Fifty-One
Stacy
“I kissed Stacy last night.
I feel kind of like a teenager writing it down but I can’t stop thinking about it. Something took over me when I saw her dancing with Devin, it’s like I was possessed. Every rational thought left my brain except for, ‘Stacy should be dancing on me. She’s mine.’
I have a feeling she’s pissed at me for Chelsea but I hope that kiss made her realize I haven’t thought about Chelsea in months.
Not since we started ‘dating.’ To be honest, after that kiss, I’m not sure I’ll ever think of another woman again.
I’ve never been so turned on by just a kiss.
Who the hell taught Stacy to kiss like that?
I can’t think about that for too long or I’ll drive myself crazy.
What does it mean that I’m jealous over my fake relationship? Why do I feel nauseous picturing Stacy with other guys?
I’m fucked, aren’t I?”
?
“I’m not sure what the hell I’ve gotten myself into but this situation with Stacy doesn’t feel fake right now .
I know the rules. I know we set boundaries and drew lines so this fictional relationship would remain fictional but, fuck, are we blurring the hell out of those lines.
Stacy asked me to kiss her last night. For practice .
It wasn’t for show, there was no one around but I didn’t care.
I wanted to kiss her. Not just because I’m painfully attracted to her but because I don’t like the way she’s treated around her family.
I don’t like the way she becomes a smaller version of the beautiful, fierce woman I know when they’re around.
I hate that she accepts the love she thinks she deserves and I can’t say all that to her but I thought maybe I could show her.
Show her that, no matter how many times she compares herself to her sister, I think she’s amazing. I’ll always think she’s amazing.
But it was practice. This is fake. I have to keep my head on straight before I fall any harder for Stacy Dunn.”
?
“I think I’m in love with Stacy.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I can’t admit it out loud so I’ll have to settle for writing it down.
Something’s changed between us. Ever since homecoming, our relationship has become anything but fake. I’ve tried convincing myself that it’s just physical attraction, that I’m just lusting over Stacy and it’s not that serious.
But Stacy’s the person I want to see at the end of a bad day.
She’s the person I want to text when something good happens.
All the mundane parts of life seem more fun when I think about doing them with her and I never thought I’d have the urge to invite a woman to go grocery shopping with me.
Yet, here I am. She makes everything… better .
She’s kind of become my best friend.
We haven’t had sex yet and I’m fucking dying to, don’t get me wrong. But I really want to spend time with her more than anything.
That’s why I’m taking her out for a picnic in the park tomorrow. She doesn’t know about it and I hope to god she doesn’t choke me for the romantic gesture.
I mean, maybe she can choke me a little bit. ;)”
?
“I don’t think I’m in love anymore. I know it.
I haven’t told Stacy yet but holy shit. We’re going away together for Christmas and I don’t think I’ll be able to make it home from our trip without telling her.
I want to tell everyone, I want to hold her hand in public and let everyone know that she’s mine, I want her to know that I’m not going anywhere.
I want her to know that I’m proud to be hers. That I’m proud of her, period.
How could I not fall for Stace? She’s brilliant. Passionate. Painfully beautiful. Honest, funny, daring, hardworking, and so goddamn badass. She makes me laugh until my stomach hurts, she makes me want to be a better version of myself for her.
The fact that she’s the best I’ve ever had in bed is just an added bonus.
It kills me that she doesn’t picture herself the way I do. She’s perfect and I hope one day she can see herself from my point of view.
But for now, I’ll have to settle for making her feel loved. For trying to help her heal those broken parts of herself.
I’ll love her until she’s put together again.”
?
The letters keep coming as we near spring break. A new entry everyday, along with some arrangement of flowers as the air warms and midterms loom.
Reece texts me about his new surprise every night, flirty, noncommittal text messages that never lead to a real conversation beyond some witty banter.
He throws me winks at practice, keeps his composure, and stunts like a pro without so much as mentioning his journal entries in person.
He’s the perfect picture of patience and resigned causality but I know what he’s doing.
He’s giving me space. He’s letting me lick my wounds, letting me heal while reminding me constantly, constantly that I am enough. That I am loved beyond measure. That he’ll be here when I’m ready.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so important to anyone.
I’m reveling in my thoughts as Propst gives us our post-game pep talk, laying out the details for the remainder of our basketball season.
Cheer being over for good in three short weeks is something I’ve been dreading for months now.
My final game, my final stunt, our senior athletic banquet, the last time I’ll put on a skirt and bow.
I thought all along that I’d be horrified to walk into the last chapter of this story in my life.
Surprisingly, though, I feel at peace. I’m starting to feel at peace regarding a lot of aspects of my life and the idea of starting something new doesn’t feel so scary anymore.
I know whatever I do, I’ll figure it out. I’ll succeed. I’m intelligent, I’m driven, I’m worthy of success and purpose. I’m worthy of self-love and happiness and confidence .
A certain stunt buddy taught me that .
Propst bids us adieu for the evening, telling us to make good weekend choices until we’re due back at practice on Monday morning.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and head out of the gym, my plans for wine in the bathtub and binge watching Gossip Girl so close I can almost taste them when I hear a familiar voice from behind me.
“I have to meet up with Miles at the bar so I won’t have time to run by your place,” Reece says.
I turn around to find him standing a couple feet from me on the sidewalk, daisies and a letter in hand.
He’s grinning at me like no bad blood has passed between us and, even though we talk when we stunt, hearing his smooth voice is making my knees shake.
“I wanted to make sure you got your daily entry. I didn’t want you to think I forgot. ”
I take the flowers and paper from his outstretched hands, my face heating as I nibble on my lip. Daring to glance up, I give Reece a small smile before he winks and turns away.
“Why?” I blurt out before he can get far.
He pivots, one eyebrow arched. “Why what?”
I swallow twice against the lump in my throat. “Why are you doing all of this?” I gesture to the sweet displays of affection.
“Because I love you,” Reece answers simply.
Something burns the backs of my eyelids and I have to chew on my lip to steady myself. “I don’t know if I’m worth all of the effort,” I admit in a whisper.
“You are.”
My chin starts to wobble. “Reece, I—”
“It’s okay, angel. Figure yourself out. Take the time you need. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be ready when you are.”
A warm tear slides down my cheek but the early spring breeze dries it almost immediately as I nod.
Reece nods back before leaning in to press his lips against my forehead.
The kiss is brief, gentle, and he pulls back before I can revel in the feeling.
He doesn’t say anything else before giving me another wink and trudging off in the direction of downtown, the setting sun bouncing off his hair and bringing out the gold steaks hidden in the brown.
I feel glued to the sidewalk as I watch in awe as he walks away.
?
“I lost Stacy.
I’m so goddamn angry but I don’t even know who I’m angry with.
I’m angry with Tashia, so fucking pissed that she twisted the truth, pissed that she’d go behind my brother’s back in that way.
I’m mad at Evan for a million reasons that have culminated over the years and I’m tired of pretending I’m not.
I’m pissed at my family for expecting me to be okay all of the fucking time when everyone else is allowed to break down.
I’m pissed at Lance and the goddamn ice that was on the road the night he died.
I’m pissed at myself for allowing the people who supposedly love me to walk all over me.
I’m pissed at myself for losing Stacy.
Maybe I should’ve fought harder. Maybe I should’ve pushed back when she walked away but if I know anything about Stacy, it’s that she’s stubborn. I’ll push, she’ll pull, and we’ll go in circles forever.
She has nasty demons to fight and she’s got to do it alone. She’s got to heal. I’ve got to let her go.
But, god, I wanted it to be her .
I think a part of me will always want it to be her.
I wasn’t ready to love again when Stacy first came into my life. But I sure as hell wasn’t ready to say goodbye, either.
Fuck. Just please don’t let this be goodbye.”
I wipe the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand, stray droplets dripping onto the paper as I hunch over the entry while sitting on my couch.
My stomach churns over and over again as I reread the letter about our breakup, the letter Reece handed to me yesterday after our basketball game.
I didn’t have the courage to read it when I got home last night, too fragile from our conversation to risk rifling around in Reece’s mind.
But the agony, the pain and regret in his writing makes my chest split in half.
Throughout the notes I’ve gotten, dated all the way back to last summer, the mention of my beauty and strength and resilience has been constant. Reece has listed every insecurity I’ve ever felt about myself and turned it into something positive, something he loves about me.
Tashia’s name has barely come up.
Maybe I’ve been his first choice all along. His only choice.
Maybe I’ve been so wrapped up in my own issues, my own self-doubt and self-loathing, that I never stopped to consider the fact that Reece sees me from another point of view.
I never stopped to consider that maybe I’ve been projecting my feelings about myself onto Reece and he doesn’t see me as second best. Reece sees me through a different lens, a lens that may be rose-colored but that colors me in vibrant shades of beauty and brilliance nonetheless.
He sees a better version of me, a version of myself that I want to be.
A version of myself that I am around him.
Fuck. Am I ready to say goodbye?
I scrub my hands down my face before running shaky fingers through my hair, steadying myself as I collect my thoughts.
What do I do? What do I want ? I love Reece, plain and simple, and that’s scary as hell.
Am I ready to love him in the way he deserves?
Am I ready to let him love me in the way he wants to?
Before I can get much further into my spiral, there’s a quick knock at my door. I rise off my couch hesitantly, setting the letter down on my coffee table.
Did Reece read my mind and show up at my house to make my decision easy? Because if that man walks through my door right now, I’ll fold. I’ll weep, invite him in, grovel on my knees for forgiveness, and our clothes will be on my bedroom floor in a matter of minutes.
Running my clammy hands across the fabric of my blue Wing Haven sweatshirt, I make my way over to my door. I peek through the peephole and almost stagger backwards at who I find standing in the hallway.
I take a step back and open the door, trying to compose myself as I ask Tashia, “What are you doing here?”