Becoming His (11 page)

“I’m sorry. I swear I’m not trying to authenticate every blonde joke ever made.”

Max releases an easy laugh, and I feel his fingers constrict for the briefest second on my waist before he releases me and takes a step back.

“You didn’t close your eyes this time. That’s progress.” He smiles at his own joke. “I think that one was my fault. Are you okay?”

I nod, not allowing myself to analyze the slight squeeze to my hips as Max takes another step back making me wonder if it even happened. He continues over to his Jeep, retrieving his tool box while I head back over to my car.

“So how do you know Jess?” I ask, praying the answer isn’t a sexual encounter.

He glances over to me from under the hood of the car and his eyes seem to go vacant for a moment before he turns his attention back to the engine. “Keith, her brother. He and I were pretty good friends.”

My breath catches in my throat as I recall seeing him and Keith hanging out on multiple occasions while visiting Jess; it’s been so long I’ve somehow completely forgotten the brief encounters, which seems crazy since I’ve always paid too much attention to Max Miller. Guilt resides within me for having forgotten about their friendship, and for the pain that I know Max feels from having lost a friend.

The memory of Keith causes a sudden rush of both sadness and love. He was always such a happy person. Most of my friends’ older brothers would generally ignore us or tease us incessantly. Keith, however, had always been an exception and had become a friend to me as well.

When Jess and I were juniors, he had been up driving really early one morning, heading out to surf. He’d stopped on a particularly narrow stretch of road to help a woman with a flat tire. Another driver rushing to work wasn’t paying attention and hit the rear end of the car where Keith was kneeling. He died instantly. It was very traumatic to Jess and her parents. It had been for most of our town; everyone knew and liked Keith.

I lean against the car lost in thought.

“Do you remember that zip line swing they had?” I ask, tracing the piping around my car door with my index finger. “I was terrified of that thing.” I feel a small smile lift the corners of my mouth as the memory plays in my mind. “One night, Jess and I had stayed up really late and she talked me into going on it.” I pause again, picturing their dark yard and can feel the grass, cold and wet against my bare feet, as we giggled and raced to the swing with the moon so large and full in the sky it seemed too close.

“I climbed all the way to the top and froze. Deer in the headlights froze. I couldn’t move! I was terrified to swing, I was terrified to get down, I was stuck. Jess was sure her parents would be mad at us because it was like two in the morning, so she went and got poor Keith out of bed. He climbed up on that tiny platform with me where I shook like a leaf and promised I’d be okay. Then he covered my hands with his so I wouldn’t lose my grip.

“I think he eventually had to give me a little shove.” I smile, shaking my head with a quiet laugh. “I remember I felt like I was flying.” I pause, recalling the energy that had consumed me that night. “Keith and I were laughing so hard. The three of us stayed up all night going on it over and over again.”

I’m not positive why I share this particular memory. Sometimes tragedy happens to someone so bright and wonderful that regardless of the kind and beautiful sentiments people tell you about them, or where they’ve gone, it’s still difficult to understand why they were taken too soon.

I glance over at Max; his eyes are soft and warm, confirming he understands my story without saying a word.

“You definitely aren’t every girl.” He studies me briefly before turning his attention back to my car while I try not to interpret his words in a manner that will make my heart further accelerate.

“Okay, try to start it.”

I climb in and turn the key. The engine instantly purrs to life.

“You did it!” I cheer with a bit too much enthusiasm. I swallow, commanding myself to tone it down. “Thanks, Max. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You spent your afternoon fixing my car when you were obviously heading somewhere.” I eye his dark washed jeans and fitted gray T-shirt as I lean against my car, leaving the door open to prevent myself from stepping any closer.

“It’s no big deal,” Max insists with a shrug. The slight movement causes another wave of his scent to wash over me.

“Yes, it is.” His eyes bore into mine for a moment before I blink and look over my shoulder.

“I’ll see you later, Max. And be careful on those rocks. They’re slippery,” I say, trying to ease the awkwardness that I’m not certain how I created, but feel.

Max purses his lips and smiles, then shakes his head as he walks back to his Jeep. I wait until he gets in before driving away.

Rather than going straight home, I take a detour and go see Jess. I don’t even think to call; my car just seems to navigate itself there. Thinking about Keith reminds me of how difficult it was for her to deal with his passing and has filled me with a sense of melancholy that’s directing me toward her.

Jess’s mom Cindy answers the door gifting me with a warm smile—Keith’s smile. I return it, suppressing the surge of sadness threatening to invade me as she grabs my shoulders and pulls me through the door and into a hug. Cindy is one of the warmest and most compassionate people I’ve ever met; Keith was so much like her.

“Jess, Ace is here!” Cindy calls over my head, still holding me securely. The lingering scent of cinnamon brings back the truckload of memories from the last fifteen years.

Jess appears from the family room with a grin on her face.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I was just in the area and crossed my fingers,” I say, giving her a guilty smile.

“Don’t apologize! You’re welcome anytime.” Cindy gives me a final squeeze before making her way into the kitchen.

I spend the next couple of hours on the back porch with Jess, swaying on the swing that overlooks the zip line. Seeing that it’s still up makes my heart warm, although it’s obvious with a quick glance that it hasn’t been used in years.

For a moment I want to relive the story again with Jess, see if she can remember it as vividly as I do. I don’t, because despite the happy memory, death evokes depressed emotions for me, and I don’t want this to be a sad visit. The last few times I’ve been here the visits have been tear filled.

We discuss school for a while and how it differs from our expectations. Jess talks about New York and the chaos and excitement; all the while a look of longing is in her eyes making it evident that she loves it.

“So I hear you’re dating some college guy,” Jess says, surprising me as I lean forward to stand up.

“As opposed to a high school guy?” I joke.

“What’s he like? Max said it’s pretty serious.”

“Max?” I question, feeling my eyebrows rise in shock.

Jess nods, giving me a knowing look. “Yeah, when you went to find Kendall last week at Karli’s.”

I recall Max saying that Jess spoke highly of me and instantly want to ask what was said, but know that will be too obvious.

“His name’s Eric.” I shrug my shoulders without thinking as I try to push thoughts of Max out.

Jess throws her head back filling the air with laughter. Brown curls gleam like gold as they catch the fading rays of sunlight. “So obviously Max was wrong about it being serious. Does your mom hate him?”

“She never
hates
anyone I date; she just never likes them.”

“This isn’t like you. Once you realize you’re still dating the wrong person, you usually end things.”

“
Still
dating the wrong person?” I repeat with a laugh.

“I love you, Ace, but let’s face it, you always date the same type of guys. Guys that you know you don’t have feelings for. They’re not your type. I don’t quite understand why you want that type to be your type … I’m saying type a lot, aren’t I?”

I nod with a smile.

“So why are you holding on to this one?”

“I want to know what
type
of guy I keep dating that obviously isn’t
my type
, and what type I’m
supposed
to be looking for.”

“You date nice guys. Nice guys that just kind of go with the flow, and don’t rock the boat. Attractive, but kind of plain. They don’t question you, or push you, they just let you be.”

“Nice guys that are attractive and easy to get along with. What’s so wrong with that?”

“Nothing. If that was your type.”

“So what
is
my type?”

“You need someone with passion and fire, someone that’s going to push you and excite you. Maybe someone with tattoos?” She arches an eyebrow, insinuating something we both know I don’t want to hear.

“Oh, come on, I’ve known you since you were five! Maybe he didn’t notice but you were totally checking Max out!”

I let my head fall to the back of the swing and groan. “He’s hot. Obviously. But Max and I are very different. I mean he’s been with a
lot
of girls, and how many fights has he been in? I don’t think bad boy is
my type
.”

“Max isn’t a bad boy. He’s made some bad decisions, and he does sometimes use his fists rather than his words—”

“Sometimes?” I cry and we both laugh, knowing that Max has an extensive history of fighting.

“I think you should cross your fingers and try it,” she says, using the words I’d said upon entering the house. “Max is a really nice guy, and I see some similar qualities in you both.”

“Like my tough left jab?”

Jess rolls her eyes at me again, not smiling. “Like your compassion and loyalty and your drive. You’re both very passionate about what’s important to you. And I’ve seen you and your occasional wild side too.” She’s referring to when I’d go to parties and drink too much. I was fine, or so I’d thought, until I ended up having to get my stomach pumped one night.

“Max isn’t even interested in me.”

“Interesting. Shouldn’t the fact that you have a boyfriend be your first objection?” Jess asks with the same knowing look she’s had throughout most of this conversation.

“See, you’re helping me build a defense.” I stand up, ending the conversation.

“Just think about it, before college boy does something crazy like propose.”

I look down at her, alarmed.

“See, there’s your answer,” she says, joining me. “You better keep me apprised.” This time I roll my eyes at her.

I start my car and turn the music up loud—loud enough it makes my ears hurt—as I drive home, trying to shut out any and all of my thoughts.

Cars overflow from our driveway and the Millers, reminding me that it’s a Bunco night. I silently pray they’re over at Sharon’s house as I find a parking spot three houses over.

“I was starting to worry about you. I saw Max get home and was concerned your car stopped again.” My dad’s words greet me as I step out of the car. “I was ready to send out a search party. Your generation’s supposed to be glued to their cell phones. How did you miss the wagon?”

“Sorry. No, I just went to see Jess and we got to talking. I must’ve left it in the car,” I say, trying to force a smile as I spot my phone resting in the middle console cup holder. I sweep in to retrieve it and see that I’ve missed eleven calls.

I hold it up with an apologetic smile. He shakes his head and places a hand on my shoulder, leading me into the house.

I need to get in the pool. I swim nearly every night during the summer. It began as a way of conquering my fear of water when I was ten, but now I just enjoy the peace that comes with it as I focus on my breathing and the way my body moves with little resistance.

“You probably want to skip swimming tonight,” he says, sensing my intentions. “The Bunco crowd is all in the back drinking.” I look at the kitchen, just now noticing the random bags of chips and dips covering nearly every surface.

“Did they have anything good?” I ask.

He grins and follows me to peruse the remaining food.

“Avoid those,” he says, pointing to a tray of brownies. “They’re black bean brownies. Those two should never be paired. I now know this to be a fact.” I watch the slight grimace on his face and laugh, turning back to the food.

“You know, you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.”

I look up in confusion, not sure what he’s referring to.

“Jenny and Kendall,” he offers. “Your relationship with Eric is your business. If you like him, and he’s treating you well, it’s up to you whether you remain dating. Not your sisters.” His attention is focused on me, his eyes prodding mine.

I nod my head a couple of times, dropping his gaze as I grab a taco chip and dunk it in salsa. My dad and I discuss all sorts of things, but guys aren’t usually on the list.

“Eric’s never been my favorite person, but it’s not because I think he’s a bad guy. I just think you deserve someone that appreciates you. Someone that makes you laugh and feel loved. I don’t really get that impression from him, but it’s your life, and it’s your decision.” The fact my dad is discussing this after my conversation with Jess is not only ironic, but confirms that others are seeing my thoughts waver.

I let out a deep breath and wrap my arms around his waist, burying my face into his chest.

He kisses the top of my head and wraps his arms around me. “Suivez votre cœur,” he says quietly.

“Wise words.” I turn to see Jenny making her way into the kitchen. “You should always follow your heart.”

“Here’s some more wise words, avoid those,” Dad says as Jenny lifts a brownie to her mouth. She takes a bite, obviously thinking he’s teasing. Her face crumples in disgust as she spits the bite into the sink making us burst into a fit of laughter.

My dad begins humming
Let it Be
, a traditional ending for anytime he offers advice. I’m not even sure he recognizes that he does it any more.

“I’m going to go take Zeus for a run,” I say with a smile, turning toward the stairs. I quickly change into an old track shirt and shorts and call for Zeus as I jog back down to the front door. I need to feel my muscles expel some of the emotions and thoughts that clog my mind.