32. SEVEN YEARS AGO
THIRTY-TWO
SEVEN YEARS AGO
WINTER, SENIOR YEAR
PAIGE
Using my key, I twisted the lock to the front door of the Morrow house, then quietly closed it behind me. As I tiptoed through the living room, I held my hands out with the grocery bags—trying to keep them from rustling.
Quiiiet.
I knew Christine was working, but the house was silent aside from the small creaks the floor was making under my feet. And there was only a small bit of gray overcast light trickling in from the window beside the big comfy chair I loved.
My mouth pulled up at the sight of the Christmas tree. Their house may have been small, but it had the perfect spot, just beside the blanket chest for their little tree. My eyes peered down the hallway toward the bedrooms.
There was no question in my mind that Linc would still be sleeping if he could—but if Maisie was up, there was no way he would still be sleeping.
All of my excitement rushed straight to my abs and tightened, shaking my hands a bit—fighting a happy dance—and the bags rattled.
I made it to the kitchen and put down my supplies, smiling. I still had a shot at the birthday breakfast invasion. Underneath all of my shit on the kitchen table, I saw a piece of paper peeking out under one of the bags.
I pulled it out, noticing it was a card . . . with a Polaroid taped to it. My smile stretched.
A picture of Linc from when he was . . . nine, I think.
I could tell because he was sporting the scar under his chin he got from his skateboarding phase.
I snort a small laugh at the memory. Ellis tried too.
Kerplunk one, kerplunk two.
In the picture, Linc’s sitting in front of the Christmas tree, road-burned chin lifted high. His hazel eyes peek out under shaggy dark hair, while a one-year-old Maisie stares adoringly at her older brother.
My eyes traveled to the note written in black marker on the white strip below the image.
Her hero and mine.
Love you always, Little Man.
Love, Momma
My eyes immediately misted. Jesus.
I knew Christine was proud of Linc —how could she not be?— but I loved seeing this. I knew it would mean so much to him, and I just . . .
Ugh. I grunted, giving a quick shake of my head, before I put the card back down on the table, suddenly realizing . . .
Nine years old, which would make this picture from the last Christmas with their dad . . .
Fucking loser.
I start to unpack the bags, letting the small bit of movement try to cycle through my jolt of anger.
“If nothing else, we kept his treasure,” Gram had snickered to me once when I was on a tangent about Mr. Morrow. His treasure being Linc and Maisie.
My mouth twisted with an idea. It would take more energy from me, but I couldn’t fight the urge once I had it.
I slowly walked out of the kitchen, passing quickly through the living room to the hallway with the bedrooms.
It took some serious restraint not to slip into Linc’s room and wake him up the way I wanted to—but Maisie was home. Which is why I kept walking to her room.
I opened the door slowly. Her walls were decked out in purple —everything . My mouth ticked up as I saw the paper mache panda bear. A project I’m pretty sure earned me and Linc a Brownie badge.
It was for her class’s China chapter at school. Maisie offered to make the classroom panda and Linc and I got . . . fucking creative. Cutting up a wire hanger for the nails was a nice touch, though, if I do say so myself.
How she slept with it in here was beyond me, though. The googly eyes were the shit of horror movies.
But she was Linc’s sister after all.
I walked up to her bed. Her brown hair was . . . everywhere, and her little body was fully starfished on the bed. I leaned down, gently patting her back.
She jerked up quickly with a gasp, brushing her hair out of her blinking, sleepy brown eyes. After her face was clear she said, “Paigey?”
I smiled. “Hey, babe. Wanna make a surprise breakfast for Brother?”
Ellis’s eyebrow lifted. “Breakfast in bed?” he mused, not so-subtly. “I see you, Michaels. Wasting no time.”
I snorted as Linc worked to hold the inhale he’d just taken off the joint we were passing around. “Dude,” he scoffed, still holding his breath, then released. “My sister was there too.”
Ellis made an ooo noise, and I laughed as we all sat bundled in a little huddle at the cove.
After Maisie and I surprised Linc with french toast and bacon, the three of us went to the old movie theater. Since it was Christmas Eve, they always played a few holiday classics —for only three bucks a person— you just had to dodge any ceiling tiles that may fall on you.
Like a game.
Then we met up with Ellis back at my house, so Gram could watch Maisie while we went and took part in our other birthday tradition.
Smoking weed we found the old-fashioned sketchy way—on a side street near the boardwalk.
Linc handed me the joint next and I took my little baby puff, coughing through both the inhale and the exhale, passing it to Ellis, while simultaneously trying to breathe.
“Your perfect lungs always reject the fun, Pip,” Linc chuckled, pulling me into him as he used one of the big rocks as a backrest.
His hands around my waist relaxed me a bit, and my lungs slowly expanded. It reminded me of the night we came here after we kissed for the first time a couple of months ago, and a warmth settled in my chest
He was right, though. I pretty much only smoked on his birthday, and it showed.
Ellis took his puff, then another, then handed the joint back to Linc. “Did you get him a creepy little moon box too?”
“Hey,” I said as Linc chuckled. “I love my music box.”
The truth was, I hadn’t given Linc his present yet. I’d spent an obscene amount of time on it, and up until today, I was sure he’d love it. But I was hoping the weed would relax me enough to actually give it to him when we went back to my house.
Linc took a drag off the joint, I could see the tip illuminating in my peripherals. A moment later, his hand lifted to my cheek, pulling me toward his mouth.
I thought he just wanted a kiss, which I was always down to give him, but then a trickle of smoke caught in my throat. His hand was still hooked around my waist, and his fingers were dancing just below my three layers—jean jacket, flannel, tank top.
I breathed in, the smoke burned a bit, but I held it in my chest as he gave me a small peck, then pulled his face away, and I coughed through the heavy exhale but no smoke came out.
“Damn,” I muttered, and the boys chuckled.
Linc handed the joint over to Ellis and I sat up, suddenly.
I felt bad . . . for a second, I kind of forgot he was here.
Still, sitting up, something about the quick movement made me feel even higher, and I giggled at the floaty feeling in my head.
“Uh oh,” Ellis chuckled.
“We lost her,” Linc laughed, still holding my waist.
I huffed another laugh, glancing back and forth between them, then at the joint. “Think we can pass it between all three of us?” my floaty brain wondered out loud.
Ellis let out a sound —of praise or surprise, I couldn’t be sure— then he said, “Paige Michaels wants to try a three-way shotgun? You turn eighteen, get a boyfriend, and think you’re a little badass or something?”
My eyes narrowed. “Always been a badass, Batman.”
Ellis chuckled. “You’re damn right.” Then he sat up. “All right. What’s the order? My vote is Paige goes last.” He looked at me. “No offense—just from a lung capacity standpoint.”
“How is that not offensive?” I interjected, but it was ignored when Ellis simply looked at Linc.
Linc’s chin tilted toward me, studying me for a second, a silent question of consent —”You want to do this?”
I guess I hadn’t really thought about it. It was just a silly little path my brain decided to take in an attempt to make sure Ellis wasn’t feeling left out—which I wasn’t even sure if he was or if I was just . . . high.
I was probably just high.
But I gave a small shrug, suddenly curious. “Why not?” I silently told him back with a small tilt of my chin.
After another second, Linc said, “Ellis, me, Pip. That’s the order.”
I nodded and a sudden rush of excitement took me by surprise. It was the same feeling I got when Linc was watching me or when we were telling each other about our dirty dreams—it was lit with that same deep dark desire I had kept all to myself until recently when Linc wanted to know any and everything I’ve ever fantasized about. It was sweet—how much he wanted to turn me on.
And I was suddenly very curious to see my two favorite guys in a near-kiss.
LINC
Ellis’s eyes lifted back at me with challenge and I chuckled, taking one more peek down at my pretty girlfriend, high as a fucking kite.
Her big blue eyes were curiously glancing between Ellis and me, and Ellis said, “We can use our hands.”
Paige inhaled sharply. It wasn’t audible, but I could feel it because my arm was still around her waist.
She didn’t want us to use our hands.
My eyebrows lifted and so did my lips.
She liked watching two guys?
I fucking loved learning something new about her. It happened less and less the longer we knew each other, but since we’d started officially dating, there’d been a few surprises.
I wasn’t sure I could really deliver on this one since I had zero interest in kissing anyone but her, but . . . I could shotgun with Ellis.
My fingers snuck back under Paige’s jean jacket, and then under her other layers, just enough to lightly rub the soft skin above her hip, letting the warmth of our bodies fuel my objective.
Give my girl what she wants.
She let me watch her all the time. It was the least I could do.
When I turned to Ellis and didn’t lift my hand, he understood and scooted a little closer.
Paige sat forward a bit, still in the V of my legs, as Ellis leaned into me. His mouth ticked up in the corner, and after a second, so did mine. I understood silently that he knew this was working Paige up too.
I mean, he was her other best friend. Maybe she’d talked to him about this stuff before.
Either way, it felt like some early-2000s movie where two hot girls were about to make out on a dare or something.
But it didn’t matter—turning Paige on in any capacity turned me on. My obsession with her was endless.
Ellis took the drag, inhaled deep, and then closed the last bit of distance between us.
With my arm still around Paige, my fingers lightly brushed along her hip as I opened my mouth, not even an inch from my friend’s lips, and I accepted the smoke.
Our lips brushed, his breath was hot and foreign on my tongue, tasting like the skunky weed we were passing around.
But I inhaled deep and kept my face close to his. Paige’s fingers gripped my thigh a little tighter, and the corners of my mouth ticked up, stirring the erection that was pretty much ready to tag in any time she was around.
I could feel more than see her mystified gaze as Ellis released the rest of his exhale, and I closed my mouth. He smiled, just as the smallest noise from Paige turned both of our faces toward her, our noses bumping slightly in the process.
Ellis chuckled softly, but I was still holding the smoke. He clapped my shoulder and gave me the smallest nudge toward her, but said, “I see adventure in your future, bud.”
My smile grew as I inched my face toward Paige. She did too, though there was a blazing heat in her eyes that made me crash my lips against hers.
I still released the smoke slowly, in waves, so she could breathe it in between my kisses. I licked my tongue inside her mouth —I couldn’t help it— before I pulled my lips from hers.
She released one small cough, and a puff of smoke came with it before we cheered, falling into a pile on the rocks, laughing.
Laughing, laughing, laughing.
After a few long seconds with Paige on my lap, Ellis on hers and my torso draped over Ellis’s legs, Paige said, “Oh man, guys. The threesome rumors . . .”
Only a beat passed before we all burst into laughter again.
Hours later, I laid in Paige’s bed, her cheek on my chest, while I ran my fingers through her messy blond waves.
Ellis came back for the holiday fun until his dad called and asked him to come home. Darlene and Maisie had passed out about halfway through The Muppets’ Christmas Caro l and that’s when Paige and I snuck away for a bit.
It had been a great fucking day. It always was —she always made it special—but we hadn’t had a second alone. I nestled my nose into her hair and took a deep breath.
“You liked watching me and Ellis earlier,” I said, in a half-dazed state.
Her hold around my torso tightened as she shoved her nose into my chest with a small whine, “Why are you always paying attention?”
I chuckled. “It was hard to miss,” I murmured against her hair, then pressed my lips to kiss her head.
She cleared her throat and sat up a bit. “I—uh . . .” she trailed off, then gave a quick shake of her head. “I hope you don’t think it’s weird. I just . . .” She seemed to lose her words again.
Nervous.
I sat up too and pulled her into me, quickly saying, “No.” I hugged her closer. “Never weird.”
God, I was a fucking simp for her —and I didn’t care. I literally couldn’t help but touch her now that I was allowed to. I just had to trust her that she’d tell me if I was being too much.
She hadn’t yet. She met my touch with one of her own, running her fingers through my hair. “It’s not like I want you running around making out with dudes,” she said quietly.
I chuckled, pressing my lips to hers. “It’s fine, Pip. I knew you were into it.”
She sighed. “You’re both just so . . . obnoxiously hot. And I just—” she stopped herself, but then released her breath.
I smiled. “You think I’m hot?”
Her palms dragged down her face but her eyes glared. Another second passed, and I decided to take pity on her. “No explanation necessary, Pip. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t reading it wrong.”
Her blue eyes became a bit lighter in the soft glow of her bedroom, and her mouth ticked up at the corner. Her eyes flicked down, then back up, and she shrugged. “I don’t know. I definitely wouldn’t like seeing you kiss some girl—or some guy, for that matter,” she said, quietly. “But I was just . . . curious and we trust Ellis. I knew he wouldn’t take it too far.”
My mouth pinched at the corner, and I pressed my lips to her hairline, then leaned back against the headboard and brought her with me, breathing deep.
I huffed a small laugh at a sudden thought, and she said, “What?”
I sighed, threading our fingers together. “It’s just . . . interesting. You’ve been in a bunch of plays where you had to kiss guys and it only ever made me crazy jealous. Though, I guess I see what you mean. I definitely paused the Rent stills on your kiss with Margaret.”
Shamefully, I’d “wrestled” to that image too.
She gave me a playful elbow nudge and sat up quickly, turning toward me. Her eyes looked the tiniest bit heavier—tired, but intrigued. “You were jealous?” A smirk tilted her mouth, and my eyes followed the curve of her pillowy bottom lip, but I laughed.
“Uh-yeah, Pip. Where do you think two-a-days came from?” I chuckled again.
Her mouth sloped with a small shake of her head. “Aw, I’m sorry . . .”
I leaned in, kissing her lips—trying to catch the apology and eat it—but then I pulled back a bit, keeping my forehead pressed against hers. “Don’t feel bad. You’re amazing on stage. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to look at me the way you looked at them.”
Her eyes pinched. “At them?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, like in the moon movie with Ellis, when you’re staring up at him on the hill.”
I kept the fact that I’d paused on that frame so many times I felt like the computer itself was judging me—for more wholesome reasons than the still of her and Margaret.
The expression she gave at the end of the movie was devastating. The big blue eyes staring up at the Fisherman like he was her whole world.
She lifted her chin, a small smile pulling. “But that’s fake.”
I shrugged, awkwardly. “You make it look real.”
In an instant, she straddled my lap and held my jaw with each of her hands. My fingers gripped her waist immediately.
I grazed the soft sweatpants she’d changed into before the earlier game of charades, and my hands traveled up to her bare skin on her lower belly, peeking out below her Nightmare Before Christmas crop top.
So. Fucking. Cute.
And I was hers.
She leaned down, taking my lips, and her tongue slid to mine, caressing and tangling. A low hum buzzed through my chest as she raked her fingers through my hair —tugging— something I’d gathered she loved, and fuck, so did I.
There was possession in her touch as she held me in place, exploring my mouth with licks and nibbles—we could lose ourselves to it for hours.
But she gave a small bite to my bottom lip, then kissed me again before she pulled back. “I love you, Linc. I’ve been feeling weird about saying it . . .”
I pulled her into me, hugging her this time. She was basically in a sloth formation around my torso while I held her, sitting on the bed, and I shoved my face into her neck. “I love you too, Paige. You know that. I was nervous to say it too.”
She tightened her hold around me, and we stayed there for long seconds, wrapped in each other, wrapped in love.
After another moment passed, she exhaled hard. “Do you want your birthday present?”
My fingers trailed along her lower back. I already have everything I need, I thought.
She laughed. “I am not your present, you goob.”
I chuckled too. “Okay, but do you have to get off my lap to give it to me?”
A soft laugh pulled her away. She gave me a kiss and stood up. “Stay there,” she said.
I sat up, adjusting my boner. I was getting pretty good at it—like a card trick.
Paige shuffled over to her closet and pulled out a guitar, turning around. “The guitar isn’t the present. It’s—it’s Jack’s—he let me borrow it.”
My eyes widened. “You’re learning guitar?”
She shook her head. “No, not really. I mean, maybe—but . . .” she trailed off, and I smiled. She took another breath and sat down at the foot of the bed. “I just learned one song.”
I fought the urge to take out my camera. She seemed nervous, so I sat back, already filled with wonderment as she took a deep breath, then started to strum.
My smile stretched at the intro chords —her face— as she watched her fingers. The moonlight from the window caught her profile and outlined her lips as she started to sing.
And good fucking God, it was beautiful.
Everything about it.
She sang about being someone, belonging—finding hope through the tragedy of circumstance.
As I watched her, my beautiful girl singing our song, I couldn’t help but remember the first time we heard it, right after my dad left.
Paige suggested a drive, but we were ten . . .
We were sitting in Darlene’s parked station wagon in their driveway, pretending we were on a road trip.
“Guess it’s not just the musical Oklahoma! that sucks. So does the weather,” Paige mumbled from the passenger’s seat just as a series of acoustic chords repeated through the speakers a few times, and a raspy voice started to sing.
We stopped talking or looking out the windows. We just listened.
The words found their way to my chest, swelling and mixing all of the nervous and unknown feelings while the hand holding mine —her hand— ironed the anger, the fear, into something softer. Warmer.
I looked down at the music player, seeing “Fast Car” by Tracy Chapman running across the screen.
It felt like the kind of song that existed just so people could play it loudly, windows down, cruising down the freeway—and like the imaginary wind from our trip, the chords blew a refreshing breeze through me.
I wasn’t sure if it was just what I needed to hear or if there was magic in the music.
Darlene had said that once. She said, “Songs were songs, but moments made the music,” and I think it stuck with us.
The feeling of the song had the essence of escape while carrying the weight of something real. Steadfast.
Hopeful.
My mom was going to need me. My sister needed me.
But my breaths filled with a different air as I looked at Paige, as I listened to the song. I realized that it wasn’t the fact that we were pretending to be on a road trip—pretending to escape—that was making me feel better.
I realized I was in the presence of someone I didn’t have to pretend with. That this moment steadily and surely sucked, and I didn’t have to pretend it didn’t.
Not with her.
Even though she was really good at make-believe, I thought, just as her song ended. Emotion clogged my throat as I stared back at her. She learned the song that was ours, but the song itself was just so special.
That day, when he left, it felt like any room I’d made for him in my heart freed up and she slid in seamlessly. Like it was her place all along.
I leaned into her, kissing her again, telling her I loved her.
And I did. I loved her so fucking much.
“Happy birthday, baby,” she said, and I melted.