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And just like that--I was gone.
We were "the" couple in high school--Brenda and Eddie from that Billy Joel song. The star quarterback and the theater queen.
She was the love of my life, before I had any fucking idea what love was . . . and then, still, even after I did.
We broke up when she went away to college and I stayed here in Jersey--couldn't survive the distance. It was a quiet ending when I went out to visit her in California, no drama or hysterics. Just some hard truths, tears, one last night together in her dorm-room bed, and a morning of goodbye.
She never really came home again after that. At least, not long enough for us to run into each other. I haven't seen her in years--in a lifetime.
But she's here now.
At my school.
And you can bet Callie's sweet ass I'm going to find out why.
Chapter Five
Callie
I was fourteen the first time Garrett Daniels spoke to me. I remember every detail--I could close my eyes and it's like I'm right there again.
It was after school, a week into my freshman year, TLC was singing "Waterfalls" from the radio on the floor next to me. I was sitting on the bench outside the school theater when I saw his black dress shoes first, because football players wore suits on game days. His suit was dark blue, his shirt white, his tie a deep burgundy. I looked up, and those gorgeous brown eyes, with long "pretty" lashes that should've been given to a girl, gazed back at me. His mouth was full and soft looking and smiled so easily. His hair was thick and fell over his forehead in that dark, cool, careless way that made my fingers twitch to brush it back.
Then he uttered the smoothest opening line in the history of forever.
Do you have a quarter I could borrow? I was gonna get a soda from the vending machine but I'm short.
I did, in fact, have a quarter and I handed it to him. But he didn't go to get his soda--he stayed right where he was and asked me my name.
Callaway.
I'd mentally cursed myself immediately for using my full name because of its weirdness.
But Mr. Confident didn't think it was weird.
That's a really pretty name. I'm Garrett.
I'd already known that--I'd heard a lot about Garrett Daniels. He was a popular "middle school" boy because he'd gone to Lakeside public schools, as opposed to me, who was a "St. Bart's" girl because I'd spent grades one through eight at the only Catholic school in town. He was a freshman, already playing on the varsity team, because he was just that good. Garrett was the third of the Daniels boys. Rumor had it he'd had sex in eighth grade with his then-girlfriend, though I would come to find out later that that was just the middle-school gossip mill run amuck.
Are you going to the game tonight?
He asked, and seemed genuinely interested in my answer.
I glanced at my theater friend, Sydney, who was watching the whole exchange in wide-eyed, open-mouthed silence. Then I shrugged.
Maybe.
He nodded slowly, staring at my face, like he couldn't look away. Like he didn't want to stop watching me. And I was perfectly happy to watch him right back.
Until a group of varsity jackets called his name from the end of the hallway. And Garrett started walking backwards towards them, eyes still on me.
You should come to my house after the game--to the party.
There was always a party after a home game, usually at an upperclassman's house. That week, word around the school hallway was the party was at Ryan Daniels' house.
Technically, it's my brother's party, but I can invite people. You should come, Callaway.
Another flash of devastating smile.
It'll be fun.
I went to the game. And the party.
Although my sister didn't exactly run in the same circle as Ryan, she had some friends on the cheerleading squad and had already planned on going.
We were there a few minutes, in the basement, with Bruce Springsteen playing on the stereo, when Garrett walked up to me. He handed me a red plastic cup of beer that was mostly foam and kept another for himself. It was loud in his basement, teenagers shoulder to shoulder and wall to wall, so we ended up in his backyard, just the two of us. We sat on the rusty swing set and talked about silly things. Our classes, what teachers we had, the star constellations we could see and name, why a quarterback was called a quarterback.
And that's how we started. That's how we began.
That's how we became us.
"Callie!"
Although I haven't seen Garrett in years, I would know his voice anywhere--I hear it in my head all the time. So when my name bounces off the parking lot pavement in that rich, steady tone, I know right away who's calling it.
"Hey--Callie!"
Garrett's leaning out of a first-floor window on the east side of the high school. I wave, and my smile is instant and genuine.
He points at me. "Wait there."
I wait. His head disappears from the window and a few moments later, he emerges from the door, jogging over to me with those long strides I remember so well, but on a fuller, more mature frame. My eyes recognize him, and so does my heart. It speeds up as he comes closer, pounding out a happy greeting inside my chest.
He's smiling when he reaches me, that same, easy smile. Then he hugs me, envelops me in a warm, friendly embrace. His arms are bigger than I remember, but we fit together perfectly.
We always did.
My nose presses against the gray cotton of his Lakeside Lions T-shirt . . . and he smells the same.
Exactly the same.
I've dated many men through the years, artists and actors and businessmen, but not one of them ever smelled as fantastic as Garrett: a hint of cologne, and that clean, male, ocean scent.
And just like that, I'm sucked back to being seventeen again--standing in this parking lot after school. How many times did he hug me right here in this spot? How many times did he kiss me--sometimes quick and fleeting, sometimes slow, with longing, cradling my face in his large hands?
"Wow. Callie Carpenter. It's good to see you."
I tilt my head, gazing up into those same gorgeous eyes with the same pretty lashes.
It's a strange sensation standing in front of someone you've loved deeply--someone who, once upon a time, you couldn't imagine not seeing, not talkin
g to every day. Someone who used to be the center of your whole world . . . that you just don't know anymore.
It's kind of like when I was eight and my Grandma Bella died. I stood next to her casket and thought, it's her, Grandma, she's right there. But the part of her that I knew, the part that made her who she was to me . . . that wasn't there anymore.
That was forever changed. Forever gone.
I know a version of Garrett intimately, as well as I know myself. But do those intimate details still apply? Does he still like room-temperature soda with no ice? Does he still talk to the television when he watches a football game--like the players can hear him? Does he still fold his pillow in half when he sleeps?
"Garrett Daniels. It's good to see you too. It's been a long time."
"Yeah." He nods, his gaze drifting over my face. Then he smirks devilishly. "You just couldn't stay away from me any longer, huh?"
I laugh out loud--we both do--because there he is.
That's him . . . that's the sweet, cocky boy I know.
"You look great."
And, God, does he ever. Garrett was always cute, handsome, the kind of good-looking that would make teenage girls and middle-aged moms alike drool while watching him play football or mow the lawn shirtless.
But here, now--Man-Garrett? Oh, mama. There's no comparison.
His jaw is stronger, more prominent and chiseled with a dusting of dark stubble. There are tiny, faint lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth that weren't there before--but they only add to his handsomeness, making him look even more capable and adventurous. His shoulders and chest are broad, solid, and the muscles under his short-sleeved T-shirt are rippled and sculpted. His waist is tight, not an inch of bulge to be seen. His hips are taut and his legs powerful. The way he carries himself, the way he stands--head high, back straight and proud--it radiates that effortless confidence, the unwavering self-assurance of a man who takes charge.
Grown-up Garrett is knee-weakeningly, panty-incineratingly, H-O-T, double-fuck, hot.
