NEVER GOODBYE (An Albany Boys Novel) (12 page)

“They were happy. We all were.” I didn’t say anything about now because he knows. He could feel it in my words.

He puts the frame down and grabs my book. I’m almost embarrassed when his brow rises and he looks at me. “
Vampire Diaries
? Really?” he has tone and I laugh.

“Don’t knock it. It’s my bible,” I say, rising from my bed, handing him his soda and taking the book from him. “I love the show and the books are so different. The Salvatore brothers are my husbands and they’ll kick your ass if you’re not nice to me.”

“I can’t believe I’m jealous of TV characters.”

“Oh, well you’ll definitely rage out when you see me drool over Dean Winchester. Oh. My. That boy is cut. I may even dream about him tonight.”

Vaun’s lids shade his eyes and the tip of his tongue sits at the corner of his lips just visible enough for me to see. He places his drink on my bedside drawers and my heart begins to thump hard. He takes my drink from me and places it beside his and I’m like a deer in headlights, stuck fast and too lost in the beam of Vaun’s change in demeanor. It’s dangerous, seductive and I like what it’s doing to me. I’m hot and I’m very conscious of the lack of space between us.

Last night we slept in one another’s arms. It was intimate and beautiful and innocent. This, however, is very charged and very … he takes a step closer and I almost fall back on the bed. Which would be a very bad idea, but thankfully he catches me. His hands on my shoulders are hotter than any summer.

“Breathe,” he whispers. I don’t even realize I am holding my breath until I take a lung full of air. “Blue, I can go through my day being your friend. I can let you call those brothers your play husbands. What I don’t think I can handle is your dreams being devoted to another guy. I want those. If I can’t have anything else, I want at least that.”

I’m trying to concentrate on breathing, but when he says things so intimate, so raw and honest like that, my entire body wants to wither under him and I have
never
felt that before. I have never
withered
before and he makes me nervous.

“Breathe.”

“I am,” I breathe with a whisper.

“I’m lost here, Harper. I know what I want, what you want. I know what we deserve in this shit existence we have lived so far. You’ve rescued me, Blue, and if you let me, I’ll rescue you, too.”

I want him to. I want it so bad I almost scream it. What I do is pop on my tip toes and shatter any remnants of a line I had drawn with a kiss to end all kisses.

My fingers drive into his hair and his into mine. His tongue sweeps across my lips and I let him in and, holy shit, I’m on fire. I have kissed before and never had this feeling. Vaun is constantly breaking my nevers and, at the rate we are going, I won’t have any left before I die.

And that one thought is the cold bucket of water I need and hate because I want to keep kissing this boy until he’s had enough of me. But I’m dying. While I’m kissing him, I’m dying. While I’m thinking about dying, I’m dying and that just isn’t fair on a boy who has already faced that kind of loss. I pull my mouth from his and sit on the edge of my bed with my hand over my mouth.

“Blue, don’t.” He squats on his knees in front of me, his hands on my hips and he’s looking at me with sad, brown eyes. I shake my head. I don’t want to see him. “Don’t deny us this. Whatever it is that you’re not ready to tell me, we’ll work through it with time. Just let us get through tonight and take each day at a time.”

But we don’t have the luxury of time. We have the ticking of a clock and an undeniable need for each other that’s so unfathomable and so unfair. I close my eyes, unable to look at him anymore. It hurts too much and I feel the waver.

“Harper, I have been carrying such a heavy load of life, I need this. I promise you that if there comes a time where you feel we can’t do this, then I will give it to you. No fight, no pleading. I will give you up if you want, but right now, give us tonight and we can take it one night at a time, one day, one hour, one minute … every second.”

I wish I was stronger. I wish I could be strong enough to maintain that hope and be with Vaun. I feel it building within me, honest to God, hope. I hope that we’ll be okay, that I will survive and we can make it together and, in that second of reprieving faith, I say what he wants to hear: “Okay”.

“
Okay?
” He’s squeezing me tighter, I can hear the elation in his tone and it scares me half to death that I could have that kind of power over a single being. “Open your eyes, Blue. I want to see that you’re sure.”

I open them and I’m surprised at how sure I am when, in the back of my dark thoughts, I have the instant guilt of the pain and betrayal he will feel when I have to tell him. Though, as I look into his hope and radiant smile I know he will forgive me.

“I’m sure.” He jumps on my bed and I don’t care that he messes it up. He pulls me to him so my head is on his chest and I promise myself with every quick beat of his gentle heart that I will tell him. After tomorrow’s outing at the pond, I’ll tell him.

Vaun

              For the longest time I have been carrying the heaviest life and for the first time, I feel the release. As soon as she kissed me I could feel the light and now I’m basking in it.

              I may never know what it is about Harper Kennedy that has this effect on me and I don’t care. All I know is, I don’t want to go back to how I was living. In about twenty-four hours, I think my life has changed forever because of one girl.

              I stroke her long, beautiful hair and breathe in the honey shampoo. I know my heart is doing karate moves inside my chest and I know she can hear it. I don’t care a shit, though. I want her to know how I feel because I think she needs to know.

              She has a hefty secret and it scares the shit out of me that she doesn’t want me to know. We have shared quite a lot of raw truths in so little hours, but whatever it is that’s haunting her is the reason she keeps pushing me away.

              I don’t want to lose her. It shouldn’t matter after such a short time, but it fucking does. The thought of losing her not just scares me to death, but makes me sick. I just have to show her that she needs to believe in that gut feeling I know she shares.

              She needs to have faith in herself, in me and in us.

              “What are you thinking?” Blue asks me, her voice soft. I don’t want to scare her with the truth so I tell her what I was thinking when I first walked into her room. Well, other than wanting to do things to her on this bed.

              “I was thinking that I have found the most boring person in the world or you just haven’t unpacked yet.”

              I feel her muscles tighten above me before she lets out a slow breath and I wish she would just tell me what’s wrong. I want to help, but because she won’t share her demons with me, I try something else. I push her from me, rise from her bed and head for the boxes in the corner of her room. Man, it was freaking hard to break that contact, but she needs me. I feel it in my damn soul. Blue needs me to be strong and so, despite her small squeak, I open the first box in the corner and discover it is filled with posters. I pull out a rolled up poster which still has Blu Tack on the corners. It slides through my hand with ease and I sneak a look at her as I do it. She is biting her lip and I fight my grin as I hold the poster out.

              “What the hell is
Etta James at last
?” I ask. She laughs and falls back on the bed and I love it, but I’m still totally freaking confused as to why Etta James is such a big deal.

              She rolls onto her side, stifling her giggles and I want to jump back on the bed and tickle her to hear her giggles again but I also want to see what else she is hoarding in these boxes.

              “Etta James is one of the most renowned, dynamic and soulful artists of all time. She died last year. She rocked it right to her death.”

              “So, she is from the olden days.” I scrunch up my face and look at the poster again as she rises from her bed and saunters toward me.

              “Don’t say it like that. I like music from that era. It has so much life and depth and guts in the lyrics and the vocals. I like Etta because she fought a lot of battles and always came up bouncing.”

              She is standing by my side, brushing her shoulder against my bicep and it tremors. “Do you like other music?” I ask and she nods and watches as I survey her bare wall and stick it right in the center. She doesn’t object and I head back to the box for the next poster. I slide it out and unroll it as she watches me.

              “Blue?” I say holding the poster in my hand, grinning down at her.

              “Yes.”

              “How can you possibly be into a dramatic singer like Etta whatever and also be into Pearl Jam? I mean, I dig their stuff and all, but they are totally different genres. Like polar opposites.”

              “Not really. They are powerful and soulful in their own way. My fave is actually when they did a live piece with Ben Harper. Now that man’s voice speaks to me.”

              “Why do I get the feeling you are a very complex person? I believe Shrek got it right when he said ‘Ogres have layers, onions have layers.’ Well, I think you have layers, too.”

              She laughs hard and this time she takes the poster from me and sticks it to the right of Etta. It’s a bizarre mix to me, but eh. As long as she’s happy, it’s all good.

              “Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together,” she says absently as she takes a step back to check her work and I know I’m staring. I don’t care. She is beautiful and … strange and smart as hell.

              “I like that,” I say.

              She comes back to me and pulls out another poster. “Me too. It’s a quote by Marilyn Monroe. She has the best quotes.”

              I grab a poster too and unravel it. It’s a black and white picture of a ballerina and I think of Harper dancing on stage that day. “Firstly, that’s profound for someone like her.”

              “She wasn’t as dumb as she was made out to be. I think she made choices that she felt she needed to just like everyone else.”

              I thought about it for a moment and then couldn’t stop thinking about how I judge without thinking. I don’t know shit about Marilyn and yet I judged her. I know nothing about my step-mother, Laurel, and yet I judge her. Maybe I need to allow the layers to fall apart like Marilyn said.

              “What’s your secondly?” Harper asks, positioning a small hand drawn picture of a couple kissing beside the ballerina one I put up.

              “Do you like quotes in general or just hers?” There are still almost twenty rolls of odd size posters to go up, Imagine Dragons, Paramore and some other bands I’ve never heard of. I’m enjoying doing it with her; learning about her.

              She takes another and smiles as she unrolls it. I can’t help but laugh. It’s the pathetic kitty hanging from a tree with the quote, ‘Hang in there.’ I’ve seen this in libraries, the doctors, school,
The Simpsons
. I never thought I would see one in someone’s room.  

              “I have a thing for quotes. The most profound words and life’s lessons are in quotes. Things you can learn and grow from in a single line or sentence. I’ve learned things that some won’t in a lifetime. They can be quotes from movies, lyrics, poems, presidents and homeless people. It doesn’t matter where they come from as long as they speak to you in here.” She places her hand on my chest over my heart and I swear to Fracken God himself, it kicks as though it wants to jump from my very chest and into her hand.

She continues, “Like, right now I can think of one, ‘
But that intimacy of mutual embarrassment, in which each feels that the other is feeling something, having once existed, its effect is not to be done away with’
. That was George Eliot.” She goes back to the box of posters and a small tremor runs through me as soon as she takes her hand from my chest.

“I heard about him,” I say and grab another as she does. “Wasn’t he some tranny author from the eighteenth century? We had to learn about him in English class.”

She slaps my arm and laughs hard. “He wasn’t a tranny, he was a she. Back then women weren’t taken seriously so she used a pen name.”

“Oh.” I laugh.

“And you missed the point.”

“No. I didn’t. I’m hearing you. I’m
feeling
it and I get why you like them. I wish we could live by words of profoundness instead of bullshit. The best advice I got that kept me grounded after Mom passed was, ‘
Let go of what kills you and hold on to what keeps you breathing
.’”

“That’s deep and beautiful. Who said that?”

“SpongeBob Squarepants.”

Her smile spreads so wide and yet she’s looking at me with suspicion. I can’t help the laugh that erupts. She’s obviously struggling whether to take me seriously or not.

“I knew you were pulling my leg.”

I try to stifle my laughter, but it keeps coming. “No,” I shake my head. “It’s true, SpongeBob is a philosophical dude.”

She scoffs and heads for her closet to retrieve a small shoebox which she brings to her bed and opens. My laughter subsides as she pulls a pen and a small girlie looking pad off the top of a pile of the same loose paper. I sit on the bed and the box is between us. I want to see what the loose papers are, but what if they’re some kind of diary thing and she doesn’t want me to read them? Though, why would she have brought them out at all if it was something she didn’t want me to see? So I take a few as she is writing on her pad. They are quotes. Her writing looks different on all three in my hand.

‘
For every minute you are angry, you lose 60 seconds of happiness. Ralph Waldo Emerson.’

              Her print is sharp. Was she angry when she wrote it? What made her angry? Did she look this quote up to help her through it? I want to ask her, but I read the next piece of paper instead.