to mouth. Skin on skin. Soul to soul.
There’s something so raw in the moment, in his slick skin, in his breaths, in the “I love yous” that he whispers into my mouth and I return as I grip my legs around him, pulling him close. We move like the tide, steady and strong, crashing into each other over and over with pleasure. Then the swell in my core builds, and I can’t hold back. His groans and thrust of his hips, sending me over the edge, until I burst. Pieces scattering into orbit, his orbit. And he finds his own release while I shake with mine.
He collapses on me, until we both stop quivering, and our ragged breaths even. Easing off of me, he discretely discards the condom in the waste bin by my nightstand. Then he rolls to his side and pulls my back against his chest.
Within moments he’s asleep, and I snuggle into his hold and drift off, visions of our lovemaking burned behind my eyelids.
Drew’s leaned against the wall opposite the door of my English class, his hat pulled low as he waits for me, just like everyday since I started back four weeks ago. Today’s the last day. The last exam.
He pushes off the wall as I walk out, and he extends his arm so I can take my spot by his side.
“Have a good break, Brook.” A red head from class says as she passes through the door.
“Have fun visiting your sister, Terri.” I wave.
She adds a shy, “Good luck, Andrew.”
And he waves to her with a nod and a side glance at me. “That’s the girl that gave you that note, right?”
“Yeah.” She’d given me a note my first week back, thanking me for speaking up about TJ and saying she admired my courage. That small note helped give me confidence to return. Some other students encouraged me in little ways, too. My English professor did, as well.
“Did you decide yet?” He asks as we walk down the sidewalk to the main road lining the front of campus.
“I did.” I keep my lips pressed together though.
“You’re not going to tell me?” He gives me a look that drives me crazy, but I won’t give in.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re getting?” I mimic his single lifted brow.
He shakes his head. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
“Brook,” A familiar voice calls to me and I pause, but Drew goes rigid.
“What the fuck does she want?” he groans, turning towards Rose as she cuts across the street to us.
I place my hand on his forearm. “Let me handle it, okay.”
He’d gone to my dorm that first week I stayed home to collect my things, and that was the last day we ever talked about her.
“Brook, hey.” She gives me a half smile, her dark hair died red at the ends now “I…” She looks past me to Drew and shoves her hands in her coat pockets, her voice dropping. “I’m really sorry with how things went. Did you hear, TJ’s getting three years in prison?” She shifts her gaze when I don’t respond.
I know that. I know about each of their sentences. Coach Kelley took a plea deal and is getting a chance of parole in twenty-five years. London hasn’t had court yet, but she’s confined to a psychiatric hospital and sedated most of the time. I know all of this, but I don’t want to talk to her about it.
“I really am sorry,” she speaks up when I start to walk away. “I didn’t know he was like that. I didn’t know any of them were like that. I didn’t know that much about them. Please, don’t hate me,” her voice breaks at the end.
I turn to her then and meet her eyes, something she hadn’t been able to do yet. “I don’t hate you. I know you didn’t know the truth.”
“So you forgive me?” Her smile is hesitant until I nod, then it stretches.
“Bye, Rose.” I turn away from her, and Drew grabs my hand.
“Maybe we can get lunch sometime next semester,” she adds.
I shake my head and respond before Drew leads me away. “I won’t be here next semester.”
“Sometimes, I wish you weren’t so fucking nice.” He’s vibrating with his anger as he pulls me down the path.
I nudge into his side. “But you love me this way.”
He lifts my fingers to his lips, acknowledging the truth. But he can’t let go of his frustration so easily. “You should cover that star with whatever you get today.”
I bring my free hand to my lower stomach where the star is. “I love this star. It’s the reason I met you.”
He pauses, his tension releasing with a grin. “You make a good point.” Then he swoops down and grips my waist, pulling my stomach to his lips.
“All right. Are we doing this or not?” I hold his shoulders away from me so he can’t kiss my stomach anymore.
“We’re doing it.” He hooks his arm around me as we walk to the tattoo parlor. “And then I’m going to show you how much I love that star when we’re done.”
When we’re alone in his dorm, a single room the college gave him, he pulls his shirt over his head and drops it to the ground, revealing the bandage on his forearm.
“You had to take your shirt off to show me that?” I drink in his tattooed muscles, the site never fails to excite me and make the butterflies kick up in my stomach.
“Of course. You should take yours off, too.” He strolls over to me. “Let me help.”
My skin heats where his eyes linger, flames trailing behind his fingers as he lifts my shirt over my head, revealing the bandage on my stomach.
As I sit on his bed, I peel the edge of the tape to remove the gauze, my skin red and shiny where the new tattoo is.
He does the same, but his bandage is bigger, the entire underside of his forearm.
We inspect each other at the same time. His tattoo is sun beams traveling up his arm till it meets with his half sleeve of ink. The sunlight originates from pretty lettering, thin but with strong curves.
It takes away my ability to breathe, but I don’t need it.
“You got my name?” I trace the letters on the underside of his wrist, Brooklyn.
“And you got my initials?” His fingers hover over the skin of my stomach, over the crescent moon with his initials resting in the curve, next to the star. “I’m the moon?”
I lift one shoulder. “You’re so much more than that. But I wanted it to go with the star, and you ended up being this beautiful thing in the night. A force that attracts and moves things, just by being you.”
He stretches out his arm. “And you’re my sun. It seems right.”
Seeing my name, permanently on his skin thrills me. “I thought you said the boyfriend tattoo never works?”
“You didn’t listen to me, did you?” He reapplies my bandage on my stomach and I shiver as he kisses over it.
“I told you. The tattoo’s not about the relationship lasting, it’s about what it’ll make me remember forever.”
He keeps his head in my lap, but rolls onto his back to look up at me. “And what will you remember?”
“A man who got inside me and lived in every one of my thoughts.” I slide my fingers through his loose curls, smiling with the memory. “My first. My best.”
He lifts himself up, slipping his hand behind my neck. “Your first. Your best.” He kisses along my jaw to my lips and then adds, “your last.”
