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Another deep sigh. “Why hanging out with you—some kid I hit with my car and shared my favorite meal with is the only thing that feels right anymore.”
Beingmy friend is what felt right all those years ago, but he asked her to marry him, anyway. Has copious amounts of sex with her, anyway. Chooses her every time over me, as he should because she’s his fiancée, whom he obviously loves since he promised his mom to only give that beautiful sapphire ring to the girl he loves.
The following Monday I was crushed as everyone at school talked about the proposal at the Shelby Country Club and how beautiful it was, how he and Natalie danced all night looking so in love.
I never asked him about it, and he never said anything when we hung out. He never talks about their relationship, though she knows about me and is even supportive of our friendship. I think, though he’s never said it, he made promises to end our friendship long before now, but this would be a natural end. A clean break, so to speak.
Those are the thoughts swirling around my head as he stands, blocking my way to the door.
“Why are you here, Thi?”
His eyes flare at my demand like he’s about to remind me this is his house. I wish he would.
“I said I would be.” His voice is low. I can’t catch this tone. It borders on angry and something else. Why? I don’t know if it’s regret, guilt. I don’t care. He doesn’t owe me anything.Lie.I shove the thought way down with all the other emotions I shouldn’t have for my best friend.
“It’s fine.” I shrug, stinging nose and all. “This is getting kinda heavy. Can you let me pass?”
He takes the stuff from me. “I got it.” Moving back so I can open the car door, I make room for him to pass, watching as he puts my things in the back seat.
“We can put the rest in my truck,” he says, as I start heading back into the house.
“Nope. I got it.” I pull bags over my shoulders. “You never know who is out at Valentine’s clinic. We don’t want word getting back that you’re slumming it with me.”
“Why are you saying that when just yesterday you suggested we use meeting at the graduation as a way to say we’re friends now?” he demands, snatching the bags roughly from me.
“Well, you were looking very uncomfortable with the idea. Then not showing up for the first time ever and ghosting me kinda drove the point home. I get it. The expiration date is up on this friendship.” I push the door open, waving him out of his own house.
He gives me a look mean enough to wilt his gran’s flowers if he focused it on them. Yet he can’t deny it because we both know it’s true.
Silent and wrathful, we load the rest of my stuff in the car. I can’t stand that we are ending on bad terms like this.
I go back through the house, memories bombarding me of all the fun we had here: Him teaching me video games likeGod of War; me showing him circus tricks, with him marveling at how I can contort myself and balance on just about anything. All the breakfasts and late-night runs to the truck stop for peanut butter chocolate chip pancakes.
Sorrow engulfs me like a wave. I barely see him through the blurriness of unshed tears as I step out onto the porch. I wish I could just drive off, but I have to give him his keys. There won’t be a second trip back. We somehow managed to get all my things—not that I had much—into my car.
I freeze mid-step as I come down the porch steps. Pressure builds in my chest like he dumped a whole load of sugarcane on it. He’s standing by the grill of his truck, then steps forward, his arms spread wide.
In seconds, I’m running into those outstretched arms. He swoops me up. My arms and legs wrap around him.
“I’m gonna miss you.” I breathe my words against the tan skin of his throat. He smells of clover, earth, books, and spun sugar. Unable to resist the olfactory pull, I bury my face there, inhaling him for the last time. I’ve always loved the way he smells, everything with a hint of sugar mixed in. My heart squeezes. The sadness of knowing what never can be finally bursts free from being caged in my heart, finding its release.
“I’m so sorry, baby girl,” he whispers gruffly into my ear as I keep my face buried in his neck.
I try, I really try, but I can’t stop the choked sob barreling from my sore, aching heart, ripping through my vocal cords and out of my mouth like the rush of a waterfall.
He stills, his arms tighten, wrapping me so tight, as if trying to protect me from the pain I’m feeling at our parting. So tight, he’s sure to bruise me. But I don’t care. I don’t ever want him to let me go, and I fool myself into thinking for this little while that he doesn’t either. His ragged groan, so long and forlorn, meets my sobs.
“Shh, baby, don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I promised myself I would never make you cry.” His hand spears into my hair. “I hate being the reason you’re hurting. Don’t hurt for me, little one. I’m not worth it.”
A soft kiss, delicate as gossamer, brushes my temple. Then another just below that one. In return I kiss where I’ve cried: the lovely indentation at the hollow of his throat. Tasting the delicious warmth of his skin mingling with the salty brine of my tears, I close my eyes, shuddering. Together, we taste like heaven.
More kisses trail from my hair line along my jaw, each one heavier than the last. Lasting longer than the one before. Then my mischief must mingle with his mayhem, because his tugging my earlobe into his mouth, then sucking, only to let it pop free is followed by my licking the tear-drenched skin along the long corded column of his neck until I tug his earlobe into my mouth, returning the gesture.
The firm hands holding me shift to squeeze my ass. He pulls me in line with the hard, heavy ridge of his dick.
I pull back to meet the storm of silver gazing at me. Leaning in, I give in to six years of temptation, tugging his lower lip, sucking it gently into my mouth. I suck. I savor. Releasing him, I pull back to look at those scarily stormy eyes again. Moving my hands up from his shoulders and spearing my fingers through his thick hair, I look back down to his plump, wet bottom lip, then back up to his beautiful face.
“Can I have a goodbye kiss, Mathias?” I feel his dick throb at my use of his full name.
