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My mother’s words the other morning made me remember something from high school. A memory I tucked away in cobwebbed corner of my mind.
That young love the two of you shared… it was a magical thing to witness. Now that’s something I’ll never forget.
When Spence and I were back in high school, not long after we’d met, we started doing this thing. I’d leave him a note with something about myself—something I was afraid of, a truth about myself, or just something I had anxiety about. He would leave me one back, totally rebutting it and debunking why I should look at the fear or anxiety from a different angle.
The entire first year I would leave him a Post-It in his locker, and he would then write underneath it and place it back in mine.
And I kept every single one of them.
I’m on my fifth storage box in one of my spare bedroom closets when I finally find the shoebox full of memories. I yank the top of the shoebox out and smile at all the little colorful Post-Its sitting just where I’d left them all those years ago.
I shuffle through the Post-Its and roll my eyes at the girl who wrote them. A lot of them seem so trivial and silly now. They seem almost like woe-is-me type notes. But I remember how I felt then, and I know it was all very real. Too real.
Spence,
I’m worried I’ll feel this way forever.
Declan,
Everything is temporary. The way you feel today will be gone tomorrow. I promise.
I run my fingertips over our handwriting, and it’s the closest I’ve felt to that old version of us in a long time.
“Spence is coming, so I’d love it if all you dickheads could bounce.” I wink playfully at B, Miller, and Flynn. “No, seriously though. I want to talk to him in private.”
The guys trade looks around the table we’ve been sitting at for the past few hours. Isla was in here too, at first, as we discussed the last three shows of the East Coast tour and when we could make them up. Now that I’m all back to normal, we can get back out there for the fans and finish what we started. I’m still doing daily rehabilitation exercises as the orthopedic ordered, but I feel pretty good. The guys and I have been working on writing some new material for our next album. We’ve already talked about it, and we’ll definitely take time off from touring, but we want to get back in the studio and start perfecting our next album as soon as we can.
“For what it’s worth, I think you should give him another shot,” Flynn says with a hint of something in his eyes. I’m proud of my friend. He’s been in therapy for over a year now, and he’s like a totally different guy. Long gone is the depressed, doom-and-gloom version of Flynn. It’s like what happened back in Indiana on our last tour with Hellfire lit some kind of fire under him.
I’ve already made up my mind about Spence. I know what I want and what I’m going to do, but I’d love to hear Flynn’s reasoning.
“The dude has very clearly been in love with you for as long as either of you can remember. And I know you’re in love with him too. What is it you said about Kade’s wife? She said something about how he stopped the wedding to give you guys another shot?” Flynn asks, and Miller jumps in.
“Yeah, but that kinda turned south quick.” He lets out a laugh, and we all look at each other for a minute, remembering Kade.
I clear my throat. I don’t want to suppress his memory, but it’s still hard to think about him. “What’s your point Flynnie?” I ask and he balks, hating the little term of endearment I use sometimes. It’s very un-Flynn-like. It’s more of a feminine name when Flynn is all muscles and masculinity. He and Miller are similar in that way.
“I just think you shouldn’t let love pass you up, even if it might hurt a little bit. That’s all.” He shrugs just as Spence walks in through the open door of our boardroom.
“Speak of the handsome devil.” Miller sees Spence and then turns to me, winking. The guys all gather their instruments, notebooks, and iPads and head out, but not before Flynn can mess up my hair.
“That’s for calling me Flynnie,” he says before kissing me on top of my head. We exchange a smile as Spence sits across from me.
“Hi, Dec.” Spence smiles, and I can’t help but feel a warmth deep inside of me. He’s so fucking handsome; it’s otherworldly. He’s got his dirty-blonde hair styled perfectly, and I notice he’s recently gotten a haircut. The hair on the sides of his head is buzzed down pretty short again.
“Thanks for coming,” I tell him, and it sounds formal and weird. Spence obviously thinks so too, because he reaches across the table for my hands. I let my palms sink into his and allow silence to linger between us for a few moments as I drink him in. His tight black shirt clings to his muscles, his biceps stretching the hem of his sleeves. Those lips of his, which I’ve quite literally been dreaming about since the last time they were on mine.
“Do you remember when we were in high school, not long after you found me in the library like that lost little girl I was…” The look in his eyes shifts to nostalgia. It’s like I can see those memories play back in his mind. “We would trade Post-It notes about all the things that were haunting me. You always had an answer. For every single one, you had some kind of answer or solution or positive thing to say.”
He squeezes my hands as he nods.“Of course, I remember. I’ll never forget one of them that haunted me the most.” He shakes his head. “You said something about how you felt like love was…” I can practically see the wheels spinning in his mind. “Love is a figment of our imagination.” He smiles as if he’s just answered the final Jeopardy question right. “God, you couldn’t have been more wrong.”
“Do you remember your reply?” I ask, feeling the smooth warmth of his palms under mine.
“I remember more about the things you said than what I said,” Spence admits with a shrug.
“You said that couldn’t be further from the truth. And then you wrote, ‘Isn’t everything a figment of our imagination at one point or another? We dream up love. It takes on so many forms in our minds. Everything good in life is a dream before it’s reality.’”
Spence stares at me, his lips parting slightly.
