19. Bailey
“We should stop,”I whispered breathlessly. It was late, and we’d been making out forever.
“Okay.” Jamie’s lips roved over my jaw and neck.
Moaning, I wrapped my arms around his back and drew him closer. If I’d had any doubts why so many girls were willing to make out with Jamie, no strings attached, they’d been well and truly satisfied.
The boy was talented. And insatiable.
It blew my mind how much our relationship had changed in the few days since we’d first kissed, really kissed. I kept waiting for the inevitable define the relationship talk, but it never happened. The drive to school in the morning was too quick. By the time we got home, and I took care of my family obligations while Jamie and Dallin talked football or played video games, well, honestly, we were just too easily distracted. It seemed the moment the basement door closed behind Dallin, I was in Jamie’s arms, his lips eagerly parting mine, and it was a long time before we came up for air, too worn out to talk about anything important.
“Jamie.” It was tempting never to stop. I loved him, and most nights, I’d just as soon crawl into his bed to sleep curled under his arm, against his body, rather than go home.
He stilled above me, his forehead dropping to mine as he caught his breath. It did amazing things to me to know I was the reason for his loss of breath. It made me feel things I worried I shouldn’t. Things I worried he didn’t.
Jamie balanced on one elbow beside me, his other hand reaching for mine where they caressed the bare skin of his back under his shirt. A little embarrassed, I adjusted the hem of his t-shirt and placed my hands higher on his back.
I loved touching him. We’d become more familiar with each other’s bodies, and I loved that I knew him so well. I loved that I knew the patterns of his breathing and the different beats of his heart. I loved the smoothness of his skin over his shoulders and waist. I loved the calluses on his palms from lifting weights as they scraped over my skin when he touched me just as freely.
With a frustrated sigh, Jamie pushed himself off the couch.
“Want some water?” he asked on his way to the fridge.
“Yeah.” As comfortable as we’d become, some things remained awkward. And talking after making out was the worst. Jamie always seemed...angry. He was always sweet when he walked me home, but this part of me felt upset whenever I called things to a halt.
I knew we needed to talk, but I was scared. What if he still didn’t want a relationship with me? What if I’d risked over a decade of friendship for a week of the most amazing kisses I feared I’d ever experience in my life?
And so, I kept quiet. Because as long as we didn’t talk about it, maybe it wouldn’t end. And, oh, how I didn’t want it to end!
“Here you go.” Jamie plopped down on the couch beside me, tossing a water in my lap.
“Thanks.” All that kissing had made me thirsty. I twisted off the cap and took a long drink. Beside me, Jamie did the same. I took in our rumpled appearance, and a snort escaped.
“What?” Jamie eyed me as he took another long swig.
I gestured between us. “We look like we just—” I stopped wondering why I’d brought it up. “Never mind.”
Jamie grinned at my embarrassment. “What? We look like we just made out for a solid hour and a half?”
I dropped my head into my hand. “Oh, my gosh. What are we doing?” I hadn’t meant to say that!
But it was too late. Keeping my head down, I cast a sideways glance at Jamie. His smile faded, and his expression turned serious.
“I guess we haven’t talked about that, have we?”
I shook my head.
Jamie sat back on the cushions with a sigh. I hated the distance between us. Five minutes ago, we were side by side, wrapped in each other’s arms. Now, there was a foot of upholstery between us, and it might as we have been ten.
I wasn’t the only one struggling. Jamie rubbed his hands vigorously over his cheeks and eyes. When they dropped back into his lap, I noticed the dark circles under his eyes for the first time, and I felt guilty. Here we’d been staying upuntil all hours of the night on top of school and our sports schedules. Jamie’s arms were dotted with bruises and scrapes from football. While his body had always been lean, the exercise he’d been doing during weight lifting and conditioning had added bulk and definition. He’d been working hard, and I’d kept him up every night.
“It’s okay. I should go. We can talk later. You look tired.” I moved to stand, but Jamie stopped me, taking my hand in his and pulling me down into his lap.
“I don’t want you to go, Bales.” He nuzzled my neck with his face, the faint scruff on his cheeks scratching lightly against my skin.
My heart settled with relief. I hated that I needed this kind of physical reassurance about our relationship. I wanted him to tell me how he felt.
“I can’t stay here, James,” I said as my arms tightened around his shoulders.
“I know. But I want you to.” He leaned his head against my shoulder.
We hadn’t talked much, but the boundaries seemed to be a given. We kissed, but we didn’t go any further.
“I want to, too,” I whispered into his hair.
Jamie sighed as he pulled away. With me still on his lap, he stood, making me laugh.
“Let’s get you home.”
Pausing only to slip on some shoes and pick up the flip-flops I’d put on just to run between our houses, Jamie carried me like a koala to my back door. He hadn’t said anything, but I had a feeling he preferred it to the front because it was out of view from his mom’s office window.
We didn’t talk, and he only placed one quick kiss on my lips before I went inside. I knew things couldn’t go on like this forever, but that didn’t stop me from wishing they would.
JAMIE
I waiteduntil Bailey was safely inside. It used to be I couldn’t be bothered to get off the couch to make sure she got home okay, instead waiting for a text to let me know she was inside her house. It wasn’t a far walk, but it was always dark, and I was a jerk. Or I had been. I’d recently discovered the error of my ways and made sure no one could assault Baileyin the dark after she left my house.
How had I not thought of that before?
Just one of the many things I hadn’t paid attention to in the past when it came to my best friend. I’d been a fool. And blind. So very blind. And I still didn’t know what I would do about it. So far, I’d been going with avoidance. Avoid talking by spending our time together kissing. It was still my favorite pastime, even more so now that I was kissing Bailey. She’d felt rejected tonight, and I hated that. But I also didn’t think she knew how hard it was for me to calm down after being with her like that, and it made me irritable.
Irritable. What an understatement. And it wasn’t like I didn’t have a hundred other things on my mind. Bailey was important to me, and spending time with her was more fun than anything else I was doing, but I was also worried about tomorrow’s game. I was under a lot of pressure to perform, to help my team win the game, and to show off my abilities for recruiters.
Bailey distractedme in all the best ways. My feelings for her grew even as I struggled against the need to push her away and keep myself from getting in any deeper. I already feared my heart was too invested. I worried about what was next for us.
I worried about all the hiding, too. I was a jerk. Bailey deserved to have a guy strong enough to admit his feelings, not just to her but to the universe. I wanted to shout from the rooftops that Bailey was my girl, but I squashed that impulse every time it reared its ugly head. Because doing that meant committing, and what if I wasn’t ready? I should just end things now with Bailey. I should focus on football and the opportunity to play at the next level. I had a chance, a real chance to accomplish all my goals. What was I thinking getting involved with a girl? Even if that girl was Bailey.
I wasn’t just hiding things from Bailey. I still hadn’t talked to my mom about football. It ate at my conscience daily, almost hourly, making me welcome the distraction making out with Bailey provided.
I was a jerk.
What if I did get offered a scholarship? Even a Division 2 school would be appealing. I didn’t care as long as I got to play. There were always opportunities to transfer if I proved I was good enough.
I let myself in the front door of our house with a sigh. I didn’t have to solve all my problems tonight, thank goodness. I just needed to get some sleep and play a good game tomorrow. Everything else wouldhave towait.
A sound down the hall stopped me at the top of the stairs to the basement. Straining my ears, I listened.
Crying
I experienced a moment of clarity. I’d lost my father, but she lost her husband. Maybe it was my changing relationship with Bailey, but suddenly, I understood how she must feel better. I let my thoughts focus and go down that road. What would it feel like to never see Bailey again? To never hold her? Kiss her? Ever again. Just the thought made my entire body ache.
What kind of comfort could I offer to help Mom with that kind of pain?
Then I heard a thud and glass shattering against the wall.
I rushed down the hall. “Mom?”
She didn’t answer.
“Mom?” I called again, pausing outside her bedroom door. Her sobs had quieted, but I knew she needed help to clean the broken glass.
I knocked loudly in case she hadn’t heard my voice and waited a few seconds before opening the door.
The sight that met my eyes was heart-wrenching. My mother, her small frame hunched over in her motorized wheelchair, was a wreck. Her wispy blonde hair hung loose and damp from her tears, strands sticking to her cheeks and forehead. Her blue eyes, the same color as mine, were bloodshot and puffy from crying.
Across the room, an eight-by-ten picture frame lay in pieces on the floor, the wooden frame splintered, and the glass shattered.
The glass could wait. I went into her bathroom to get a washcloth from the linen closet. After running it under cool water from the faucet. Without a word, I gently mopped her face. Brushing her hair back from her cheeks, I wiped the blotchy skin of her neck.
“Baby,” she cried through her tears, her limp hand reaching out to rest on my forearm.
“Mom. It’s okay.” I continued to blot the washcloth on her face untilthe redness from her tears calmed down. When I finally set it on the arm of her chair, she fell against me, fresh tears leaking from her eyes and soaking the front of my shirt.
It had been weeks since the last time she’d cried like this, at least, as far as I knew. I wondered how many nights she sat alone in her room, crying and missing my dad.
“I’m sorry, baby. I don’t want you to see me like this.” She clutched at me, and it reminded me of the times I’d done the same when she’d held me as a child, the times she’d comforted me after skinning a knee or getting into an argument with my friends. She’d always been there with a hug and reassuring words. In the end, I always felt better after she held me.
I wondered if she ever felt any better after crying on my shoulder. I wasn’t sure she did. She needed him, and he was gone.
“Mom,” I choked on my own emotions. I felt tears stinging my eyes but kept them back.
I stayed there, kneeling beside her chair until she was utterly wrung out with no tears left to cry. I lifted her into her bed and made sure she had a bottle of water and a box of tissues within easy reach. She’d closed her eyes before I could pull her blanket over her shoulders.
For a long time, I watched her sleep. How could Ileave her after graduation? She was independent despite her limitations, but there was always the possibility that she could fall or—so many things I couldn’t wrap my mind around. But this, this sadness, worried me more. She’d be upset if she knew how troubled I felt every time I left the house. It was different when Dad was alive. She was never alone, not physically or emotionally. I could only do so much. A son couldn’t offer the same comfort. My feelings for Bailey had taught me more thoroughly than anything else.
Satisfied she would sleep through the night, I stepped over to the broken picture frame on the floor. I’d have to wait until morning to clean most of it with the vacuum, but I could take the bigger pieces and throw them away. And hopefully, salvage the photo. Carefully, I picked up the wooden frame and dislodged the photo from the edges.
I recognized it immediately. My parents on their honeymoon, standing on the same mountain Mom had slid down when she injured her spine ten years later. I hadn’t seen it for a long time. It wasn’t one she kept out, displayed on the wall, or her dresser. For a moment, I considered what must have been going through her head to make her dig out that photo. It was easy to forget her grief when she hid from the world, lost in her novels.
With the picture held lightly between my fingers, I put it in the nightstand drawer on Dad’s side of the bed. I’d tell her where it was if she asked, but maybe it would be a good idea for her not to see it for a while. Something about that photo had set her off tonight and not just with sadness, but anger, too.
I tossed the larger pieces of the broken frame into the garbage can in the kitchen, turned off the lights, and checked to make sure the doors were locked before making my way downstairs to my room, stopping only long enough to use the bathroom and brush my teeth before falling into bed.
I was exhausted. Everything was crashing down around me. Even the amazing opportunities coming my way brought stress and conflict I didn’t know how to resolve.
And Bailey.
For the first time in my life, I allowed myself to acknowledge just how important Bailey was to me. Our friendship had endured a lot of changes. Growing up but not growing apart had required a conscious effort on all our part. Our combined determination to remain close meant the bonds we’d created were strong. I’d always thought they were unbreakable.
Sitting upstairs at my mother’s bedside, I realized how fragile it all was. The bond between my parents had been strong. I’d always believed there was nothing that could tear them apart. I was wrong. Tonight showed me just how deeply a heart could break. Tonight, I learned how broken I could be if I allowed my relationship with Bailey to continue to grow.