“Lyric,” Zane starts to say next to me and I hold up my hand to shut him down.
“You knew,” I say, rather than ask. Zane at least has the decency to look at the floor while he nods his head. Another pierce of betrayal to my heart.
“He asked me not to say anything?—"
“Stop!” I hold my hand up again; this time, a few tears escape. “I know he was your friend first. I just thought I was your friend too.”
“You are,” he starts to argue back.
“Friends don’t lie to each other! Do you have any idea how lost I’ve felt these past months? Like I did something wrong? I would have cheered him on if he had told me. At least I wouldn’t look like an idiot being blindsided like everyone else!” My last words come out louder than anticipated. I hear Momma’s voice call my name, but it’s too late. I’m already humiliated enough. Without thinking, I run for the door.
I kick off my wedge heels and run barefoot down the sidewalk. I don’t run home but to the place that for the last two years has become my favorite. I run to the park in the center of town. I need our tree, I need the sentiment, I need the memories in order to push everything else away. I want to plan and figure out how I can make this better. I fold myself up and sit under the branches of the huge maple. I want to puke at the same time I want to laugh. Everything is a mess. What started out as whatshould have been one of the best days in my life is a complete nightmare.
I don’t want to go to Alabama without Colt. All he has to do is ask and I will go wherever he is. I never truly had a plan for college, like some kids my age did. Until two years ago, I had been fine believing I would go to community college here or even a state school. The minute Colt brought up Alabama, I started building my future around the classes and majors they offered. Not having a plan before Colt didn’t scare me. Going there now, alone, does.
Lyric: Can you meet me at our tree? I need to talk to you.
I text out the words and hit send before I can stop myself. My eyes pinch shut while a wave of shame ripples through me. My cell phone twirls in my fingers. Minutes pass before I get a response.
Colt: Sure
I slide my arms around my knees, hugging myself and staring at the deep indentation of our initials. After two years and the change of seasons, it hasn’t faded. Time ticks by and the sun sinks in the sky. The park’s lights pop on, creating a yellow glow, warming my surroundings. Footsteps crunching on gravel pull my attention.
My face tilts up to his. Colt’s button-down shirt is rumpled, a few of the buttons popped off. His long locks fall over his eyes.
“What happened?” I ask standing, my hand reaching out to cradle his face, to trace the red bruise that is already turning purple around his eye.
“Difference of opinion,” Colt mutters, and I notice his lip looks split as well.
“Your dad did this?” I ask, stepping forward again, only this time, Colt pulls back.
“Like I said, we don’t agree on my life choices.”
“That’s not a reason for a father to hit his son, Colt,” I tell him, my voice rising an octave. My hands ball at my sides. I blame Mr. Street for the way Colt feels about himself. For the way Colt always is trying to get his approval when he doesn’t need it.
“What did you want to talk about?” he asks, his eyes anywhere else but on me.
“Seriously?” I ask. “How about the bomb you just dropped. Were you even going to tell me?”
“Yes,” he huffs. “I tried to. It was hard though. I knew you would be mad if I told you and I didn’t want to ruin the rest of your senior year.”
“Colt, I have done nothing but worry about you and what’s been happening to us since you came back from spring break. That’s when you should have told me. Not minutes before you announced it to a room full of people. You think I haven’t noticed the deflection or the change in your behavior. I’m not stupid!” I don’t care that I’m ranting. It feels too good to get this off my chest. How could he possibly hide this for months?
“I know you’re not. This was something I needed to do for myself. After we got to Alabama, it just didn’t feel right. The calling I thought I’d feel to the football field wasn’t there. Listening to Zane talk got me really thinking that maybe I was made for something different. It runs in my blood,” he answers, his face slowly shutting down. I barely recognize the person in front of me.
“Fine,” I tell him, my shoulders shrugging. “I’ll support any decision you make. So what about us?”
Colt’s eyes snap to mine before roaming over my face down to my shoes, the color deepening, and I get a fearful feeling it’sas if he’s trying to take this moment and store it in his memory. “You should still go to Alabama. They have a great program for the classes you wanted. Don’t change your plans because I did. You should still go.”
My hand swipes the tears that start rolling down my cheeks. “Fine. And then what? Can I write you? Can we visit each other when you’re on leave?” I’m bargaining at this point. My stomach wants to roll at how clingy I sound, but I’m desperate. I love him. And love does stupid things to people who think they’re about to lose someone or something very important to them.
His head turns, and I watch his throat bob. “Yeah. We can write.”
“Okay,” I sniffle. “Can you hold me now?”
In two strides, Colt’s arms wrap around me. My own hold tightens to his middle as if I can anchor him to me and stay in this moment until everything is better. Until the sadness and betrayal evaporate, and I’m not left feeling torn apart. I need Colt.
Chapter 7
