Finally, Forever (4 page)

I narrow my eyes and wonder what he’s implying. “It will be,” I say.

“You won’t live in one place for very long?” he assumes. 

“It depends,” I say. “In the minors you can get bumped around a lot.”

“And there are 162 games in the season,” he informs me as if I don’t know the schedule. “Only certain people can handle that kind of lifestyle.”

I stare him down, wondering why he cares.

“It’s perfect if you’re a baseball fan,” Rachel chimes in and leans her shoulder into mine. I look at her and smile, thankful I have a fan in the room.  

The waitress hands us our check and she looks out at the window at the hazy sky.

“Ya’ll drive safe,” she says. “Storms are on the radar.”

I look at the waitress and raise my eyebrows. Literally or figuratively? I want to ask.

Dylan

I follow Nick out of the restaurant into the scorching heat
of the parking lot, soaking up the sun’s rays like a sponge. Gray and Rachel are still inside, saying goodbye to her parents. We stop next to Orson.

“Why did I have to run into him, Nick?” I look up at the sky like I’m asking a higher power. “Why did this have to happen? Why?
”  

“
Dylan, you of all people know that life never happens the way you expect it to. Shit happens, and how you deal with it—that’s life.”

I sigh. “I can’t believe you told him you’re my boyfriend.”

He gives me a devious smile. “Was I convincing?

“Convincing?” I say. “That performance was Oscar worthy. Definitely deserving of a Golden Globe award. At the very least, a nomination for best actor in a drama from the Screen Actors Guild.”

He smiles at my sweeping compliments.

“It was too fun,” he says. “That boy gets
even hotter when he’s angry. I can totally see how he’s amazing in bed. All that passion? Yum.”

“Since when do you know anything about baseball?” I ask.

He takes off his sunglasses and wipes them clean with his shirt. “My dad’s dragged me to Milwaukee Brewers games since I was eight. We had seats right behind the home plate. It was great ass viewing—made me want to get to home plate if you know what I’m saying.” Nick laughs and slides his glasses back on over his forehead to keep the hair out of his eyes. “Poor man, if only my dad knew what I actually used my baseball glove for.”

I cringe at the thought but then Nick points behind me and I turn to see Rachel and
Gray walking outside. They stall at the front doors to say goodbye and I look away so I don’t have to see Gray touch her.

“Listen to me,” Nick says and turns my shoulders back to him. I feel like my bones have turned as malleable as rubber. I want to slump to the ground. “She’s not right for him. He’s not in love with her.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

“Guess who he spent all his time watching over dinner?”

I shake my head. “He hardly ever looked at me, Nick. He was avoiding me.”

“Exactly, because he was too busy glaring at me. Which I didn’t mind, he has gorgeous eyes, even when they’re plotting my death. You could see a landslide of jealousy streaming down the kid
’s face.”

I look down at the ground.
“I can’t lie to him.”

“You don’t have to. I did the lying for you. It’s what friends do.”

I watch Rachel get into the driver’s seat of a bright blue hatchback. As she drives away I catch sight of her personalized license plate and my mouth drops open. It says HORSES.

Horses? I try to envision
Gray living on a horse ranch. Equestrian gear, wranglers, chaps? He hates country music (unless it’s alt-country, he claims). Even my wildest imagination can’t visualize it. She is so wrong for him. What is the girl version of a tool? An accessory? Yes! That’s what she is. A safe, simple accessory.

I remind myself to breathe. Jealousy is toxic. It’s unattractive. It’s like poison in my brain, and even worse, it’s a waste of time. I extract every bad thought I have of Rachel and I put them in a glass jar in my mind. I tighten a lid around the jar and toss it over my shoulder. I feel a little better. I’m determined not to think another negative thought about Rachel. I’m determined not to think about her, period.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay if I leave now?” I ask Nick.

He nods and looks longingly at his car.

“I’ll stay with Orson until the end,” he says and rubs the hood of his car. “He deserves that much.”

I stroke Nick’s cheek. “He’s had a good life,” I say. “This wasn’t your fault. It was just his time,” I say.

Nick inhales a sharp breath and nods. He squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s trying to block out a painful image. “I wish I understood. Why Orson? He was such a great car. He never got in an accident. He never even got a flat tire.”

I grab his hands in mine.

“Because somewhere, up in heaven, an angel needed a car. The strongest, most reliable car, and God looked down on Earth and searched for the perfect, German made vehicle that was safe enough for his angel to drive. And he chose Orson.”

Nick nods.

“Now, whenever you see a shooting star at night, you’ll know it’s an angel driving Orson through the sky.”

“That was so beautiful,” he says. He looks over at the sidewalk and
Gray steps away from Rachel and turns to us. Nick tightens his fingers around mine.

“I bet you’ll be in each other’s pants in forty eight hours.”

“That’s not what I want,” I say. “I just want Gray to be happy.”

“Exactly. That’s why you need to do this.” He grabs my arms and pulls me close. “
Kiss me like I’m Gray.”

Before I can respond he scoops up my face in his hands and leans down and kisses me full on the lips. Nick’s lips are huge and wet and smother me. It’s more like a face wash than a kiss and I can’t pull away because he’s holding my head in his hands so tightly I can feel each of his fingertips dig into my scalp. I try not to gag on his tongue.

He lets go and gazes lovingly into my eyes.

“I love you, Dilly Bar,” he says to me.

Now I don’t have to lie, because I love Nick.

“I love you a billion times a gazillion,” I say and I turn around to see
Gray standing a few feet away, looking sick to his stomach, like he just stepped in a fresh pile of vomit on the sidewalk.

Gray

I feel vomit creeping up the back of my throat and I swallow it down.
Dilly bar
?

Dylan
tells me she has to grab a few things from the front seat. Nick pulls her duffel bag out of the trunk, the huge one she brought to New Mexico last spring. I walk over to my trunk and open it up and shove a few baseball bats to the side to make room. Nick hands me the duffel bag, a sleeping bag and a pillow.

“You know,
Dylan’s mentioned you before,” he says.

“Is that right?” I ask as I try to maneuver my crap with
Dylan’s crap so all of our crap is together again, entwined under the same roof. Crap. 

“You two used to date.”

Date. That’s a funny word to describe the path of emotional chaos that constituted our failed relationship. I give her luggage an unnecessarily hard shove.

“Something like that.” I look back at Nick and he’s watching me. Is this is another staring contest? I always win. 

“She tells me everything, you know.”

I slam the trunk closed and narrow my eyes.

“Everything?” I ask. Like how once I got her off eight times in one day? How I probably hold an orgasm world record? What have you got, Dr. Boy? I blow out a sigh and tell him what he already knows.

“Then you know you can trust her,” I say. He narrows his eyes and nods slowly. 

“Take care of my girl,” he says and turns and walks away. 

I get in the car and shut the door a little too forcefully.
Dylan sits down in the seat and closes the door and I can’t help myself.

“Did I hear him right?” I ask, and look over at her. “
Dilly bar
? Seriously, he calls you Dilly Bar?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it? Want to get out a pen and paper while I list all the things that are wrong with it? You have a great name. Why does he need to mutilate it?”

“It’s a nickname,”
Dylan defends him. 

“Oh,” I say and start the ignition. “So, what do you call him? S-Nick-er bar?”

It wasn’t the conversation-ending comeback I was hoping for because Dylan laughs out loud, this blasting laugh that comes all the way from her stomach. My lips tighten because it’s one of those contagious laughs that make you want to join in and I refuse to give her the satisfaction of thinking I’m enjoying this quality time together.

“It’s better than horses,”
Dylan mumbles and clips her seatbelt into the lock. I ask her what she means.

“Your girlfriend’s personalized license plate? Horses?”
Dylan says.

What is she talking about? My girlfriend? I swore off relationships over a year ago, just like I gave up pot. They both are equally bad for my health. But I know what car she’s referring to.

“Rachel?” I ask.

Dylan
nods. “You know, I try really hard never to judge people Gray. I’ve always left the judging up to you. You’re a natural at it.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“And I’m not jealous,” she points out. “I’m just, a little disappointed.”

I can’t believe this. “What, you can date somebody and I can’t?”

“It’s not that. She just isn’t what I expected. I know you’re really picky about who you let into your life and—” she cuts herself off. Dylan is terrible at verbal insults. It’s one of her best qualities.

“Go on,” I say.

“No, I don’t want to be mean. She’s very nice. She has very clean fingernails and I respect that.” She frowns at her own abused nail beds.

“No, please, I really want to know what you’re thinking,” I say, fascinated. 

Dylan sighs. “She just isn’t interesting. At all. I’m sorry, I know it’s a terrible thing to say. But it’s the truth.”

I pinch the inside of my cheeks between my teeth to hide my smile.
Dylan looks genuinely upset and there is something extremely satisfying about her expression.

“You’ve known her for an entire hour.”

“You can tell within five minutes if a person is interesting,” Dylan argues. “Actually, I’ve mastered figuring it out in one minute by examining shoes, hands, fingers, eyes and chosen mode of transportation.”

“What are you, a forensics investigator?” I ask and she ignores my comment.

“She’s not interesting. Like I said, it just isn’t someone I pictured you with.”

I stare out at the restaurant for a few seconds, filing away our conversation. I can’t believe
Dylan assumed Rachel was my girlfriend. She’s my coach’s daughter, which makes her entirely off limits, and she’s still in high school—another major disqualifier. She’s also not remotely my type. And Dylan’s right, I would never be interested in a girl with a license plate that says HORSES. She’s just asking for someone to key her car.

Do I tell
Dylan the truth? My better half says yes, Gray, be honest, but my lousier half (more like three-fourths), says go with it. Embrace the bullshit. I picture Nick with a stethoscope around his head, reviving a dog and Dylan watching at his side.

Telling the truth would be the adult thing to do. But, I’m still a
young adult. I’m allowed to play a few more immaturity cards.

I realize
Dylan did me a huge favor by mistaking Rachel for my girlfriend. She built a wall between us, a huge medieval stone fortress ten stories high. I take a breath of relief and know I can make it through the next few days. Besides, I never technically lied about Rachel. Dylan planted the lie for me.

I push the stick shift into reverse, but out of the corner of my eye I see
Dylan beginning to do the unthinkable. I grab her hand before it touches my stereo.

“Whoa. What do you think you’re doing?”

Our eyes lock. Her hand is warm. Her fingertips are hot. It’s like hooked bait catching me, latching on to something inside of me. I drop her fingers and her hand lingers in the air between us.

“I’m turning on the radio.”

“I don’t listen to radio stations. I enjoy
good
music.”

“
Gray, you need to listen to local radio stations on a road trip,” she presses me. “It’s part of the cultural experience when you’re traveling.”