Two Blue Lines (Crossing The Line #1) (21 page)

We began sprinting up and down the court in a less than friendly game of one-on-one until we were drenched in sweat.

Man, it felt good. Normal. Easy.

I lobbed the winning point in with no rim.

Jonah grunted and leaned over with his hands on his knees. “Two out of three?” he panted.

“What?” I panted in return, heading for my water bottle. “Can’t take your ass whooping like a man?”

I dodged the ball before it nailed me in the head.

He shuffled over and wilted on the bench to reach for his own water bottle for a big chug. He glanced at me. “How’s Melissa?”

“Good.”

He sipped again and toweled the sweat off his head. “So y’all are good now?”

My gaze snapped to his. Thankfully, he hadn’t noticed how strange she’d been with him the last few times we were all together. I couldn’t have explained it if he asked anyway. But I guess he’s got bigger things to think about. “Yeah. We’re good.”

“Cool.”

I nodded. I’d always liked that I didn’t have to say much with Jonah. He just got me. For that matter, I got him, too. “And Chloe? How’s stuff with her? Good?”

He smiled. “Yeah. I like her.”

Huh. I hadn’t seen him all googly-eyed like this about a girl before. Too bad it had to be her. But I had to ask the thing that had been on my mind . . . “And Robin?”

His brows crinkled. “What about her?”

“Well . . . I—”

Understanding dawned. “I know we partied on Homecoming, but it’s no big deal, dude.” His face relaxed with a smile. “If you’re worried she’ll bother you now that she’s home in Dallas, and ruin things for you and Melissa, I wouldn’t. Chloe said she’s a party girl. She’s not looking for a man.”

I sighed, nodded, tried to believe him. “Okay, cool. Thanks.”

He opened his mouth to say something more, but his cell phone rang and interrupted us.

He glanced at the screen with a frown then answered. “Yeah.”

I sipped my drink and let the breeze dry the sweat on my face as the muffled voice on the other end of the phone continued and Jonah turned his face away.

A pigeon landed at our feet, pecking at some invisible crumbs, its gray feathers mirroring my friend’s suddenly darkening mood. He shifted and his shoulders tensed visibly, a weird emotion rolling off him in waves.

“Okay,” he finally said, speaking for the first time. “I’ll be home soon.” He ended the call and tossed the phone on the bench between us.

I said nothing, sensing his teetering mood, as I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. There was always shit going on at his house and I knew he’d speak up if he wanted . . .

“Noah’s dead.”

He dropped that bomb without looking at me. Without moving. Just staring off in the distance, his hands gripping his knees like lifelines.

I had to do a double-take. “Say what?”

Now he looked at me, his eyes dark voids. Emotionless. “He’d barely made it out of boot camp. Hadn’t even been given a permanent assignment yet.” He tilted his head like he was computing something that didn’t make sense. Would never make sense. “He was killed in a bar fight last night. Stabbed.”

I stared at him, not sure what to say. What he wanted me to say. What he was feeling. Cuz I wasn’t feeling much of anything. Respect to the dead and all, but Noah was a prick. An abusive, foul-mouthed, black-hearted, mean, overgrown prick, and I for one, wasn’t that sad. He got what he had coming.

But he was my best friend’s oldest brother.

“I’m sorry,” I said, clasping his shoulder.

He nodded once and slid to stand, looking a little dazed. “I guess I need to get home. My mom’s kinda freakin’ out.”

“Sure.” I watched him collect his phone and pull out his keys, his eyes still dull, lifeless, freakishly empty. “You sure you’re okay?” I asked.

He met my gaze. “Yeah.” He glanced down and fiddled with his key fob for a moment. “Well . . . the thing is, I really am okay . . .”

“That’s good—”

“But,” he interrupted as though he was talking to himself, “I know I shouldn’t be.” He drew in a huge breath, his eyes pinned to the ground. “He was my brother. My
brother
. . .” The word was drawn out on a pained whisper. “So why do I feel nothing but relief?”

I didn’t get a chance to respond—not that I’d have known what to say—as he spun to go with a quick ‘see ya’ tossed over his shoulder.

And I found that I, too, felt nothing but relief.

Mel didn’t answer her phone so I headed to the beach alone. I wasn’t up to going home just yet. I needed to find solace and I could only find it at Lettie’s place.

I parked and let the whipping beach breeze urge me toward my destination.

I ambled past the pier. Past a dead jellyfish, lying helpless in the sand, alone and tangled in the knotty seaweed. I made my way to where the sand gets noticeably less compact, softer. I welcomed the stinging of the wind in my eyes.

Even though it was fall, the weather was unseasonably warm, the sun still breathing heat on my shoulders through my T-shirt. But, as I neared the pristine church-white cross, the waves pounding in the background, I felt the emotional knot easing already. But what I didn’t quite understand was why it was there. Yes, I had the whole ‘I’m gonna be a dad’ thing, but I’d been dealing. Or trying to.

No, it was that day’s junk.

I sank to my knees in front of the marker and brushed the debris away. I did the same in my mind, excavating through the memories of my friendship with Jonah. His family might be crap, but we were rock solid. Had been since we were ten and were the Hot Wheels bandits together. And even then, as young and naïve as I was, I understood his family’s dysfunction after my first taste. Even at ten years old, you understand when your friend is scared of his dad. Especially when you see that first backhand. But when his brother mimicked that behavior, even louder and meaner, you caught on pretty quick that there was something fundamentally wrong. I hurt for Jonah.

And now his brother was gone.

I pulled my sister’s face into focus and tried to imagine how that must feel. I couldn’t do it. Was Jonah grieving? Why would he? As hard as I tried, I couldn’t remember one redeeming quality about Noah. Not one. And that made me so sad. So there, on my knees, I wept.

October 20
th

I swear to God, I’m getting so fat! I have nothing to wear and I feel like a beached whale. I’m swollen, moody, hungry all the time. Yuck.

I had another nightmare last night, too. But I brushed it off and went shopping with Mom. I got some actual maternity clothes so I won’t have to keep wearing baggy shirts and stupid dresses. But those stretchy elastic waistbands . . . ?

The whole time we were out, Mom kept giving me weird looks, even patted my stomach once. I think she’s getting excited. She got especially goo-goo and teary-eyed at the baby stuff and bought a few things. I didn’t stop her, though I wonder if Reed will be upset. I know he’s working so hard to try and provide everything for this baby.

I saw some mothers with their kids at the mall and it was totally unreal thinking someday soon that’ll be me. Hope I don’t screw it up. If I haven’t already.

Oh, Reed is finally done playing basketball with Jonah and he’s texting, gotta go!

Cherry Bombs and Caskets

M
elissa finally answered my text messages and I drove over to her house straight from the beach.

She met me at the door in sunshine yellow pajama pants and one of my old T-shirts, her belly barely making a dent in it. Her face was freshly washed. Devoid of makeup, I could make out the multitude of freckles on her now rounder face, and she was wearing the glasses I hardly ever saw her in now that she’d nagged her parents into contact lenses. She was adorable and I just wanted to lose myself in her arms and forget the mess in my mind.

She tipped her glasses up on her nose and tilted her face, studying me as if she sensed something off in my demeanor. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

She opened the door and ushered me inside. I followed her to her room after she got me a soda from the kitchen, her little bare feet pattering on the linoleum.

She shut her bedroom door behind me and I sagged onto the edge of her bed. “How was your day?”

She blinked at me a few times. “Good. I got a few more things I can fit, now that I’m getting bigger. We got the baby some stuff.” She walked over and sat next to me, put her head on my shoulder. “But my legs are super swollen. What about you? How was work?”

Oh, right. I had worked that day. “It was fine.”

“Mom seems to be loosening up. We even talked a little bit.” She shifted and pressed her lips to my collarbone briefly. “But I missed you.”

I gripped her hand, the words not there yet.

“Hey,” she said. “Don’t forget, we have our next appointment with Dr. Foster on Halloween.” She giggled. “Trick or treat.”

I nodded against her hair. “Sure.”

She peered up into my eyes. “What’s wrong, baby? You’ve been quiet since you got here.”

My mind drifted back to Jonah . . . the void we both wished we could fill with some kind of grief. I dropped my head. “Jonah’s brother . . . Noah . . .”

She sat up ramrod straight, her voice suddenly barbed wire sharp, “What about him?”

“Uh . . .” Her reaction puzzled me, but I pushed it aside. Nobody really liked Noah, after all. “He’s dead. Stabbed in a bar fight.”

She popped up, paced away from me, some strange emotion rolling off her. “Why are you telling me this?”

Confusion clogged my throat. “What?”

She whirled around, her brows thundering down. “I mean, why would you come here and tell me this? Why do you think I would even care?” Her voice rose in pitch with each word, her body practically vibrating.

I was thunderstruck by her reaction. I opened my mouth, but unable to find words, snapped it shut.

“Well?” she demanded. “Why? You know I hated Noah! I
hated
him!” Tears quivered on her lashes as she wilted into her desk chair.

I had no idea. No. Idea.

He’d always been an ass to Jonah and me, but what would give her cause to detest him so much? Not understanding a thing about girls or pregnancy or hormones (assuming that’s what this could be,) I rose and approached her tentatively.

“Babe?” I whispered, placing a reassuring hand on her neck.

She sniffled but didn’t respond.

I sighed. “I thought you’d care because Jonah is our friend . . . my best friend . . . and even if Noah was a douche, he was his brother.”

“Yeah. I know,” she relented, her body still stiff. “Sorry.”

She glanced away quickly like she didn’t really mean it, mumbling something about stress and being tired, but I wasn’t sure I believed her. It was just something . . .

We sat silently for several moments as I rubbed her neck and upper back before she finally met my gaze again, her black-brown eyes waterlogged with unshed tears. “So, you’ll be at my next appointment with Dr. Foster, right?”

I nodded. I got it. Conversation over.