Dawn by McKayla Box

Chapter 9

We spend the rest of the party sitting by the fire and talking. It’s nice to be able to sit with him and look at him while we talk after four months of having a phone as the intermediary. I’ve missed seeing his face when he laughs and being able to punch him when he teases me. I’m not sure I knew how much I missed it until right now.

When the party starts to break up, we walk to the lot as the last embers of the bonfire crackle and pop in the darkness.

“Are you going home with the girls?” he asks.

“I’d rather go home with you,” I answer.

“Good answer.”

I tell the girls I’m leaving with him and I climb into his truck. I slide over on the bench seat to be next to him while we drive. I never thought I’d be that girl, the one that has to sit next to her boyfriend in the truck, but here I am, my leg pressed against his, my fingers playing with his hair, his free hand roaming across my thigh, sending shivers of delight and anticipation through me.

We don’t waste a second once we get in the house and to his room. I pull him on to the bed and our clothes are gone within seconds, an untidy heap on the floor. I touch every inch of his skin, all of it achingly familiar, and kiss every part of him I can, savoring the taste of his skin. He groans, his hands and mouth as frantic as mine as he settles on top of me. I don’t want to wait, desperate to be a part of him, and pull him as deeply into me as I can. As much as I want to savor the moment and make it last, I can’t.

Because I want him so badly it hurts.

So instead of going slow and taking our time, it’s physical and fast, each of us feasting on the other, groaning and crying out into one another, until we are finished and lying on top of the sheets, our skin bathed in sweat and our breathing the only sound in his dark room.

I roll over into him after a minute and kiss his bare chest. “ I needed that.”

He laughs softly. “Same. Badly.”

“I’m gonna need more of that.”

“I’m here to serve your needs.”

We both laugh.

This is easy. This is comfortable. This is the way it’s supposed to be.

I feel his hand stroking my hair and I snuggle closer to him.

“Talk to me,” I say.

“About?”

“Anything. Literally, anything. I feel like we haven’t really talked in weeks. I want to know what’s going on with you.”

“You know what’s going on with me,” he says. “We text every day.”

“Yeah about boring, random stuff,” I tell him. “And it’s always me telling you what I’m doing at school.”

“I like knowing what you’re doing at school.”

“I know, and I appreciate that. But I want to know what you’ve been doing. Like with quitting work.”

He shifts in the bed. “Not much to tell, really. Like I said, I just needed to get out from under my dad.”

“Was he pissed?”

“A little, but he’s so busy with other shit, I don’t think he had time to be pissed,” he says. “So it’s fine.”

“So you’re working with Brett then?”

“Yeah.”

“Doing?”

“Just odd job stuff,” he says. “Nothing interesting. He needs money, so I said I’d help.”

“What does he need money for?”

“Oh, man,” he says. “His family is hurting a little bit. I don’t know all of the details, but his dad’s company got hit with some fines and I guess they’re in bad shape. And it literally happened over night. Their house is up for sale. His mom’s looking for a job. He was thinking about going to school next year, but that’s on hold now. So. Yeah.”

“That sucks,” I say.

“Yep,” he says.

“So what do you mean by odd jobs?”

“Just stuff,” he says. “He just needs cash. He’s my best friend, so I’m gonna do whatever he needs me to do.”

“Of course,” I say. “So like what? Landscaping? Construction? What are you doing?”

He shifts again in the bed. “Just…whatever he needs to do. I’m usually available to help, so I do. I just want him to be okay.”

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

I pull back so I can look at him. “What are your plans? Everything’s been in limbo for a while now. You talked about maybe coming to Santa Barbara. You talked about what your dad wanted you to do. I think we talked about maybe art school. But…you haven’t really told me anything.”

And it’s true. He hasn’t. I’ve done my best not to pry or nag, but any time I’ve asked, he’s sort of blown me off and not given me an answer. And it just seems like a weird place for him to be in.

“That’s because there’s nothing to tell,” he says. “I haven’t made any plans. At all. Right now, I’m just helping Brett. It’s been hard, Pres. The last few months have been really hard. You’ve been gone. And…I think every day we’re reminded that Jake’s gone, too. And he’s not coming back. I think it hit Brett a little harder than me, but it’s something that’s with me all the time.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, laying my hand across his chest.

He puts his hand over mine. “Me, too. I wish it never happened. I wish he was still here. I think things would be a lot different if he was here. I really do.”

“Like how?”

He stays silent for a long couple of seconds, then clears his throat. “I don’t know. Just different. That’s all. And I just miss him. It’s weird that he’s not here. And I know Brett feels the same way. More so, actually. Everyone left and it was just me and him and then Jake’s not here and it…it’s just been hard.”

I feel a momentary pang of guilt. I felt it when I left, too. I shouldn’t but I do. I feel like I’m the one who brought Kane Tressle to the beach the night he killed Jake. I know that there were issues with him before I moved to Sunset, but I feel like I just made it worse. When Jake died, I felt responsible. I still do to some degree. And I distinctly remember feeling guilty as my dad and I drove to Santa Barbara, leaving Trevor behind. Not because he didn’t want me to go or anything like that, but because I just wanted to be with him and I knew he was in limbo. Ultimately, I had to do what I wanted to do and I was so grateful that he didn’t ask me to stay, but the guilt has lingered.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know it’s been hard without him. Sometimes, it seems like a long time and sometimes it seems like it was just last night.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Just like that. So. I’m glad I’ve been here for Brett. Because…yeah. He’s needed…help.”

“I’m glad you were here for him, too.”

He looks at me when I say this and there’s something in his expression that I can’t quite read. But then it’s gone and he pulls me back in close to him, his arm underneath and around me, his fingers brushing against my spine. I shiver against him.

“I’m not perfect, Pres,” he whispers. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Don’t ever forget that. I might fuck things up once in awhile or just…not get everything right. But I love you and that’s never gonna change.”

I feel like he’s leaving something out, but in the moment, laying with him in bed, finally being close to him again, I don’t want to dig into it.

“I know that,” I tell him. “And I love you, too.”