Tears (6 page)

“I want you,” he whispered, his voice husky and full of need.

As if watching herself from afar, Gaia broke from the kiss. Her breath came fast. She gazed into Sam's beautifully kaleidoscopic, cut-glass eyes—the amber color burning with feeling and raw energy. Whatever had been worrying Sam seemed to have vanished. Now he was all passionate intensity and focus.

“I want you, too,” she murmured in response. She wanted to be clear:
This
was the moment she'd been waiting for since she'd first laid eyes on Sam. The dingy room seemed to spin around her.
This is it,
she realized. A sweat broke on her palms. The time had come. Now. Apparently Gaia's life could have a good
surprise, too, every now and then—not just an endless onslaught of betrayal and pain and violence spilling out of every gutter in the city.

Sam stared back at her, attentive.

“I'm ready,” Gaia whispered. She brought a hand to Sam's strong jaw, traced the shape of it with her fingers.
This is it,
she said to herself once more. It seemed that all her life had been a climb to this peak of experience. It was the right time to lose her virginity to the one guy she knew she'd never regret loving.

Of course, she was also kind of skittery.

Not scared, obviously, since. . . well,yeah. . .
but it was whatever came in a close second to fear: some nerve-splaying, bone-charging kind of anticipation that felt crazy and sane all at the same time.


Her eyes swept to the desk drawer. She knew Sam kept the condoms in there. They'd bought them together. Her face reddened a little—with a mixture of shyness and embarrassment but a desire to at least have them ready.
To be on the safe side
...

“No,” Sam said. His voice seemed to float from nowhere.

Gaia turned to him, eyes wide. “What do you mean?” she asked. The words were little more than a whisper.

Sam smiled, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips. “That didn't sound right,” he murmured.
“Gaia, you have to understand—of course I want to do this. It's all I ever think about, if you want to know the truth. But I also want the moment to be special. Not here in this hellhole room that I haven't cleaned for a week.”

Gaia couldn't quite fathom the words. What was he so worried about? She'd been in this dump over a dozen times. She didn't need candles. Or flowers.
She had no desire to know Victoria's Secret, and she had no need of any other tacky ceremonial shit.
The act would speak for itself. All they needed was each other.

“The right moment?” Gaia asked, her voice breaking slightly. “Don't you know anything about me, Sam Moon? My life isn't exactly made up of right moments. I kind of have to take them where I can get them....” She trailed off, threaded a hand through Sam's hair. Enough of this dillydallying already. She leaned closer to him.

Silently Sam covered Gaia's mouth with his, his teeth grazing her lower lip, his hand clamped firmly to the space between Gaia's shoulder blades. He didn't need to say anything. Gaia knew that he got it. Got her.

His weight pressed down on top of her, and for once Gaia felt small and delicate—not some hulking giant of a girl. She could feel the desire hammering there in his chest with every heartbeat. She found
herself pulling Sam's shirt off over his head as he kissed her neck. She didn't think she could take much more of this. She was as ready as she would ever be, and every hope and prayer and even doubt and missed opportunity had converged and conspired to bring her to this moment—

Brring!

Crap.

Sam jerked up, narrowing his eyes.

“Ignore it,” Gaia whispered, reaching for him.

But he didn't. With an apology flickering across his face, he jumped up off the bed and snatched up the phone—as if this were just any old moment that had just passed. As if they weren't about to make love for the first time.
As if whoever was on the other end of the phone could really be so important. . . more important than the most beautiful moment in Gaia Moore's life to date.
She couldn't believe it—

“Okay,” Sam mumbled curtly into the receiver. He hung up without another word, then looked up at Gaia reluctantly. She could see sheepishness in his face and something else, too. Guilt. Well, good. He deserved to feel guilty. She swallowed, not quite sure how
she
was feeling. The excitement and urgency had faded, leaving only. . . emptiness. And a little anger as well.

“Who was it?” Gaia asked as nonchalantly as possible.
She sat up straight and smoothed down the bird's nest of hair.

He lowered his eyes. “Um, Keon,” he said. “I have to go to the library. I... forgot we had a study date. God, I'm really sorry.” His voice was low, and his expression had changed; it was still partly guilty, but there was now another emotion that Gaia couldn't place. For want of a better word, he just looked. . . strange.
Strained and spaced out at the same time.


Gaia opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. A chill spread across her back as she fumbled for her sweatshirt on the floor. She felt suddenly like an idiot, like some soap opera cliché, panting at her man to ignore the phone when clearly he had other plans. Some dumb blonde. She would gladly bet Sam a hundred bucks that it wasn't Keon who had called. Sam was a lousy liar. But for whatever reason, he'd needed an excuse not to go through with the ultimate act at this moment.

Maybe you were just saved,
an inner voice said as Gaia pushed herself out of the bed in silent anger.
Saved from wasting your virginity.
And Gaia had to concede that her inner voice had a point. Maybe Sam was right about wanting to wait. Maybe she should wait, too.

Maybe sex, that ultimate act of trust and knowing, wasn't such a good idea if your boyfriend was hiding things from you.

“GET READY TO SING WITH ME,
Eddie.
Get ready!
”

A Signature Event

Brian was growling in Ed's face as per usual, the veins bulging out of his tree-trunk neck, his face turning all shades of red. Ed still hadn't worked up the courage to ask Brian if he'd ever been a professional wrestler. It didn't seem much of a stretch—given his massive frame, his long black hair, and his apparent need to growl every single word at top volume. Yes. Ed's physical therapist might very well be insane, but he was also an ingenious motivator. Ed felt totally pumped at the end of every session.

Ed grasped the parallel bars that took up most of the available floor space in his room. His wheelchair stayed outside the door in the hall. It was fitting somehow. The chair had no place in here. Not anymore. This was where Ed walked.
And where Shred rocked.
Brian threw a CD into the stereo and flipped the volume knob. The deafening crunch of some vaguely familiar rap-metal band burst from the speakers.

“Let's make some
noise,
Eddie!” Brian shouted.

For a second Ed almost felt like laughing—at least until the sweat broke on his forehead. As the music blared, Ed took one painstakingly slow, agonizing
“step” at a time. They weren't really steps; he supported all his weight with his arms. The hope was that by standing upright, his newly improved legs would get used to the position. The pain was awful, shooting through his arms. But he welcomed it. Because the moment he felt that same pain in his legs, he knew he would be halfway recovered.

Brian spotted him but never supported him. Ed's red face began to drip as he moved farther and farther toward the end of the bars. Just a few more feet...

“Come on, Eddie!” Brian hollered. “One more step! Do it for Wes Borland, baby. That guy
rocks
.”

Ed pushed himself to take another step.
Wes Borland?
He had no idea what Brian was talking about, of course—but then, he rarely did.

“You're doing it, you stud,” Brian encouraged him, literally spitting in Ed's ear. “Now bring it on back. You're rock-and-roll
lightning,
baby!”

Ed's heart pounded in time with the music. He grinned through the agony as he began his journey back across the bars—moaning with every aching maneuver and loving every minute of it. He focused on the goals, the final results of all this torture: walking down the street without anyone staring at him for a change, getting on the bus via the
front
door, a dance with Heather, a walk with Gaia, anything else with Gaia...just standing next to Gaia....

And then he felt something.

Something big. Something he definitely hadn't felt before.

There was a huge tingling sensation running down his
entire
left leg.

He shook the leg ever so slightly—
which is to say, his brain told the leg to shake, and the leg
shook.


“Holy shit!” Ed screamed.

“What's up, dude?” Brian yelled back with a massive grin. “Did you feel something? Tell me you freakin' felt something,
baby!
”

But Ed was too jubilant for words. The pain was forgotten. It was happening. It was actually happening! It wasn't a dream; it wasn't an illusion. He'd moved his legs! A wave of sheer ecstasy washed over him as he realized the truth—that the surgery
had
been a success, that his work
was
paying off, that he would and could
walk again
... that Brian was truly a genius.

“I...!”

And then Ed stopped himself. He stopped himself cold, before he let himself utter another word. At that moment all the ecstasy spilled out of his body—as swiftly as if a plug had been pulled. He was left with a numb void. A black hole in the center of his chest. Because he couldn't tell Brian what had just happened. He couldn't tell anyone. The only person he could tell probably didn't even want to hear it. And for one split
second Ed truly hated Heather—for the lies, for the deception, for the promises she'd forced on him.

She'd just robbed him of one of the most amazing moments of his life.

“Eddie?” Brian growled over the music. “Did you feel something?”

In spite of everything inside him, against all his better judgment, Ed managed to shake his head. “No,” he said almost inaudibly. “I thought I did....”

“What?” Brian squawked. “Well, if you thought you did, you
did
.”

“No,” Ed insisted.
The pain returned a hundredfold.
His entire body weakened. His arms began to shake from holding up all his body weight. So Ed let himself collapse to the ground. He didn't know what else to do. He was barely conscious of tumbling to the floor. Brian flipped off the music and helped Ed back to his feet, helping him get a grip on the parallel bars.

“Well, let's keep moving, dude,” Brian shouted. “We'll get there, bro—”

“No,” Ed interrupted. “I'm tired, Brian. I think I've got to stop for today.”

There was a long silence. Brian stared at him. Ed could feel Brian's disappointment; the guy wasn't one to conceal his emotions. It made Ed sick with humiliation. This was the first sign of negativity Ed had ever shown, and Brian knew it was nothing like him.
Of
all the goddamn irony in the world. . . the greatest thing yet had just happened
—
and he felt worse than he'd ever felt.
All thanks to Heather.

“Okay,” Brian said simply. He didn't scream. He almost sounded like a normal human being, which was somehow deeply upsetting. “Hey. We all get tired, Eddie. Maybe you'll feel better tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” Ed mumbled, unable to look him in the eye.

Brian grabbed his coat and headed for the door. He wasn't one for long good-byes, but this one was particularly short.

“Later,” Brian said. His footsteps faded down the hall.

Ed gripped the parallel bars, shaking with frustration, staring at his wheelchair in the hall. His feelings for Heather usually ran so deep.

But not at this moment.

No, right now Ed was just seething with anger, and all he could think about was one thing:
Heather doesn't want me to walk. Heather would rather have my money than have me walk.
He clenched his fists together for fear he might hit something. Lash out and break a bone or a piece of furniture. He clenched his fists together—

And then suddenly Ed realized the significance of this action.

As he felt his nails digging into his palms, he realized his hands. . .
were at his sides.

He was no longer gripping the bars. Yet he was still standing.


He looked down at his feet.

At that moment Ed Fargo hit the floor again.

It's
funny how nothing ever stays the same. Nothing. For the longest time it seemed like I was untouchable. After everything I went through when Ed had his accident, after all that sorrow and guilt and heartache, I made a pact with myself: that I'd never sink to that level of sadness again. That no matter what, I'd always stay on top.


And I did. Even through all that stuff with Sam. Even when Gaia Moore blew into my life and my relationship with Sam fell apart, I still kept it together on the outside. Think of a swan gliding across a pond. There's all that furious web-footed churning under the surface, but all you see is the bird gliding by, unruffled. On top of it all. On the surface, at least.


That was me.


On top of things, placidly gliding across the surface without messing up a feather. Up where I belonged. Or at least
where everyone else seemed to think I belonged.


But now I feel like I'm cracking. Ed's keeping me at arm's length; Phoebe isn't getting any better; my parents are penniless. And I'm finding it hard to stay afloat. Watching my parents and Phoebe, I'm beginning to think that life has no patterns. It's just a series of arbitrary circumstances, some good, some bad. All of it meaningless and random.