Two Blue Lines (Crossing The Line #1) Page 10

  . . . if you’re not up for the task, then feel free to go. I’ll do it on my own . . .

  I swerved violently and pulled to the side of the road, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. I dropped my head as her parting words echoed like a death sentence:

  “I guess this is goodbye, Reed. I’m sorry . . .”

  I killed the car and sat in the silence, my breath the only sound. Outside, those fat-bellied, purple clouds had swollen to bursting and were splitting open in a deluge, drenching my car violently; matching the swirling thoughts bathing my brain with confusion.

  Who was that girl who just dumped me? Where was the sweet, gentle Melissa who said she’d love me forever . . . only me? The girl who’d been so frightened of losing me? That I’d hate her and the baby?

  What the hell had just happened?

  When had I become the bad guy for wanting a normal life? For wanting something more for the baby than we could give it?

  Well screw that. She could take her ultimatum and the baby and go screw herself. I was done.

  Done.

  I cranked the ignition violently as the wind rocked the car and the sky dumped buckets of rain on me, mocking any storm I’d ever seen before. The engine gave a rolling whine, but didn’t turn over. I gave it some gas and tried again. Nothing.

  I waited about five minutes—long enough for the wind and rain to overtake and numb the roaring in my mind. Long enough for me to see the danger as the water began to rise in the ditch across the road.

  I swallowed and tried the ignition again. Dead.

  Shit.

  With trembling hands, and no other alternatives, I dialed my dad.

  As I waited for him, I studied the worn, burgundy vinyl seats, checked my phone about a hundred times. How long would it take Dad to get here? My heart began to thump uncomfortably as the chilled air from outside began to creep in and wrap around my legs, the downpour rocking my car like it was a plaything in a bathtub.

  Finally, the hazy flash of headlights shone murkily in my rearview mirror. I snapped around, heaving a relieved breath to make out the dark outline of my dad’s big red truck. I watched him jump out and jog to my passenger door, swing it open and slide in, slamming it closed behind him, bringing in a sheet of rain and the scent of the storm.

  “Hey,” I said, never happier to see anyone in my life.

  He shook the water from his hair like a dog and shot me a glare. “What are you doing out in this? Didn’t you hear the warnings about the tropical storm?”

  I just stared. “What?”

  He shook his head like I’d disappointed him with my ineptitude. Again. “Never mind. Just try and start the car.”

  I cranked again. Dead.

  He sighed. “Could be a few things; battery, starter, fuel filter maybe.” He glanced at me. “But we can’t do anything with it in this weather. Lock it up and hop in the truck. I’ll take you home.”

  I nodded but didn’t move.

  Really? Could my day get any freakin’ worse?

  Yes.

  Yes, it could, I realized as my humiliation reached new bounds and hot tears began tracing unheeded down my face. I had no idea when they started, or how to stop them, as pain, frustration, confusion, anger, and a million other emotions that had no name boiled up and spurted out with each salty tear.

  God, but I was mad!

  A tentative hand clamped my shoulder. “What is it, Son?”

  I shook my head.

  “Buddy? Come on . . .”

  I glanced up, my vision blurred with the stupid evidence of my emotional upheaval. If only I could tuck it away as easily as him.

  A sudden memory resurfaced of when I was about four . . . he was teaching me to ride my bike without training wheels and I fell off in the street. Then he told me to quit crying like a sissy. He’d laughed over dinner and told my mom that I must be emotional like her.

  She scolded him, reminding him how I was “advanced” in other ways, smart. He never said it again. But it stuck like glue to my subconscious. And I tried the rest of my childhood to not cry in front of him, to be the son he wanted.

  But today, it didn’t matter.

  He could call me a sissy. I was beyond scraped and raw inside. And I was beyond angry.

  “Reed?” His eyes glowed true concern. “What’s happened? Are you all right?”

  The rain pelted harder, the wind whipped around us, all somehow solidifying my emotion. “I’ll live.” I met his gaze. “Mel and I broke up.”

  He didn’t say anything for several heartbeats as our ragged breathing filled the car. “Oh,” he finally said. “Can I ask what happened?”

  I shrugged. “We had a fight about the baby.” I didn’t want to say more.

  An expression I’d never seen before crossed his face and I had to do a double-take. Beyond disappointment. Grief? “What about it?”

  I hung my head. Mel and I had presented a united front to our parents. Now I was the one changing the game plan. “It doesn’t matter. She dumped me.”

  “Well, I sure as hell hope you still plan on doing right by her and the baby.”

  My head snapped up at the vehemence in his voice.

  “I mean it, Son,” he went on, his face darkening like the clouds outside. “Girlfriend or not, you two made a baby together. So you’d better get your shit together and take care of your responsibility or I’ll personally string you up by your family jewels so there won’t be any more children. You hear me?”

  I snapped my gaping mouth shut. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now get your butt in the truck before we drown out here.”

  September 11th

  I woke up from a nightmare this morning, drenched in sweat, the words “I won’t tell,” trapped in my throat, along with a choking sob. I thought I’d done pretty good at pushing The Night aside, but sometimes it comes roaring back when I sleep . . .

  How upset I was that day. Emotional and unsure why. Sitting on a bed in the back room, hiding away with my own private pity party.

  The slamming door. Realizing I wasn’t alone.

  The incredibly loud music, drowning out everything but the noise in my head. The shock.

  His hot breath near my ear. The tears streaking down my cheeks. His weight on me, pinning me until I thought I’d be sick. His grunts. How disgusting I felt . . .

  When I was fully awake, my aching heart still pounding, it hit me.

  I’m alone now.

  Damage Control

  Jonah met me at Lettie’s site two days later so we could assess the storm’s damage.

  I’d spent that time assessing the damage on my heart and letting my anger simmer down to a low boil. It had basically fizzled out now to a mild achy throb. Mel hadn’t called or texted, and I hadn’t called her. I didn’t know what to say.

  Sorry I was an inconsiderate douche, even though I still think I’m right. Can we talk?

  Somehow, I didn’t think that would work.

  So I buried it for now as I stood with Jonah and stared down at the haggard wooden cross—or rather, the pieces of it strewn around the sand, along with tons of debris that the storm had littered along the beach.

  “Dude,” Jonah said, the breeze ruffling his hair. It was hard to believe how quickly the weather could change from the shitfest of that storm to this gorgeous day. “What a mess.”

  “Yeah.”

  He kicked at a couple soda cans in the sand. “What do you wanna do?”

  I picked up the largest chunk of wood and brushed off the wet muck. Remembered. God, how our lives had been simpler that summer three years ago. No complications, no babies, no frustrating, messy, emotional soup. I glanced over as a young couple strolled by, smiling into each other’s eyes like the rest of the world didn’t exist. I turned away. “I think we need to clean this up and redo her cross.”

  I glanced at him. He nodded. “Okay.”

  We made a run to Lowe’s in Lake Jackson and got some fresh, weather-treated wood then went back to
my place to make Lettie’s marker. Just like my dad had done last time, we used the wood burner to etch our final tribute into the wood.

  Once it was ready, we drove back to the beach and, in silence, we bagged up as much of the trash as we could, then hammered her new cross into the ground.

  It finally felt like I had done something right.

  We stood, again, and stared down at our work.

  “Looks good,” Jonah said.

  I nodded.

  “So what’s up with you?” He glanced my way.

  “Whatdya mean?”

  He blinked and studied me for a minute as the waves gently rippled behind us. Rhythmically; the same lullaby that had soothed me countless times over the years. “I mean, what’s up with you?” He cocked his head. He had my number. We’d been best friends for too long to hide anything from him.

  “Mel broke up with me.”

  He simply stared at me, disbelief painted all over his face. “What?”

  I nodded.

  “You’re shittin’ me.”

  “Nope.”

  His brows thundered down. “Why?”

  I gazed out at the water, ignoring the strewn seaweed that looked like hair on the beach. Ignored all the ugliness. “I brought up adoption again. She showed me the door.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Pretty much. Said she could do it on her own and I could stay or go. So I went.”

  His mouth fell open. “What the hell, man? What happened?”

  My heart stuttered with guilt at the accusatory expression on his face. “What’re you talking about? I just told you.”

  He paced a few steps away then spun back, his face frustrated. “Man, you sure aren’t acting like the best friend I know. This is Melissa we’re talking about. You love her. How could you just up and leave her when she’s pregnant, dude? That’s cold.”

  I blinked as pain lanced me. “Didn’t you hear me? She dumped me!”

  “Uh, you just said she gave you a choice and you made it . . . sounds like you did the dumping.” The silence settled between us for a moment as I realized the truth of his words. “Does a baby scare you that bad?”

  YES! I wanted to scream and flail. Yes, yes, yes, yes. But I didn’t. I glanced down. “No.”

  Suddenly, he was right up in my face. “You are a damn liar, Reed Young.”

  I met his heated gaze, shocked by his vehemence. Since when did he care so much about Mel? About the baby? I opened my mouth to say something, though I’m not sure what, but he interrupted me.

  “You’re a liar and an ingrate. You have no idea how good you’ve got it.” His face morphed as pain mirroring my own rained down his features. “You’ve got a girl who loves you, willing to make a family with you, and you freakin’ dumped her because she wants to keep your baby? Really?” He sucked in a breath. I kept quiet. He wasn’t done; not by a long shot. “And you’ve got a mom with a heart of gold who actually cares where you are, hugs you, feeds you. Your brother doesn’t knock the piss outta you. Your dad doesn’t drink himself to oblivion.” His words tapered off in a hoarse whisper, as if too agonizing for him to speak loudly, but his blazing eyes kept me pinned. Accused.

  I wanted to apologize to him for my life. Tell him how many times over the years I’d wished that I could’ve traded the crappy hand life had dealt him. But there was nothing I could do. Nothing I could say.

  So I said nothing.

  As I drove Jonah home in silence, I realized he was right. Absolutely right. Compared to his shitty life, mine was a bed of roses.

  But did that mean I had to trill with the birds and write sonnets and shit for a baby that was turning my whole world on its ass?

  I pulled up to his house. “Listen, man—”

  He shifted and looked at me. “Don’t worry about it. Do what you want.” He stepped out of the car and slammed the door before I could say more.

  The silence accused me like a slap in the face. Damn it. I fumbled in my pocket and found my cell phone. I hadn’t heard from Mel since I’d left her house after her ultimatum. And though it still rubbed me wrong, Jonah’s words stung worse.

  I tapped on the screen and texted her.

  Hey How r u?

  It took a minute for her to reply. I shot a glance to Jonah’s house, nobody seemed to be paying me any mind.

  Fine

  I texted back.

  Can we talk?

  Silence for several minutes. I gave up and started the car. Finally, my phone beeped with an answer.

  Busy

  Really? Really? Busy with what?

  I tossed the phone in the seat and threw the car in reverse. Tomorrow was Monday, so she’d have to face me at school. Then we’d see how busy she really was.

  September 12th

  Spent some girl time with Roxanne. We ate pickles and cupcakes and danced to her new CD. She listened to me talk about Reed and hugged me while I cried. She’s a good friend. Better than I deserve, since I’ve hardly talked to her in the past few weeks as this baby has taken over my life. My nightmare still fresh on my mind, I really wish I could tell her the truth. All of it. I probably could, she wouldn’t judge me, but the words are stuck in my heart. Somehow it feels traitorous to tell anyone but Reed first, even if we’re over. Soon. I’ll tell him soon.

  Maybe.

  I’m wondering if this isn’t a blessing in disguise. This way he’s free of me and the baby and can go on with his life. Let me move on to deal with my shame and guilt alone. Like I deserve.

  Luckily, Roxie was there to fortify me when Reed texted this afternoon. He asked me how I was, if we could talk.

  No.

  I can’t.

  Boys will be Boys

  Jonah and I made a tentative peace, but Melissa managed to avoid me all week at school.

  And the following week, too.

  It was killing me. Especially as I watched her walk alone through the halls, her smile hollow, her belly growing along with my bitterness.

  She answered my first few texts, then she got to where she ignored me altogether.

  But today, I’d had it.

  I got to school early and waited for her by the front doors where her mom had started dropping her off. I watched her climb down from the big SUV, her belly making the effort a little harder for her.

  She ambled my way, calm, no idea what was about to hit her.

  She pulled open the clunky school door, her eyes automatically adjusting to the dim lighting. Then she saw me. Her body automatically tensed and her mouth pinched into a frown.

  I smiled. “Hi.”

  She tried to slip by me without saying a word, but I blocked her path. “I said hi,” I repeated, staring down into her face as she stared at the floor.

  “Hi,” she murmured reluctantly, again trying to brush past me.

  I slipped the book bag from her shoulder. “Here. Let me help you.”

  Her gaze snapped up to mine. “What do you want, Reed?”

  “I told you. Several times. To talk.”

  She strode away, her steps brisk and angry now. “And I told you, we have nothing to talk about.”

  I grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Mel.”

  “What?”

  “I love you.”

  She blinked up at me. “Shut up.”

  “I do.”

  “I can’t . . . I just can’t . . . so please stop calling me, okay?” And though I saw just a momentary glimpse of pain in her deep brown eyes, she locked it up tight before she ripped her bag from my grasp and spun away, ripping the heart from my chest.

  Homecoming was that week and I had a rare weekend off work. And it was the first Homecoming that Mel and I wouldn’t be attending together.

  Jonah showed up at my house with a stupid grin and a new haircut. “Hey, man, you going to the game?”

  “Nah. I don’t think so.”

  I hadn’t mentioned his outburst the day at Lettie’s grave and neither had he. Guess we were just gonna let it go. He’d definitely
had worse over the years, and we’d sort of come to a silent agreement that he was entitled to his shit because of his home life and I would let it slide. This was just the first time his shit was directed at me. “Aw, come on. It’ll be fun. Me ‘n Chloe are going, and she’s bringing her cousin, Robin, from outta town. She’s real cute.”

  I dropped the pencil I’d been toying with in shock. “What?”

  “What?” he echoed.

  “Dude . . .” I didn’t quite know what to say.

  He propped a hip against my dresser and picked up one of my old baseballs. “I thought you and Mel broke up.”

  “So?”

  “Then you can go out and have some fun. It’s not a date or anything. Come on.”

  “What happened to the guy who nailed me for dumping my pregnant girlfriend?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  He shrugged. “I was having an off day. And, besides, I know you’ve been trying to make up with her. If she wants to go it alone, I guess that’s her problem.”

  I watched him toss the ball back and forth between his hands as the thoughts ticked through my mind. He was right. I could go out. I’d tried to make good with Mel. Lord knows I’d tried. The knot of frustration began to melt away as hope bubbled up.

  I was free.

  Blessedly free.

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  He grinned at me. “Cool.”

  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.