Nothing More (22 page)

“We could live in a high-rise above the city even. Anywhere but here, Landon, anywhere but here.” Her voice was distant, as if she was already living in a place far, far away.

When I looked over at her, her eyes were closed. She had a streak of dirt on her cheek and her knee was scuffed up.
She must have fallen,
I thought to myself.

“I would go anywhere with you. You know that, don't you?” I asked her.

She opened her eyes and the corner of her lips turned into a smile. “Anywhere?” she asked.

“Everywhere,” I promised.

“I love you,” she claimed.

“I've always loved you,” I confessed.

Her hand squeezed mine and she leaned her head on my shoulder and we sat there until the sun came up, bringing silence to her haunted house.

And now, here, in the kitchen of my Brooklyn apartment, remembering our dreams and the roots of our love, Dakota says with a low voice, “You said you've always loved me.”

“I have,” is all I can say back.

Because it's the truth.

T
HE LAST THIRTY MINUTES
have been confusing, to say the least. I don't know how to stop this spiraling into her, or even if I should try. Dakota's words mean so much to me . . . and yet there's a hint of something missing, some small part of me that isn't totally connecting to them. I'm a bit on guard, and I don't know if I should be so quick to jump when she says jump.

The spiral has much too much pull on me, and it overcomes that little niggling voice telling me that something's missing.

I don't want this moment to end.

I don't want her to go.

I want her to stay and make up for the times when she left me, to make me feel normal again. It's easier to focus on other people and make everyone around me happy than it is to come to terms with the fact that maybe I'm a little lonelier than I care to admit. It's so easy to fall back into this routine with her. I used to think that I was made to protect her, that every atom of my body was created solely for her purpose. I was happiest when I had her, when I had someone who made me feel important, needed, necessary.

Dakota came here, to my apartment—she ran
to
me. But, I wonder, does this mean that she's done running
from
me? Her body is so close now, so close that I could reach a hand out to her and pull her into my arms if I wanted to . . . and I do want to. I just need her touch. I need to know if that familiar tingle will spread through my body in the wake of her fingertips. I need to see if she can fill the empty parts of me that she left like holes in my body.

I take another step and wrap my arm around her small frame. She leans into me without missing a beat and my lips move with caution to find hers.

Her mouth is so soft; her lips are clouds that I want to be lost in, high above the world of common sense and far away from our shared pain. I want to float in this space where it's she and I, and me and her. No breakups, no tragedy, no shitty parents or exams or long hours of work.

The moment my lips graze hers, Dakota's breath hitches and relief floods through me. My mouth is timid, careful not to rush into this. My tongue glides over hers and she's melting into me, as she always used to do.

I bring my other hand to the small of her back and pull her closer. The material of her tutu rustles against my sweats, and she uses both hands to push the sparkling fabric down to the floor, then presses her body against mine. Her body is firmer than I remember; the hard work she's put in is paying off, and I love the way she feels now, solid and mine. She's actually mine, maybe not forever, but for right now.

Dakota's mouth is slightly slack, as if she's forgotten how to kiss me. I rub her back as she tries to remember my mouth. My thumbs trace tiny circles on the small of her back and she sighs a breath between my lips. Her kiss is slow and her mouth tastes like tears and I don't know if they are mine or hers.

She sniffles and I pull away.

“What's wrong?” I ask her. My throat is full of molasses and my words are slow, stuck in my throat. “Are you okay?”

She nods and I look down at her face, taking her in. Her brown eyes are shining with tears and her lips are wet, pouty, and turned down into a frown.

“What is it?”

“I'm fine . . .” She wipes at her eyes. “It's not that I'm sad, I'm just overwhelmed. I've missed you.” She sniffles again and a single tear escapes and runs down her cheek. I tap at it with my thumb and she breathes heavily into my hand as it cups her cheek. “Will you give me time to figure my shit out? Please, Landon, I know I don't deserve another chance, but I will never, ever hurt you again. I'm sorry.”

I pull her in to me, relief and anxiety flooding through me as I hug her to my body. I have been waiting for months to hear these words, even if she's giving me half a yes. Even if she needs time to figure it out, I never expected an apology or anything close to a declaration of love. Maybe that's why they sound so foreign? I've wished to hear these exact words for so long that I feel like I actually willed this to happen. Will this be a blessing or a curse? Or both?

I can't stop my mind from whirling.

I push my own thoughts aside and comfort her.

“Shh,” I whisper, and rest my chin on top of her head.

A few seconds pass and she pulls away slightly to look up at me.

“I don't deserve you,” she says softly. Her eyes don't meet mine as she continues: “But I've never wanted you more.”

Her head is heavy on my chest as she cries. Her hands are fists, full of my T-shirt. A faint ringing sounds through the apartment and Dakota quickly reacts, snapping her head up from my chest.

Talk about bad timing.

“I'm so sorry, it's my agent,” she says, rushing to the living room. “Well, not agent yet, but he might be.”

Agent?

Since when does she have an agent? Or want one? What the heck does an agent do for a ballet student? I know she's been auditioning for small roles in commercials for the time being, but maybe she's decided to pursue acting?

From the living room, her loud voice breaks my thoughts. “I have to go!”

Then Dakota's head pops into the doorway of the kitchen. “I'm so sorry, but this is huge!” Her tears are gone, her frown replaced by a bright smile.

Perhaps my face is registering the utter confusion I'm feeling, because she walks into the kitchen, saying, “I'll come back tomorrow, okay?”

She leans onto the tips of her toes and kisses me softly on the cheek.

Her hand squeezes mine and she looks like a new person. She's happy, she's light. I've missed this version of her and I can't decide if I should be disappointed that she's leaving in the middle of . . .
whatever
the hell we were doing, or excited for whatever opportunity is coming her way.

I choose to be happy for her and not question her motives.

“I have to work tomorrow, but I'll be here Friday, all night after classes,” I tell her.

Dakota beams. “I'll come Friday!” Then she adds, “And maybe I can stay over?”

She looks at me shyly, like she's never stayed with me before. She bites her lips and I can't stop my mind from recalling the last time she was in my bed. Well, not the last time, because she was drunk and I didn't touch her, but the time before that.

She was beautiful, her bare skin was shimmering under the dim light in my room at Ken's. She had woken me up in the middle of the night with her mouth around my cock. Her mouth was so warm, so wet, and I was so hard, embarrassing myself by finishing after only a few slow drags of her lips across me.

“Landon?” Dakota knocks me back into reality.

“Yes, of course.” I feel the blood rushing to my cock.

Hormones are tricky and embarrassing things.

“Of course I want you to stay.”

“Good. See you Friday,” she says while quickly kissing my lips. She squeezes my hand and rushes out the door.

  •  •  •  

Sleep doesn't come easy. My mind is stuck on my past.

As I lie here, staring at my ceiling fan, I'm sixteen, writing notes to Dakota in class and hoping I don't get caught. She's giggling at the words I've written down, sexual innuendos that I knew would make her smile. Our teacher was so oblivious most days that we would pass notes back and forth the entire period and never get caught. On this particular day, much to our misfortune, he noticed. He caught me red-handed and forced me to read the message in front of the entire class.

My cheeks burned as I spoke, something along the lines of her tasting like chocolate-covered strawberries and that I couldn't wait to devour her.

Oh, man, I was lame as hell.

The class snickered, but Dakota sat with her back straight, smiling at me. She looked at me like she wasn't a lick embarrassed, like she couldn't wait to jump my bones.

I honestly thought that she was only trying to make me feel less mortified, to show solidarity against a teacher that would make me reveal such a thing to everyone.

But when we were walking home, she did, in fact, push me into a corner of her backyard and jump my bones.

It's hard to believe we were only teens when we were together. We went through so much, so many firsts, good and bad. We were good together and we still can be. Memory after memory floods through my dark bedroom and my bed has never felt so empty.

Friday can't come soon enough.

  •  •  •  

Friday is here, faster than I expected.

Yesterday, after classes, I worked at Grind until closing. Posey and Aiden were both there, but Aiden was surprisingly quiet. Uncharacteristically so. He seemed to be concentrated on something somewhere else, or maybe he got a therapist who told him that being an obnoxious douche was at the core of his problems.

Whatever the reason, I was glad for it.

Dakota texted me twice yesterday, and once this morning, just to tell me that she can't wait to see me. Her sudden return to affection is still slightly confusing, but with each bit of attention she feeds me, my loneliness fades.

It's such an instinctual thing, needing companionship. I never thought of myself as a person who needed someone else to make himself feel complete, and sometimes I question why humans are made this way.

Why is it that since the beginning of our history, we crave company, and we strive to find love? The goal of life, whether you're religious or not, is to find companionship in friends and in lovers.

Humans are needy creatures, and it turns out I'm very, very human.

I
T'S SEVEN NOW
, and since I haven't heard back from Dakota after this afternoon, I text her that I can't wait to see her.

She texts back a contented-looking smiley face. I don't know how to read emoji, so I decide it's a happy smiley, not a bored one.

I hope she's not standing me up.

I really, really hope she's not standing me up.

I sort of hate that she's unpredictable now. A really big piece of me misses when I was a part of her life. I was her best friend and her lover. She shared her thoughts with me, her hopes, and even her dreams. We dreamed together, we laughed together—I knew every thought she had, every tear she shed.

Now I'm an outsider, waiting for her to decide to call me. I miss the days when it wasn't even a question if I was worth her time.

Why am I getting so down? I need to perk up and stop thinking of the worst when it comes to her. I'm sure she's just busy and she will call or text when she can.

If she was going to flat-out cancel on me, she would tell me.

I think?

Lying on my bed, staring at the hockey game on my television, I watch a big guy in a teal jersey get slammed against the glass. The San Jose Sharks. I recognize the jerseys of both the Sharks and their opponent. I don't really care for either team, but I'm bored out of my mind and I don't know what to do besides stare at my phone and wait for Dakota to call.

“Landon . . .” A soft voice is accompanied by a softer knock on my bedroom door.

It's Tessa, not Dakota, and I'm trying not to be disappointed. I almost tell her to come in, but I need to get out of my bed. I can't just lie here and wait for Dakota. I can at least go to the living room.

Yes, I know it's still pathetic, but sitting on the couch is a little less pathetic than lying in my bed, right?

I stand up and walk to the door. When I open it, Tessa is standing in the doorway wearing her work uniform. The lime-green tie makes her eyes look even lighter and her blond hair is in a long braid resting on her shoulder.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey.” I run my hand over the stubble on my jaw and step in front of her to go toward the living room.

Tessa sits down on the opposite end of the couch and I rest my feet on the coffee table.

“What's up? Are you okay?” I ask her.

“Yeah . . .” She pauses. “I think so. Do you remember that guy named Robert? The one who I met when we went to the lake with your mom and Ken?”

I try to remember the details from that trip. The red panties floating in the hot tub, Tessa and Hardin barely speaking to each other, the brunette in the black dress, playing I Spy with Hardin and Tessa on the way down.

I don't remember a guy named Robert, except maybe . . . the waiter?

Oh, shit, I do remember him. He drove Hardin half-mad.

“Yeah, the waiter?” I confirm.

“Yes, the waiter. So, guess who works with me, starting today?”

I raise a brow. “No way. Here in Brooklyn?”

What a freaking coincidence.

“Yes way,”
she half jokes, but I can see she's not really finding it funny. “He came in and I was so surprised to see him here, all the way across the country. He's starting his training as I finish mine. It's so weird, right?”