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While Ledger snaps, albeit on a lower voice too, “Shut the fuck up, Callie.”
And so ensues their argument but I don’t pay attention to them.
Because Conrad has started to move.
He’s started to approach me, and my smile starts to grow.
By the time he reaches me, I’m grinning. Which sort of eases his tension; I can see that. But he still asks, his eyes roving over my face, “You okay?”
I put my hands on his chest. “Yeah. It’s over.”
“It is, huh,” he murmurs.
Because it truly is over.
There are no more secrets now.
None.
And I’m so glad about that. So glad. Because Conrad – after a lot of poking and prodding –shared everything about his relationship with Helen and how they had to hide way back when, and how he used to hate that.
It broke my heart. That he had to hide.
That we had to hide as well.
But now everyone knows about us.
Even the boys on his team. The Bardstown High team that he’s been coaching as a favor this summer. Even they know who I am and why I sit on the bleachers and watch the practice with a sketchpad in my lap.
Not that he needs it now.
For me to show him how utterly magnificent he looks while coaching soccer, guiding his students.
And playing with them.
Because he did last week. He played with his students and it was amazing. The boys were happy; they’d never had the opportunity to play with or just have fun with their coach. And I was happy too. Not only because I’d been trying to convince him to do that for ages but also because God, the way he moved.
The way he dominated and owned that field, all powerful and graceful like.
It really turned me on.
So much so that I jumped his bones as soon as we got back home.
“Now everyone knows.” I beam. “And my best friend doesn’t hate me.”
He puts his hands on my waist. “Of course she doesn’t.”
Frowning, I tell him, “She kinda hates you a little though.”
His features tighten up as he replies gravely, “As she should.”
I fist his white shirt. “No, she shouldn’t. I told her.”
His fingers flex on my waist. “Told her what?”
Taking a step closer to him, I crane my neck up. “That you make me happy. And that you take care of me.”
“I always will,” he says like he always says these words: as a promise.
He does.
I mean he’s always been super protective. But I didn’t know the extent of his protectiveness until I graduated from St. Mary’s and actually moved in with him.
While my parents chose to abandon me, Conrad chose to wait for me. Outside of those black metal gates the day I got out of St. Mary’s.
So he could take me away. So he could bring me home.
To his old house.
That we have since painted and made new.
Even though we wouldn’t be staying there for long. Since we’re both moving to New York in a couple of months, me for my art school and him for his new job. But Conrad wanted to update the house since it’s always been theirs and he wants himself and his siblings to have a home in Bardstown if we or they ever choose to return.
Anyway, I didn’t know how sweet he could be. How caring. How gentle and wonderful.
Until I started living with him.
Especially when I cry about my parents. When I get sad that they would never accept me for who I am. That they would never accept him.
He holds me then, on those days and nights.
Even though it makes him angry, my sadness, my tears. It makes him want to rage and go to my parents and shake some sense into them. Because that’s how he is, all protective and loyal, my thorn.
But he lets go of his own anger and gives me what I need.
He hugs me, whispers sweet nothings in my ears. He even draws baths for me, scatters rose petals in the water, lights up candles to soothe me. He promises me that one day I’ll stop crying for them. He’ll make it so. He’ll fill my life with so much happiness that I won’t even feel the pain.
Which makes me cry even more.
Because he’s so clueless, isn’t he?
My life is already so happy.
Because he’s already made it so.
“I also told her that I make you happy,” I whisper then.
At this, his eyes turn soft. “Yeah, you do.”
“She thinks these days you smile more.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. I totally agree. You look very handsome when you smile.” I step even closer to him so I can whisper, “And I’m not going to lie. It totally turns me on.”
He smirks, his fingers going tight on my waist as he drags me even closer, bringing our bodies flush together. “Maybe that’s the reason then. That’s why I smile. To turn you on.”
