Chapter 6 #2
I giggle because it’s true. Once we relieved each other of our virginities at age seventeen—even though he’s almost ten days younger than I am—we couldn’t get enough of each other.
The only problem was, being next-door neighbors with our parents’ noses always in both our businesses, our opportunities to be together were not plentiful.
So senior skip day was a golden opportunity. While my entire senior class headed to the beach for a day of frolicking and fun, Rafe and I wanted nothing more than to be together.
Intimately? Yes.
But more than that. We were settled—really at our happiest—when it was just us.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t go to the beach that day,” I muse, taking another long pull off my beer.
“No kidding.” He laughs, and I join in.
That turned out to be a very bad idea for a lot of students.
Turned out the underground plan for every senior to skip class on a coordinated day in favor of spending the day at the beach with a whole lot of underage drinking didn’t turn out so well for those who went.
Our vice principal, Mr. Henkel, had somehow intercepted the plan.
He was waiting at the high-rise bridge that crossed to Topsail Island with a list of every person’s make and model of car.
He made a note of every single one and then managed to track down every party on the north side of the island at one of the public beach accesses. There, he handed out detention slips and called everyone’s parents.
Sure, I skipped that day too, with Rafe at my side, but we weren’t busted at the beach with beers in hand, dealing with subsequent calls to our parents.
Instead, we enjoyed a quiet day to ourselves, fishing on Podden’s pond, eating ham sandwiches and drinking ice-cold Cokes, and we made love in the back of his car without a care in the world. It was one of the best days of my life, honestly.
And not something I really should be thinking of.
Rafe and I sip at our beers, and finally, I poke at him a bit. “So, what’s the deal with tearing up your mom’s flowerbed in the back yard today?”
It’s a roundabout way of me asking him how he’s doing, and he knows exactly what I’m angling for as his eyes meet mine, his expression not one of forthcoming information but questions of his own.
I can see them, brutally clear, even if he doesn’t voice them aloud.
Do you really want to know?
Why should I tell you? We’re less than friends these days.
Can I really share this with you, or will you turn your anger back on me? Because I really can’t handle much more grief these days.
I reach out to him, placing my hand on his thigh and giving it a pat. There’s nothing sexual about the gesture, but I hope the solid warmth of my touch, and the fact that I don’t hesitate to reach out to him means that he can trust me with his sorrows.
“Lay it on me, Rafe,” I murmur quietly. “I know you can’t burden your mom. I know it’s hard to talk to your dad. I’m here, and I’m listening.”
Rafe physically deflates, his posture sagging as he cradles his beer bottle between his legs and stares at it. He doesn’t look my way, but his words are only for me. “I feel hopeless. Out of control.”
The power of his admission humbles me. I know Rafe as well as anyone, and he’s a strong, proud man.
He never admits to weakness, always stoically carrying whatever burden is on his shoulders.
Even back when we were together, he didn’t show his vulnerability to me because he didn’t want to weigh me down.
That he’s actually sharing with me now causes a shift within me that feels like loose sand on a beach dune.
He’s actually sliced himself open to let me see a part of him that, no matter how close we were before, I’d never been given the privilege of observing.
The fact that he’s doing so now causes more of the walls I erected to crumble, revealing more of my current self to him as well. It’s like peeling away a protective hide, leaving me raw and exposed.
I swallow past the lump of emotion in my throat and try to give him the best advice I can.
“I expect that’s normal given your situation.
And I expect there’s no easy fix. I don’t think you really need me telling you this, but I’ll say it anyway.
You need to make the most of what time you have left. ”
His gaze comes to me slowly.
Painfully.
The naked grief in his eyes touches me so deeply, I lean into him. “You’ve got this, Rafe. I’ll help you through it.”
“Why would you?” His disbelief is evident. It’s warranted, as well.
“Because, no matter what, I guess I still care about you. And I care deeply for your parents. You know that’s never changed. Let me be here for you. You only have to tell me what you need, and I’ll give it.”
I’m not prepared for the flash of heat in his eyes, nor am I ready for the way my blood quickens from it.
“I need to feel something more than grief and sadness,” he says bluntly. And then with challenge in his tone, he adds, “That may be the beer talking.”
My mouth curves into an unbidden smile. Rafe’s wit has always been effortless, his charm foolproof. It makes me want to play along, and that’s probably the beer talking on my part.
Surely a kiss couldn’t hurt, though. Take his mind off his problems for a bit. And it’s practically a harmless gesture. It’s not like we haven’t kissed before, and we both know that it won’t go anywhere past a mere touching of our lips.
But as I lean farther into him, I know that’s likely the biggest lie I’ve ever told myself.