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I barely got the words out before his mouth landed on mine. Enrique Lopez kissed me. And what a kiss. It started hard and firm and then soften as he cradled my face, tilted it, and devoured me again. He pulled back. I tightened the grip on his T-shirt and stood on my toes and drew him back to me. He kissed me again. His lips, his tongue, it was sweet and strong and too much for my seventeen-year-old brain to process. I shut off my brain and felt. His hand slid down my face, to the side of my neck. Another angle change, and a little nip at my lower lip led to him gripping the back of my neck and pulling me closer. My arms slid around his sides. I held him to me, my body melted into his lean muscular frame.
One more kiss, light this time on my lower lip, and then my nose and my cheek and he released me. I wavered on my heels before collapsing onto my bed. My heart burst as he stilled me with his crooked grin. He walked backward toward the door.
“Happy birthday, Little Tree.” He gave me a lazy salute and a wink, turned, and walked out of the door. I heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs and then the front door open.
I ran to my window.
“Please turn back. Please,” I whispered to myself. If he turned back, he meant what he said. He would come back for me. “Please turn back.”
He reached his car, shouted something to the guys as they piled into a few cars. He put one leg in his car and my heart sank.
My hand laid flat against the glass. He bent to fall into his car, but stopped and turned to me, just before he disappeared. He smiled and my heart swelled all over again.
I turned before he drove away.
He would come back for me.
And here he was on the worst day of my life.
* * *
“You remember the last time I came into your room?” He stepped forward and placed his palm on my cheek. I looked away. He turned my face back to look at him.
“I remember.” Tears swelled in my eyes. “Things are different now. It’s all different.” He swiped a tear from under my eye.
“Ricky.” I blinked to slow down the tears. “I don’t think I can do this.”
I meant today, but I also meant us.
“Oh, Little Tree.” He grabbed my face. “You can do it. I promise. We’ll do it together.”
My heart broke, but at the same time I was super grateful.
He knew what I needed before I knew myself.
He wrapped his arms around me and lifted me in his arms. I straddled his waist and he sat on the bed, held me, and let me cry for the first time since I found out. The thing that connected us all was no longer with us, but it was going to be all right.
It had to be.
RICKY
She coiled her little body around me and clung to me for support. How was I to support her when I was broken too? She gave me the power to be strong for her. Even thousands of miles away, in dark moments, I pictured her face. Some images were of her as a kid following us around. She wasn’t the pesky little sister you read about in books. Somehow, out of six guys, she was the lone little sister. Some of us had older sisters and brothers, and two of us, including me had a younger brother. But Ciara, was the only little girl. Our Little Tree.
Her brother, Bishop Irby, was Big Tree. A nickname we all took credit for creating, although I was the first one to say it. Back in middle school, the six of us had been riding our bikes through the forest behind Bishop’s house. A storm rolled in on us fast and lightning struck a tree, a ‘big tree’ and fell in our path. The tree missed all of us, except for Bishop. The last few limbs struck the back of his bike, and he went flying in the air. He fell into another tree and slid out on to the ground with a disgusting thud. We backtracked and found him in a clump with an arm pointing in the wrong direction.
He blinked to consciousness, and we all sighed in relief.
Sean, the jokester of the group, squatted down next to him and spoke, “Hey, Bishop, watch out for that tree.”
“Big fucking tree,” I responded, as we all looked in the direction of the tree. Bishop’s whole body shook. “Fuck. We need to get you out of here.” His shaking turned into hysterical laughter, and we all joined in.
Big fucking tree was our punch line ever since.
For a year, anytime one of us needed to be careful or watch out for something, we’d say, “Watch out for the big fucking tree.” And, from big tree came little tree.
Did Ciara even know the story or where her nickname came from? I for sure got credit for calling her by it the most, but now it got caught in my throat. Was there still a little tree without the big fucking tree?
Ciara’s sobs had reduced to tears as she lifted her head and looked up at me. She always looked to me for comfort, reassurance. She was quiet as a kid, but she saw, heard, and retained everything. We always spent Friday nights at the Irbys’ house, in their game room. It could have been because he had the latest curfew of the six of us or because compared to my house, his was a mansion. Compared to Roman and Sean’s house, the Irbys’ felt like a home.
