The Girl Who Fell (27 page)

“I'm a homebody, Doyle. But I think you've got a shot if you keep training. I'll be here if you ever come back to visit.”

“Thanks Coach.”

“Can I give some unsolicited advice before you head off into your future?”

“Sure.”

“It'd be a waste if you missed out on things at college because of a guy.”

A protest hangs on my lips but she holds up her hand.

“Something to think about. One of many.” She turns on her heels to leave, her sneakers squeaking.

Of all the reprimands I've received from her, this one is the harshest, cuts most deep. I exhale a huff for her invasion into my private life. Coach could never understand what Alec and I have and I suddenly feel bad for her. I can't imagine how bitter I'd be if I were her age and hadn't met a guy who made me feel the way Alec does. I'd probably choose a career in yelling too.

On the walk to homeroom, I pass Gregg at Lani's locker. He's got his arm slung so easily around her there's no sign he was ever interested in me at all. When Lani waves, Gregg stares at me, his face unreadable. Half of me wants to bound over to him, tell him about the letter. My future, confirmed. But the other half of me lowers my head in a secret smile. I've got all the time in the world to tell Gregg our dream of Boston next year has come true. I can wait for when he's ready.

•  •  •

Midterms sucked. I've never been so underprepared for any test. I even guessed at some of the multiple choice questions Mr. Barnes gave in lit class, and trig was a disaster. But I don't let any of that spoil the weightlessness of joy as I ready for my date with Alec, pulling on my Apology Dress the way he requested.

He picks me up and drives me to his house. When we pull up the driveway, I fantasize it is our house.

In the dining room, he pulls out my chair, gestures for me to sit. He ducks into the kitchen and then music seeps through hidden speakers, its buoyant tempo painting the air with a mellow rhythm. I recognize Joan Armatrading's soulful voice immediately. “Down to Zero.” My favorite. Gratefulness builds inside me for the way he remembers all the details.

Joan pours her words into the air weighted with fragrant Christmas pine and the just-baked smell wafting from the kitchen. I fidget my hands under the linen tablecloth because we are alone and there is so much I want to say and do but not nearly enough time. Alec's mother is in Boston, picking up his father at the airport; we only have a few hours. I don't want to spend them eating.

When Alec emerges from the kitchen carrying our plates, a linen cloth hung over his arm waiter-style, I laugh. His pumpkin-colored apron has a baby chick with a chef's hat perched on the pocket.

“Your dinner is served,
milady
.” He sets my plate onto the placemat before me.

I stare at the breaded roll of meat, which looks a lot like Mom's chicken cordon blue. Hers is delicious, though sloppy. This one is so perfect I can't help wonder if it's takeout. “Did you make this?”

“Just for you.” He takes the seat next to me.

“And the music?”

“Also for you.”

“Would it be an insult to call you perfect? Because all of this is better than perfect.”

“You should eat first. It's my first shot at cordon blue so it could be a disaster.”

A light sauce drapes the sides of the roll, and I can see the wrap of chicken, cheese and ham in the middle. I pick up my fork, but hesitate. “It's almost too pretty to eat.”

He gives me a shy smile and raises his glass. “To Zephyr, and all the pretty meals I'll cook for her.”

He
clinks
my glass and I take a sip of the white wine, its warmth flowing in a river through my middle, settling in my stomach, making my head clear and confused all at once.

“I'm glad you're here.” He crawls his hand to mine and gives it a squeeze before cutting into his meal.

We eat in silence, each mouthful sacred. I take another sip of wine and now want dinner to last for hours. I want to linger over every bite, this new feast for my senses, this new part of Alec to be savored. I drink more wine and the music fogs. It feels too good to let go of some control, give it over to Alec.

When we're through, I help Alec clear the dishes and he leads me upstairs to where a new hunger growls within me. My head spins with heavy indulgence. He walks me to the side of his bed, brushes the tips of his fingers over my cheek. I lean against him, already swaying under his touch.

“Someday we can do this every night,” he tells me.

“I'd like that.” And I'm certain we'll have all this someday because what we have is so much bigger than me or him or this moment.

When he kisses me we float to the bed together, already connected. We are slow with each other. Linked. I am transported on cresting waves, my senses heightened, my love intensified. I let myself get lost. In him. In us.

After, with our bodies entwined, our hearts struggle to simmer and cool. I press my ear to his chest, trace the ripples of muscle that track across his abdomen. Until reality invades with its axe, reminding me that we'll be too far from each other next year.

As if he knows what I'm thinking, Alec asks, “Do you know what you're going to do?” He strokes my hair, his fingers predictable in their timing.

I wrestle from my dream space and wish his question didn't break the silence, force us to talk about the issue consuming us both.

“Have you decided?”

There's never been a decision to make. “Yes.”

“So, Boston College then?”

“We'll make it work.” I lift my head from his torso. “I know you think long distance can't work, but we can do it. Maybe it's not too late for you to come to Boston—”

He presses a finger to my lips. “Michigan's it for me. The hockey coach is flying me out in February to watch a few games. There's no going back now.” He brushes his thumb across my mouth. “You have to know I'd do anything to be with you. I'd have found a way to decline Michigan in a second if you'd asked. If the timing had been different.”

“Really?”

“Of course, Zephyr, don't you get it? I love you. Love. You. I want to move in together, start a real life with you. But I don't have a choice. Not anymore.”

But I do.

Boston College seemed like my only option for the future once, but that was before Alec, before
this
, before our lives intertwined, inseparable as reaching vines. My stomach dips for not being as sure as him, for not thinking of him first. He's always putting me first. He paid for Finn's vet bill without question. He gives me thoughtful gifts at random times. He overcame his jealousy to support me and my friend. He protects me.

What have I done for him?

It seems impossible to be uncertain over my acceptance when this is all I thought I ever wanted. But now there's Alec and I want him too.

“I want you to do what's right for you,” he says.

But before I can even think what that is, his lips pucker against my neck, and then more. His breath trails heat all the way to my collarbone, to my chest. His mouth is everywhere and I soften under his touch. My head fills with his scent. My body quivers.

“You want me, don't you?” His words call to me from above the surface.

“Yes.” The word is hot liquid, a volcanic burst.

“More than anything?”

“Yes.” I close my eyes, my body heaved with anticipation. But his movements are off. His knee isn't coaxing my legs apart. Where is the weight of him blanketing me? I come up for air, the world crashing into me with all its colors.

He releases my arms and the mattress buckles. Is he sitting up? My head swirls. What happened?

He throws his legs over the edge of the bed, fumbles for his boxers, and stands to stretch on his shirt.

I sit up, clutch the sheet to my chest. “Is something wrong?”

He hands me the slink of my dress and then slips on his own jeans. “No.” He sits on the bed next to me, hangs his head.

“Something just happened. What did I do?”

“You said you wanted me more than anything.”

“I do.”

He lifts his gaze then, his eyes red and stung. “Obviously, that's not true. If it were . . .” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “We shouldn't be doing this if we can't be together. It's not fair to either of us. I don't think you love me the way I love you and”—his breath skips—“that kills me.”

I reach for his back, but it is rigid. He moves away.

How did we get here?

“Get dressed.” He taps my knee. “I should drive you home before my parents get back.”

In the tangle of sheets, I wriggle my dress over my head. I am a million miles away from him. No, I have
pushed
him a million miles away.

“Alec, please. I wish it could be different.”

“You have to do what makes you happy.”

God, he is such a better person than I am.

“Is it okay to tell you I love watching you dress? I'll miss that if . . .” He looks away, trails off.

He'll miss that . . .

. . . if I choose Boston over him

. . . if this is over for us now

. . . if I can't love him as much as he loves me.

If I stay with him, he wants to watch me get dressed every day. Share an apartment. A life. Make me dinner before making love. Make love before falling asleep. Wake next to me.

It's the same reality I dream of every day.

I find my bag and go to the bathroom. Staring in the mirror, my cheeks are still ruddy, flushed with want. How can I give this up? Alec is the best thing that's ever happened to me. Unexpected and perfect. Am I going to walk away because of bad timing?

He said it wouldn't even be a choice for him. That it would have been me over Michigan if he were the one who had power over his academic choices. I pull the acceptance form from my bag and stare at it.

All the power I do have. Plans change, right? People change. I've seen it with my own parents. How could I know Alec would change my world the way he has? Maybe the future isn't some distant dream but a series of changing choices. I flatten the paper against the vanity and sign the bottom, checking the appropriate boxes. I stare at the maroon logo one last time before licking the envelope. The paste tastes bitter, but there is something more—the excitement of the unknown.

“All set?” he asks when I exit the bathroom. He's in the hallway, his blue fleece already on, another barrier between us.

“All set.”

The car has trapped bitter cold air and when he turns over the engine every inch of me wants to be back in his bed, between the sheets, connected in the energy we effortlessly brew together.

We drive through the sleeping neighborhood in silence, my bag propped on my lap.

Alec turns onto the main road. “Can I tell you something?” Brake lights blink at us from a car up ahead.

“Anything.” Always.

“I wish I were . . .” He hesitates. “I wish I were better or more than or something, you know?”

No. “What do you mean? You're incredible.”

“If I could make you feel about me the way I feel about you. . . .” He slams at his steering wheel. “Fuck. I just don't want to think about losing you. If we're done, you know.”

I break at the thought of being without Alec. “I don't want to be done.”

“I don't want that either, but I can't see a way to make it work.”

I stare at his features reflected in the low lights off the dash. It's not possible to imagine a reality where I can't see him every day.

“I don't think I can do this anymore.” His hands grip the steering wheel hard, fixed. “I think it's easier if we end this before it's too late, before it's too hard.”

Oh god. I struggle to get breath.
End?
He passes the grocery store that is fully dark now except for one spotlight above the automatic doors.

“Pull over.” I point. “There.” Alec looks at me sideways, but he maneuvers the car to the front of brick office suites, cuts the engine.

I pull the envelope from my bag and hand it to him.

I watch as he reads the destination address of the college. “Are you trying to make this harder for me?” His voice shakes.

“I would never.”

“Then why—”

“I can't go.” My words surprise me even though the ink is dry. “You were right. All that stuff you said about how you'd make a different choice if you could. Well, I can. I did.” I point to the envelope. “I declined their offer. I don't want a future without you. I can't imagine it. I want you.” I signal to the blue postal box a few feet from where we've parked. “Will you drop it in the mail with me?”

He leans close to me, filling my field of vision. “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

A weighty gasp of relief escapes his lips just before he grabs my hand, kisses my palm. We scurry into the outside air, run to the mailbox. I grab the metal handle and the box yawns open. He hovers the letter over the black void.

“You're sure-sure?”

“Sure-sure.” I have never been so sure.

Alec drops the envelope. I think I hear the faint rustle of paper as it hits the bottom. That small, impossibly slight sound speaks volumes.

Alec hugs me hard, kisses me harder. I smile and laugh, feeling a wave of recklessness and determination that seems long overdue. He walks me to the car, pushes me against the side. “I want you. Here. Now.” His words are breathy and hot.

“You have me.” His hand flies under the hem of my dress, yanks it over my hips. My breath hitches as I scan the parking lot. “Won't someone see us?”

“I fucking hope so.” His words thick. Dangerous. “They'll see what they don't have, what they'll never have.” I am liquid under his touch and he moves harder, deeper. My body melts.