Beautiful Disaster (40 page)

“This isn't right,” he said.

He was just above me, pressing his forehead against mine. I hoped that it was just half-hearted protesting, and that I could persuade him somehow that he was wrong. The way we couldn't seem to stay away from each other was unexplainable, but I didn't need an explanation anymore. I didn't even need an excuse. In that moment, I only needed him.

“I want you.”

“I need you to say it,” he said.

My insides were screaming for him, and I couldn't stand it a second longer. “I'll say whatever you want.”

“Then say that you belong to me. Say that you'll take me back. I won't do this unless we're together.”

“We've never really been apart, have we?” I asked, hoping it was enough.

He shook his head, his lips sweeping across mine. “I need to hear you say it. I need to know you're mine.”

“I've been yours since the second we met.”

My voice took the tone of begging. Any other time I would have been embarrassed, but I was beyond regret. I had fought my feelings, guarded them, and bottled them up. I had experienced the happiest moments of my life while at Eastern, all of them with Travis. Fighting, laughing, loving, or crying, if it was with him, I was where I wanted to be.

One side of his mouth turned up as he touched my face, and then his lips touched mine in a tender kiss. When I pulled him against me, he didn't resist.
His muscles tensed, and he held his breath as he slid inside me.

“Say it again,” he said.

“I'm yours,” I breathed. Every nerve, inside and out, ached for more. “I don't ever want to be apart from you again.”

“Promise me,” he said, groaning with another thrust.

“I love you. I'll love you forever.” The words were more of a sigh, but I met his eyes when I said them. I could see the uncertainty in his eyes vanish, and even in the dim light, his face brightened.

Finally satisfied, he sealed his mouth over mine.

· · ·

Travis woke me with kisses. My head felt heavy and fogged from the multiple drinks I'd had the night before, but the hour before I fell asleep replayed in my mind in vivid detail. Soft lips showered every inch of my hand, arm, and neck, and when he reached my lips, I smiled.

“Good morning,” I said against his mouth.

He didn't speak; his lips continued working against mine. His solid arms enveloped me, and then he buried his face in my neck.

“You're quiet this morning,” I said, running my hands over the bare skin of his back. I let them continue down his backside, and then I hooked my leg over his hip, kissing his cheek.

He shook his head. “I just want to be like this,” he whispered.

I frowned. “Did I miss something?”

“I didn't mean to wake you up. Why don't you just go back to sleep?”

I leaned back against the pillow, pulling up his chin. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them blotchy and red.

“What in the hell is wrong with you?” I asked, alarmed.

He put one of my hands in his and kissed it, pressing his forehead against my neck. “Just go back to sleep, Pigeon. Please?”

“Did something happen? Is it America?” With the last question, I sat up. Even seeing the fear in my eyes, his expression didn't change. He simply sighed and sat up with me, looking at my hand in his.

“No … America's fine. They got home around four this morning. They're still in bed. It's early, let's just go back to sleep.”

Feeling my heart pounding against my chest, I knew there was no chance of falling back asleep. Travis put both hands on each side of my face and kissed me. His mouth moved differently, as if he were kissing me for the last time. He lowered me to the pillow, kissed me once more, and then rested his head on my chest, wrapping both arms tightly around me.

Every possible reason for Travis's behavior flipped through my mind like television channels. I hugged him to me, afraid to ask. “Have you slept?”

“I … couldn't. I didn't wanna …” his voice trailed off.

I kissed his forehead. “Whatever it is, we'll get through it, okay? Why don't you get some sleep? We'll figure it out when you wake up.”

His head popped up and he scanned my face. I saw both mistrust and hope in his eyes. “What do you mean? That we'll get through it?”

My eyebrows pulled in, confused. I couldn't imagine what had happened while I was sleeping that would cause him so much anguish. “I don't know what's going on, but I'm here.”

“You're here? As in you're staying? With me?”

I knew that my expression must have been ridiculous, but my head was spinning from both the alcohol and Travis's bizarre questions. “Yes. I thought we discussed this last night?”

“We did.” He nodded, encouraged.

I searched the room with my eyes, thinking. His walls were no longer bare as they were when we had first met. They were now peppered with trinkets from places that we'd spent time together, and the white paint was interrupted by black frames holding pictures of me, us, Toto, and our group of friends. A larger frame of the two of us at my birthday party replaced the sombrero that once hung by a nail above his headboard.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You thought I was going to wake up pissed at you, didn't you? You thought I was going to leave?”

He shrugged, making a poor attempt at the indifference that used to come so easily to him. “That is what you're famous for.”

“Is that what you're so upset about? You stayed up all night worrying about what would happen when I woke up?”

He shifted as if his next words would be difficult. “I didn't mean for last night to happen like that. I was
a little drunk, and I followed you around the party like some fucking stalker, and then I dragged you out of there, against your will … and then we … ..” he shook his head, clearly disgusted with the memories playing in his mind.

“Had the best sex of my life?” I smiled, squeezing his hand.

Travis laughed once, the tension around his eyes slowly melting away. “So we're okay?”

I kissed him, touching the sides of his face with tenderness. “Yes, dummy. I promised, didn't I? I told you everything you wanted to hear, we're back together, and you're still not happy?”

His face compressed around his smile.

“Travis, stop. I love you,” I said, smoothing the worried lines around his eyes. “This absurd standoff could have been over at Thanksgiving, but …”

“Wait … what?” he interrupted, leaning back.

“I was fully prepared to give in on Thanksgiving, but you said you were done trying to make me happy, and I was too proud to tell you that I wanted you back.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I was just trying to make it easier on you! Do you know how miserable I've been?”

I frowned. “You looked just fine after break.”

“That was for you! I was afraid I'd lose you if I didn't pretend to be okay with being friends. I could have been with you this whole time? What the fuck, Pigeon?”

“I …” I couldn't argue; he was right. I had made us both suffer, and I had no excuse. “I'm sorry.”

“You're sorry? I damn near drank myself to death, I could barely get out of bed, I shattered my phone into a million pieces on New Year's Eve to keep from calling you … and you're sorry?”

I bit my lip and nodded, ashamed. I had no idea what he'd been through, and hearing him say the words made a sharp pain twist inside my chest. “I'm so … so sorry.”

“You're forgiven,” he said with a grin. “Don't ever do it again.”

“I won't. I promise.”

He flashed his dimple and shook his head. “I fucking love you.”

The weeks passed, and it was a surprise to me how quickly spring break was upon us. The expected stream of gossip and stares had vanished, and life had returned to normal. The basements of Eastern U hadn't held a fight in weeks. Adam made a point of keeping a low profile after the arrests had led to questions about what exactly had gone on that night, and Travis grew irritable waiting for a phone call to summon him to his last fight of the year, the fight that would pay most of his bills for the summer and well into the fall.

The snow was still thick on the ground, and on the Friday before break, one last snowball fight broke out on the crystalline lawn. Travis and I weaved through the flying ice to the cafeteria, and I held tight to his arm, trying to avoid both the snowballs and falling to the ground.

“They're not going to hit you, Pidge. They know better,” Travis said, holding his red, cold nose to my cheek.

“Their aim isn't synonymous with their fear of your temper, Trav.”

He held me against his side, rubbing my coat sleeve with his hand as he guided me through the chaos. We came to an abrupt halt when a handful of girls screamed past as they were pelted by the merciless aim of the baseball team. Once they cleared the path, Travis led me safely to the door.

“See? I told you we'd make it,” he said with a smile.

His amusement faded when a tightly packed snowball exploded against the door, just between our faces. Travis's glare scanned the lawn, but the sheer numbers of students darting in every direction doused his urge to retaliate.

He pulled open the door, watching the melting snow slide down the painted metal to the ground. “Let's get inside.”

“Good idea,” I nodded.

He led me by the hand down the buffet line, piling different steaming dishes on one tray. The cashier had given up her predictable baffled expression weeks before, used to our routine.

“Abby.” Brazil nodded to me and then winked at Travis. “You guys have plans next week?”

“We're staying here. My brothers are coming in,” Travis said, distracted as he organized our lunches, dividing the small Styrofoam plates in front of us on the table.

“I'm going to kill David Lapinski!” America announced, shaking snow out of her hair as she approached.

“Direct hit!” Shepley laughed. America shot him a warning glare and his laugh turned into a nervous chuckle. “I mean … what an asshole.”

We laughed at his regretful expression as he watched her stomp to the buffet line, following quickly after.

“He's so whipped,” Brazil said with a disgusted look on his face.

“America's a little uptight,” Travis explained. “She's meeting his parents this week.”

Brazil nodded, his eyebrows shooting up. “So they're …”

“There,” I said, nodding with him. “It's permanent.”

“Whoa,” Brazil said. The shock didn't leave his face as he picked at his food, and I could see the confusion swirl around him. We were all young, and Brazil couldn't wrap his head around Shepley's commitment.

“When you have it, Brazil … you'll get it,” Travis said, smiling at me.

The room was abuzz with excitement from both the spectacle outside and the quickly approaching last hours before break. As the seats filled, the steady stream of chatter grew to a loud echo, the volume rising as everyone began talking over the noise.

By the time Shepley and America returned with their trays, they had made up. She happily sat in the empty seat next to me, prattling on about her impending meet-the-parents moment. They would leave that evening for his parents' house. It was the perfect excuse for one of America's infamous meltdowns.

I watched her pick at her bread as she fretted about what to pack and how much luggage she could take without appearing pretentious, but she seemed to be holding it together.

“I told you, baby. They're gonna love you. Love you like I love you, love you,” Shepley said, tucking her hair behind her ear. America took a breath and the corners of her mouth turned up in the way they always did when he made her feel more at ease.

Travis's phone shivered, causing it to glide a few inches across the table. He ignored it, regaling Brazil with the story of our first game of poker with his brothers. I glanced at the display, tapping Travis on the shoulder when I read the name.

“Trav?”

Without apology, he turned away from Brazil and gave me his undivided attention. “Yeah, Pigeon?”

“You might want to get that.”

He looked down at his cell phone and sighed. “Or not.”

“It could be important.”

He pursed his lips before holding the receiver to his ear. “What's up, Adam?” His eyes searched the room as he listened, nodding occasionally. “This is my last fight, Adam. I'm not sure yet. I won't go without her and Shep's leaving town. I know … I heard you. Hmmm … that's not a bad idea, actually.”

My eyebrows pulled in, seeing his eyes brighten with whatever idea Adam had enlightened him with. When Travis hung up the phone, I stared at him expectantly.

“It's enough to pay rent for the next eight months. Adam got John Savage. He's trying to go pro.”

“I haven't seen him fight, have you?” Shepley asked, leaning forward.

Travis nodded. “Just once in Springfield. He's good.”

“Not good enough,” I said. Travis leaned in and kissed my forehead with soft appreciation. “I can stay home, Trav.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“I don't want you to get hit like you did last time because you're worried about me.”

“No, Pidge.”

“I'll wait up for you,” I said, trying to seem happier with the idea than I felt.

“I'm going to ask Trent to come. He's the only one I'd trust so I can concentrate on the fight.”

“Thanks a lot, asshole,” Shepley grumbled.

“Hey, you had your chance,” Travis said, only half teasing.

Shepley's mouth pulled to the side with chagrin. He still felt at fault for the night at Hellerton. He apologized to me daily for weeks, but his guilt finally became manageable enough for him to suffer in silence. America and I tried to convince him that he wasn't to blame, but Travis would always hold him accountable.