I laughed, shrugging. “I don’t know, Patrick. Iguess I just wanted to see what else there is.”
“Well? You’relookin’at it! Is iteverythin’yahoped?”
The accent had thickened. He was annoyed, and Iswallowed at the hurt clotting in my throat.
Whatever was eating at him had been feastingfor a while.
“What’s your problem?”
He sighed heavily, gripping the short hair atthe back of his head. He had buzzed the mohawk down, letting it all grown in.Another change.
“Nothing. Sorry. It’s nothing.”
“If you didn’t want me going away, why didn’tyou say anything?”
“Kinsey, stop.”
“No, come on! You drive me down here, lay theguilt on, and now, you won’t talk to me? Grow up!”
He bit his lips between his teeth and turned tome, glaring hard with sour irritation. “I guess I’m justrealizin’that I’m not enough for you, that’s all.”
“Huh? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Look, I didn’twannabe that guy that tellsyawhat to do. I didn’twannalook like some clingy little bitch,beggin’yato stay. I didn’twannaholdyaback.” He lookedback to the sprawling campus, and thrust a hand forward. “But it’s just so far,and I can’t help but feel like I’m not enough to makeyastay.”
“Patrick,” I said, grabbing his hand andpulling it to my lap. “This has absolutely nothing to do with you, so knock itoff! You are enough for me, and we will make it work, okay?”
He turned to me, studying my face with thoseeyes, as though gauging if I was serious. And then, suddenly, his facereflected determination and he nodded, squeezing my hand. “Okay, yeah. You’reright.”
He pulled my hand to his lips, kissing mythumb, and he smiled with both dimples. The panicked Patrick, the one that knewsomething I didn’t, had faded, and my adoring Patrick was back.
“Are you hungry? I’mfeckin’starvin’.”
I was, and we stopped at an Arby’s, got acouple of sandwiches and some curly fries, and headed back with the windowsdown and the radio on. We talked as though the serious turn had never beentaken. We laughed as though we weren’t heading toward the most difficultchallenge in our young lives, and we smiled as though things weren’t about tochange forever.
But, then we neared the outskirts of RiverCanyon, where civilization had yet to dig its greedy hands into the woodedareas and plant its streetlamps and strip malls. Patrick veered the truck downone of the side roads, with nothing but the headlights guiding our way towardthe shore. It was a place we had grown to know well in our make-out years; alittle secluded strip of beach that seldom got any visitors. It was a place we couldgo to get away from our parents, kiss without the harassment of annoyingsiblings, and talk like adults without feeling like kids.
Patrick parked the truck and got out. He camearound and opened my door, helping me down as he always had, and wordlesslywent to the bed of the truck to lower the tailgate, and lay out the old blankethe kept in the back of the cab.
He stopped, turned, and bent down to kiss me.There was determination in that kiss, a powerful driving force that came fromthe most primitive part of him. His arms went to my waist, mine went to hisneck, and when he lifted me up, my legs circled his hips. He sat on the back ofthe truck, exploring the furthest depths of my mouth with his tongue, cuppingmy face in his hands.
I moaned into him as I pulled at his hair, andI moaned again as I grabbed his shirt in my hands, attempting to rip it fromhis back.
“Kinsey,” he said in between gasps, pullingaway from me.
I noticed the glistening of his eyes in themoonlight, those beautiful eyes, and my heart clenched. I laughed to downplayhis emotional display, to keep myself from following suit.
“Are youcrying?” I asked,teasing him. “You really are a little bitch.”
“Screw you.” His eyes rolled. “No, I’m notcryin’. I’m just …” He cleared his throat, and shook hishead. “I just love you, okay?”
What he didn’t say was, “I’m going to missyou,” because Patrick Kinney wasn’t a little bitch.
Stubborn Irish bastard.
I looked in his eyes, as my fingers curled underhis t-shirt, and pulled it up and off, throwing it aside. “I love you too.”
His lips sought me out again, thrusting histongue back to where it belonged, and maneuvered us both to lay back againstthe old blanket. My shirt was removed, and then, my bra. His shorts went after,and then, mine. Our hands roamed, our fingers explored, until his hips werepressed against me. So hard, and so close, and all at once, everything we weredoing, had been doing, didn’t feel like enough.
