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After seeing him in his office, after the way we parted, I never imagined he would show up at my doorstep. I didn’t think I’d want to see him there. But, now, I'm so glad he came.
So, his mother wasn’t speaking for him. He didn’t blame me. He wasn’t lost to me. I gave up on us and him because I thought reaching out to him would hurt him. We have lost so much time.
A sob escapes me before I even realize it’s coming. That phone call, that deceit by his mother cost me so much. I would have gone to find him as soon as I could have if I had known. Or would I have? I hate second-guessing my actions because no matter what else went down, the path I took led me to Anthony.
I shake off the chill threatening to come over me. My mother is right, Dean is right, this is a miraculous second chance. I want to give us a try. I want to let go of all of the ugliness between us, but first we need to talk. About his family, his father. About my family, my father, and about Kevin.
It’s not a conversation I'm looking forward to, but it is one I know I can’t avoid. The one certainty I have, which is propelling me forward, is that Dean loves me. I know he does. I know he acted out of hurt and anger, and I know he's sorry. I’m sorry, too.
A wave of fatigue overwhelms me, and I lie down. I’m assailed by memories, but the one that always stands out, the one I replay often is our first kiss and our first “I love you.” They happened on the same day, in the same moment, and I remember it like it was yesterday. I close eyes and let my mind drift . . .
Dean had stood me up. We were supposed to meet before his game, like we always did, to talk. He said it helped him focus, and I loved the chance to be with him right before he went into what I called his “beast mode.”
He was unstoppable on the lacrosse field. Fast, tireless, and graceful, watching him was incredible. And he was also sexy.
I hadn’t let him kiss me yet. I knew that once he did, I’d be completely at his mercy. I was already head over heels in love with him. I needed to make sure he felt the same before I let him touch me.
I walked away from our usual meeting place, behind the huge garage where all the team buses parked, feeling dejected and sad. I was almost to my car when I saw Dean’s car in the lot, about three rows away from mine.
I approached his flashy sports car, seething and planning to leave a scathing note on his windshield. But when I got to his car, I saw that even though the engine and all the lights were off, he was inside. His head was resting on the steering wheel, his shoulders hunched.
I rapped on his window and his head whipped up. I couldn’t see his face clearly through the glass, but I heard the doors unlock. I took that as an invitation to get in, so I walked over to the passenger side of the car and did just that.
As I opened the door and climbed in, I pounced. “Hey, what the hell? I’ve been waiting for you for almost twenty minutes. And you’re about to miss your own . . .” My words trailed off as I looked at him in the now illuminated interior of his car.
His face is the picture of pure agony. He’s not crying, but he looks like he wants to. My anger disappears and is replaced by alarm and sadness. I lean across the center console right away and put my arms around him.
“D, what’s wrong? What happened?” I ask him urgently, trying to keep the level of unease I’m feeling out of my voice. He looks at me, his eyes full of surprise. I stroke his face and push the hair back from his forehead.
“Red, you’re here,” he said. His voice breaking. And then, he put his head in my neck and hugs me to him tightly. Even though he doesn’t make a sound, I feel his tears wetting my neck and know he's crying.
I feel so helpless as I sit there, holding him while he struggles. I don’t say another word, but I feel tears running down my own face.
After a few minutes pass, he pulls away from me. My arms feel empty without him in them, but I can tell he needs the space. He scrubs his hands over his face as he tries to compose himself.
“Oh, my God. I’m sorry, Red. I . . . didn’t want you to see this,” he says as he makes an audible effort to steady his voice.
He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. I reach out to stroke the side of his neck, touching him helps me calm down, too.
“D, why are you sorry? I’m not. I’m just glad I found you. What happened?” I ask him when he doesn’t say anything.
He takes a deep breath before he speaks. “Fuck, Red. It sucks.” He expels a short, mirthless chuckle. “I’ve always known my mother doesn’t really give a shit about me, I mean, she’s never made that a secret. I’ve gotten used to it.” His voice is remarkably devoid of emotion.
“Did something happen tonight?” I ask him, hoping I’m not about to reopen a wound.
“She got rid of Spider,” he says, and I cannot stop the loud gasp that leaves me.
Spider is the English Cocker Spaniel his father surprised him with on his birthday last week. I can’t hide my shock and dismay at her thoughtless cruelty. He’d only had him for a week, but Dean was head over heels for that dog and everyone knew it.
“How? Why?” I ask, unable to form a coherent sentence.
He opens his eyes and looks at me, his expression mournful and defeated.
“Does it even matter why? She did it because she said he barked at her this morning. She just doesn’t want me to have anything that makes me happy.” He sounds so glum and broken my own heart breaks for him. He leans forward and puts his head on the steering wheel.
“Am I unlovable? I mean, if my own mother doesn’t love me, how could anyone else?” I can tell even though this is the first time he’s asked me this aloud, it’s a question he has pondered seriously.
I'm shocked this boy who is so giving, talented, and funny could even think this.
