Forever With You (Silver State Series) (3 page)

For a moment he simply stares at me blankly, but then he lets go of my shoulders and begins to laugh.  He laughs so hard I can see tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, and I draw myself up to my full height and cross my arms over my chest, feeling both annoyed and slightly embarrassed.  “
What
?” I say.  “I’m a
lady
, not just some piece of meat.”

He stops laughing as he wipes the moisture from his eyes, but his smile remains.  “Oh
trust
me, Tawny Read.  I may be drunk, but I am perfectly aware you aren’t a piece of meat.”  He leans closer so his lips are nearly touching my ear and says lowly, “You do look beautiful tonight, though.”  He draws back and winks at me before whirling around and catching my hand in his own.  “Come on,” he says over his shoulder.  “Let’s get you a drink.”

Everything about what just happened has me feeling hopelessly off balance.  All I can do is stumble along behind him.

Saturday, 1:45 AM

I
think it’s safe to say I’ve never been what you might call a serial partygoer.  The sensory overload brought on by the loud music and frenetically disinhibited crowd is almost too much to bear.  It’s been two hours since I got here, and honestly I can’t believe I’ve lasted this long.  I spent the first hour tripping along after Kyle, who held my hand for almost the entire time we were together.  It may sound sweet, but actually it felt a little like I was his kid sister and he was showing me off.

Sometime a little before one Kyle yelled in my ear (I’m pretty sure he thought he was whispering) that he needed to use the bathroom, and I was quickly swept up by Mason Frye and Brandon McIntyre, who roped me into a game of Bullshit with three other people.  Up to that point I’d gotten away with nursing the same beer the entire night – each time Kyle asked me if I needed another drink I just lifted my bottle and indicated I’d just gotten one.  It seemed to keep him happy anyway.

This, however, was a horse of a different color.  How do you only
pretend
to drink during an actual drinking game?  The answer to that is, you can’t.  Which is why it’s a blessing I actually rock at this game. 

I’ve just managed to kick all their butts while staying pretty well sober myself when Brandon’s girlfriend walks over and sits down in Brandon’s lap.  “God, Kyle is
so
drunk,” she says as she sags against him, clearly not too well off herself.  I shuffle the deck of cards and pretend not to be interested in what she has to say.  “He’s basically passed out in the front room,” she continues.

Brandon rubs her back as he replies, “He’ll be okay.  He always pulls through.”

Idly I wonder how typical this is for Kyle.  Granted, I haven’t seen him in over a year, but in high school he always seemed a touch more dignified, like he was a cut above the hedonistic masses who only lived to party.  I’d seen him tipsy a couple of times at football tailgates, but never the sloppy, falling-down drunk other guys in our class tended to favor.

I complete one last shuffle, arching the cards into a bridge and letting them fall back into a neat stack before replacing them in the center of the dining room table.  I scoot my chair back and rise to my feet, then stride purposefully into the front room.  Since most of the crowd is confined to the back of the house, Kyle is alone, slumped back against the sofa.  His hat lies beside him, and his dark hair falls forward over his forehead. 

I approach him slowly, feeling a bit gun-shy.  As soon as I’m standing over him, I reach out and touch his shoulder.  When he doesn’t stir, I begin to panic a little.  I try again, squeezing this time, and I stumble backward in surprise and relief when his head jerks up.  He looks around, bewildered, before his eyes land on me.  For a moment he simply gapes at me, but then his eyelids roll shut again and he hangs his head in his hands.

I lower myself down beside him on the couch.  “Let’s get you home, okay?” I say softly.  He nods, and I hold out my hands, offering him a boost.  He loops his arm around my neck, and I hook mine around his side, gripping the spot on his flank where his ribs his firm obliques.  I grab his hat with my free hand.

It’s slow going helping him out to the white Civic that was a hand-me-down from my sister.  I stagger under his weight as I struggle to unlock the door on the passenger side.  Kyle is awake, but he isn’t exactly alert.

Once he’s tucked safely inside, I go around to the driver’s side and climb in behind the wheel.  I start the engine and shift into reverse, but I wait to speak until I’m pointed south on the road that leads back toward town.

“You’ll have to remind me where your house is,” I say, glancing over at Kyle.  He seems slightly more wakeful now; his elbow is propped up against the window, and he’s using his right hand to massage his temple. 

He lets out a drawn-out exhale before he replies.  “I can’t go back to my house.”  His voice is gravelly, as if he hasn’t used it in several days.  I wait for him to offer some sort of explanation, but he doesn’t.  He just continues to stare out the window.

“Why not?” I ask finally.

“I just can’t,” he says.  His impassive tone isn’t giving anything away.

I chew on the inside of my cheek and tap my thumbs nervously against the steering wheel.  Now I have a dilemma… Where do I take him?  I can’t let him sleep at my parents’ house – how would I ever explain a drunk person passed out on our sofa? 

Unsure what to do, I keep driving – all the way through the deserted streets of the tiny downtown area and on south in the general direction of my house.  Just before reaching Water Canyon Road I veer off to the east, down a rutted dirt road I’ve ridden my horse Queenie on more times than I can count.  I keep driving until the road dead ends at a concrete abutment facing the Sonoma Mountain Ridge, then shift into park and cut the ignition.

I sit tensed, leaning forward and gazing out at the black expanse of sky – the stars are out in full force tonight, and for a moment their beauty takes my breath away.

A minute later I let my head fall back against the headrest and turn to my right.  Kyle has his head tilted back as well, but I can’t tell whether his eyes are open or not.  I’ve almost decided he’s fallen asleep when he speaks up.

“Thanks for the ride.”  He doesn’t look at me.  His voice is so low I wonder if I even heard him correctly.

“I don’t know where to take you,” I remind him quietly.

…Silence
…

I sigh as I shift uncomfortably in my seat.  Leaning back again I allow my mind to drift.  I imagine how different this moment might be if I was one of those really confident, sexy girls – the type Kyle typically goes for.  Would we be making out right now?  Or even…having sex?  I shiver at the not-entirely-unpleasant thought, then immediately feel guilty for mentally taking advantage of daydream-Kyle.  Doesn’t change the fact I wish I could be that other girl for just one night – if not tonight then someday.

“Tawny…”  The sound of his voice catches me off-guard.  I chance a sidelong glance at him – he’s turned toward me now, his eyes burning with something I can’t quite identify.  When I twist to face him fully he looks as if he’s full of about a thousand and one things he wants to say.  I wait, my breathing shallow and my heart rate rapid.

Finally he clears his throat and says, “Sorry – you don’t have to sit here with me like this.  I just don’t feel like going home.  You can take me to Les’s though.”

I twitch my lips to the side, unsure what to think.  After a moment I face forward again and turn the key to start the engine.

Saturday, 2:45 AM

T
he ride to Les’s parents’ house is quiet.  They live in a cookie cutter subdivision in the center of town, in a two story American Foursquare with blue vinyl siding.  The enormity of Les’s family is evident from the number of vehicles in the driveway – one for each of his parents and four siblings.

I stop on the curb opposite the house and keep the car idling.  “Do you need any help getting in?” I ask.

“No, I can make it,” he says.  He looks at me, then flips my world upside down when he leans over and kisses me on the cheek.

“You’re good, Tawny,” he whispers.  Then he pulls away and slips out the door.  I watch as he crosses the street, walking a slightly crooked line across the lawn to the front door.  He lets himself in without looking back.

I drive home, my insides in a state of turmoil.  It isn’t until close to five I finally drift off to sleep.

Chapter 3 – Moving Day

Friday & Saturday, August 12 & 13

Tawny – Friday, 5:00 PM

“
D
o you really need to take all these
puzzles
with you?”  Rhiannon peers into a cardboard box stuffed with jigsaw puzzles I pulled out from beneath my bed – most of them I haven’t worked in years.

“I like puzzles,” I reply defensively.

“Yeah, but your dorm isn’t gonna have a lot of storage space.  And you’ll probably be too busy to be doing puzzles all the time.”

“Fine, leave them,” I say with a shrug.  Apart from my clothes and books, it really doesn’t make much of a difference to me what stays and what goes.  The last few weeks of summer have flown by, and it’s hard to believe it’s already time for me to move – orientation starts on Monday, classes the Monday after that, but I’m moving into my dorm room tomorrow so I can get settled.  There’s a U-Haul trailer hitched to the back of Dad’s Tacoma outside, and my box-filled room is nearly unrecognizable.  It’s all a little surreal.

A guffaw rings out from across the room, and we both turn to look at Blake, my soon-to-be brother-in-law.  He and my sister are getting married next spring on the northern shore of Lake Tahoe; I’m the maid of honor in their wedding.

“Get a load of this guy,” he says, still laughing as he picks his way between the boxes with one of my old yearbooks balanced in the palm of his hand.

Rhiannon rolls her eyes.  “I’m so glad I brought you along to
help
,” she says.  “You getting a lot done over there?”

He grins, dismissing her sarcasm with a wave of his hand.  “Seriously, check out this dude’s picture.”  He turns the book around and jabs his finger at a photo of a boy I recognize from a couple of grades above me.  He’s standing with a saxophone suspended around his neck, a pained smile on his face.  The best part, though, is the billowing clouds of red vapor that surround him, apparently added by the photographer for dramatic effect.

Rhiannon snorts, then squeals in laughter.  I smile, shaking my head in memory of this particular misadventure of artistic expression.  “I don’t know what you guys are laughing about,” I say in mock sincerity.  “Pink smoke is essential when preparing to bust out a sweet sax solo.”

“Totally agree,” Blake says as he turns away, still chuckling.

Rhiannon dabs at the corners of her eyes as she struggles to collect herself.  She takes a deep breath then, hands on hips, says, “Okay, what next?  Did you get all your stuff out of the bathroom?”

“Yeah,” I reply, flopping down on the bed.  “I just need the stuff from the top of my closet.”
 I spread my fingers out over the worn stitching of my bedspread; we went out yesterday and bought a new comforter and sheets for my dorm room, so my ruffled white ones will stay here.  I’m going to miss their familiar, broken-in feel.

“Whose is this?”  Blake’s voice drifts from behind a tall, precariously balanced stack of boxes.  He leans forward into our line of sight and holds out a sweat stained Washington Redskins baseball cap.  It’s soft and well-worn, the bill perfectly arced from years of folding and shaping.

I lunge for it, perhaps a bit too ardently, snatching it from his fingertips from across the twin-sized mattress.  My mind rewinds to the night Kyle left it in my car, when I dropped him off after Jared Mink’s party.  I didn’t find it until the next morning, partially hidden beneath the seat on the passenger side.

Rhiannon blinks at me curiously, and I sigh in response.  “It’s Kyle’s,” I tell her, quietly enough I don’t think Blake can hear.

“The guy who told you you’re ‘good’?” he says loudly, still obscured by the cardboard towers surrounding us. 
Damn him and his superhuman sense of hearing
.  Rhiannon must have told him the story after it happened – not that I care.  There isn’t much she keeps secret from Blake, unless I specifically request that she do so.

“
Yes
,” I grumble, my stomach twisting at the thought of his soft lips brushing against my cheek before he uttered that cryptic phrase and slipped away.

Rhiannon eyes the cap fisted in my hands, then glances back up at me before turning around to sit beside me.  “Have you heard from him since then?” she asks.

“Nope,” I say.  My eyes flicker to my phone laying on the nightstand, as if there might suddenly be a text message from him after all these weeks.

She sighs and ruffles my hair as she stands up again.  “Come on.  I’m in the mood for omelets.”

Saturday, 1:30 PM

W
e follow the signs on North Virginia around the back of Argenta Hall to the loading dock, which for today is a parking lot filled with other moving vans and freshmen moving into their rooms.  Every available inch of space is taken up with furniture dollies, mini fridges and dusty, faded plaid sofas.  I feel vaguely nauseous taking in the alien quality of it.

We check in with a friendly looking older student in a blue and white Wolf Pack t-shirt; she consults her clipboard and hands me a key for my assigned room.  Dad jams his truck into park, then hops out of the cab and walks around to lower the tailgate.  He and Blake commence the heavy lifting, while Mom, Rhiannon and I busy ourselves gathering boxes.

We ride the elevator to the sixth floor and cross a spacious TV lounge with floor-to-ceiling windows before angling down the left-hand corridor to room 640.  The door has been propped open with a waste basket, and the room is already crowded with a handful of other people.  An Asian girl is on her knees in the lofted bed to the left, tucking crisp green and yellow striped sheets around the mattress while her mother supervises from the floor.  Another girl stands by quietly, playing a game on an iPhone – she looks practically identical to the one up on the bed, only several years younger.