Two Blue Lines (Crossing The Line #1) (17 page)

Well, Homecoming was an epic fail. The game, anyway. We were annihilated by the Panthers 42-7. But, hey, Mel didn’t show up to torment me, so it wasn’t a total loss. And Robin was cute. Curly, blond hair. Busty in a way that was hard to ignore.

After the game, the girls were all giggly and Chloe clung to Jonah’s waist. “Y’all wanna go get something to eat?”

He glanced at me. I shrugged. I could always eat.

So we split up into separate cars since he’d borrowed his dad’s truck, him and Chloe in his, Robin and me in mine. Then we all hit the Jack in the Box and headed to Surfside beach.

We ate our tacos and burgers under the stars in the bed of Jonah’s truck while the girls got gigglier and Robin pulled out a little bottle from her purse.

“What’s that?” Jonah asked when she offered him a sip.

“Happy juice,” she said with a grin.

He drank and sputtered. “Vodka?”

She laughed and drank after him then passed it to Chloe, then me. I hesitated only a moment. I didn’t want to look like a wimp after all. I took a healthy chug. Shit, it burned. They all laughed at my pained expression.

Eventually, as we passed the little bottle round and round, the pain eased, both in my throat, and in my chest. My heart ached a little less, the edges of my vision blurred pleasantly as my insides warmed.

Robin leaned into me, her breasts pressing against my arm. She blinked up at me.

“What?” I said.

“I asked if you liked Jimi Hendrix. His music is like pure Heaven to me,” she murmured, her breath brushing my cheek, smelling of liquor.

I shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jonah and Chloe making out hot and heavy, his hand brushing under her shirt. Her moan reverberated in the humid night.

Robin glanced over. “Wanna give them a little privacy?”

I nodded and lumbered clumsily out of the truck. I turned to help her down, and she let her body slide down mine. She stared up at me, her eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. Behind us, the sounds of kissing mixed with the rushing of the waves and somehow fueled the alcohol riding my veins.

She threaded her fingers through my hair and pressed against me in a bold invitation.

And I accepted.

I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers, spearing her mouth with my tongue. She groaned and writhed against me, springing my long-neglected body to life.

I grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the car. We tumbled into the backseat, a tangle of limbs and fevered ripping off of clothes.

Release. My body was screaming for release.

I don’t know if I kissed her again. I didn’t talk. I simply took.

Once I had her naked, I yanked my own jeans down as she fumbled a condom from her purse. My fuzzy brain wondered in strange detachment why she’d have a condom with her, at the same time registering the glint of the diamond in her belly button ring.

Her hands scraped my back as I moved up her body and positioned myself above her.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered on a moan.

I froze.
Baby
.

Slowly . . . painfully . . . I drew back and peered into her face. For a split-second, it was Mel’s eyes I saw and my soul flat-lined in my chest.

Oh, God. What was I doing? This had gotten
way
out of control.

I scrambled back and yanked up my jeans. “I’m . . .” I couldn’t even say I was sorry.

She laid there a moment, then seemed to cue into the fact that this was going nowhere. Her eyes glistened in the tiny sliver of moonlight, mirroring first her surprise, then her hurt.

Damn. I hadn’t meant to hurt another girl.

She pressed herself up and fumbled in the dark for her T-shirt and covered her bare chest. Her labored breathing filled the air.

“I—”

“Don’t,” she said. “Just don’t.” Her vehemence surprised me. She shoved on her clothes and shot me a nasty glare as she slammed out of the car.

Well, shit.

I ran a hand down my face and sucked in a breath. God.

Thankfully, she hitched a ride home with Jonah so I was free to go. Alone. I pulled up in the driveway and my mom was outside in her long pink nightie, tapping on the window before I shut off the ignition. I rolled it down and stared at her, confused.

“Where have you been?” she demanded.

“Homecoming,” I said. “Why? What’s wrong?” My first thoughts were that something bad had happened to Dad, or that Izzie had gotten sick with another nasty pneumonia and gone back to the hospital like last year. But, if that was the case, Mom wouldn’t be outside in her bare feet, knocking on my window.

She glanced away, then back. “Melissa’s parents called even though they said she didn’t want them to. They said you should know . . .”

The world stopped around me. My blood felt like syrup pumping thickly through my veins as fear pricked me with her evil talons. “What? Know what?”

“She went to the hospital again.”

I swallowed. It was ridiculous, but I got the instant feeling that it was all my fault. I was the one who’d made her emotional when I knew better. I was the one who’d nearly slept with another girl . . . “The baby?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

I was the one who might’ve pushed her too far.

September 27
th

I think I can manage to write something again, but it’s been an awful couple of weeks. I’ve managed to avoid Reed this whole time, other than the occasional text. I even lucked out of visiting my grandparents by faking being sick, and I’ve steered clear of my parents and Chris as much as possible. But I’m really not feeling well. I’m an emotional wreck, I feel like a house, I’m puffy all over, and I am so utterly, miserably alone. Yes, I’m bringing it upon myself, but I can barely stand my own company, and I definitely can’t stand to be around anyone else. Even Roxanne.

But Reed’s there. Always there. At school, on my phone, in my heart. I’ve caught him looking at me, as if trying to read me, his sad puppy eyes begging me to give in. I hate lying to him, and I really want to go to him, tell him the truth, but I can’t. Not now. Not yet.

Tonight’s Homecoming, something Reed and I always did together. I’ve done pretty good at keeping my chin up, acting unaffected. I ignored all the other girls’ huge ass mums, the talk of the big game, my ex drill team “friends.” I’ve even ignored the stupid, pesky back pain and cramps in my belly, though they’re getting more nagging even as I sit here and write.

Wait.

I just noticed my panties are wet. Shit.

I want my Baby Back

T
ime crawled at an unworldly slow pace as I drove back to Brazosport Regional, my brain crowded and yet empty. Of course, Mel didn’t answer her phone.

I passed the park where I first got up the nerve to kiss her that windy fall day when we were thirteen. Asked her to be my girlfriend. It was dark as an oil slick now, embraced by the night. But in my mind, it would always be lit by the sunlight of Melissa’s kiss.

God, how had we come to this?

What could I say to her to make her see me as
that
guy again? The one who kissed her nervousness away then bought her an Icee; took her to the Freshman dance and declared that sappy song by that boy band she loved was our song; held her as she sobbed countless tears over being adopted . . .

That’s how we’d come to this.

I knew exactly how she felt about adoption, the pain of feeling unwanted, tossed away by her biological mother and misunderstood by her family. Of not knowing who she was, where she came from. Sure, she knew her parents loved her, but deep inside, she was always seeking, always yearning. Always feeling lost.

Of course she’d want to spare a child that. And I pushed her out of my own fear.

I pressed the accelerator and dared the hospital to move further away.

The lights of the entrance finally came into view and I slid into a parking space and hurried inside. I found a lonely volunteer desk, but it was empty. I scanned the lobby area but saw no one. I finally spied a courtesy phone, picked it up and dialed zero.

The sleepy-voiced operator didn’t sound too thrilled with my call. “Operator. May I help you?”

“Hi. I’m looking for Melissa Summers? She was brought in earlier today?”

“One moment.” A few keys tapped on the other end. “Let’s see . . . that would be Labor and Delivery, room one . . .”

My heart sunk like a lead balloon. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Oh, wait . . .” A few more keyboard strokes. “I’m sorry. She was there. She’s been discharged home now.”

Wait. What? “And the . . . the baby?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that, sir. I don’t have access to patient records, they’re confidential. All I can tell you is she’s not here. I’m sorry.”

“Okay. Thank you.” I hung up and stared at the phone, wondering what to make of that. Well, only one way to find out.

If it was even possible, the drive to Mel’s house was even slower. Possibly because my brain had turned to mush, my conscience beating it with a sledgehammer.

We should’ve never broken up.

I should’ve been with her tonight.

I should never have been at Homecoming without her . . . and with my hands on another girl.

I was a mess.

I drove up to her house and was slightly relieved to find the porch light on. At least they were awake. I took a fortifying breath, prepared myself for whatever wrath they doled out—because I deserved it—and knocked.

Her dad answered, Chris just behind him in the hall. Great. “Hello, sir. Is Melissa home?” I afforded her brother a quick glance—his blue eyes glinting dark, probably with anger at me—then turned back to her dad.

He just stared at me, his distaste emanating off him in waves.

I wilted with a weary sigh. “Look. I’m sorry. I just heard about what happened from my mom. I was at Homecoming. I went to the hospital . . . she was already gone . . . she won’t answer her phone . . . I’ve been trying, but she won’t talk to me . . . I’m really sorry,” I repeated as the words kept tumbling from my mouth in an emotional heap.

His face seemed to thaw. Just a bit. He tilted his head and studied me as Chris disappeared out of sight. Finally, he cracked the door just wide enough for me to squeeze by. “She’s in her room.”

Relief made me dizzy. “Thank you.”

I brushed by him and loped down the hall, barely registering the scent of what must’ve been some kind of Mexican dish they had for supper. I wondered if Mel’s appetite was still good.

I got to her closed bedroom door and pressed my hand to the cool wood, my heart knocking in my chest. She’d been ignoring me for weeks. What would she say now?

I knocked.

“Come in,” her small voice called out from behind the door.

Gently, I cracked the door and peeked inside.

She was lying in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. Tears were streaking down her face, her hair was in a messy bundle on top of her head. She looked like a lost child.

Slowly, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.