A pile of dirty clothes, an unmade bed with waded up sheets in the corner, and nothing on the walls except the one frame I didn’t hang in the basement: my Griffins jersey.
She walked over to it and touched the edge.
A small candid picture was in the corner of the frame. Max kissing Paige, Ashlie and Smitty smiling, and Jules sitting on my lap, touching my shitty, patchy 18-year-old beard.
It had dust on it, because I never dared to touch it or take it off that frame. It was given to me after I signed with Brecklin. She was there when I received it and she was the one to add that picture to the corner.
I always kept it in my room. I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not. Half the time it felt like I was just torturing myself by having it there- showing everything I’d lost. But the other half of the time, I felt at peace at least knowing those people, the ones that mattered the most to me, were somewhere out there in the world living and breathing and struggling just like I was.
I could only see her back as she studied it.
“This one’s my favorite,” she said, still hugging herself.
I couldn’t hold back anymore. That felt like an invitation. Like she missed that time too.
I walked over to her and put my arms around her and leaned down to kiss her neck like I had done hundreds of times before. I prayed she wouldn’t stop me.
I felt her knees buckle, responding to my touch and I felt like yelling in triumph that she was still as affected by me as I was her. She let out a tiny gasp, making me feel powerful as all hell, and then she quickly found my mouth.
She turned in my arms and we clung to each other, equal parts passionate and frantic.
I felt myself picking her up and she wrapped her legs around me.
Her hands were exploring all over me, she smoothed a hand through my hair and it felt like heaven. I held on to her for dear life.
She broke the kiss, “but your hand.”
I took the opportunity to pay more attention to her neck, her weakness. She let another breathless sound escape.
“s’fine,” I told her. It did feel a little strained inside the f’ing cast she was practically sitting on, but I didn’t give a shit. This was so much more important.
I eased towards my bed and laid her down.
“This okay?” I was practically holding my breath.
She nodded urgently and grabbed my neck to bring me closer again.
“God, I can’t believe this is happening,” I said in awe of her and the moment. I was so happy I could cry. I leaned down and kissed her again and eased my good hand up her back under her shirt and groaned. I hated myself for the damn cast getting in the way.
I pulled back then and reached for the hem of her t-shirt. She froze and touched my hand.
“Wait,” she sounded breathless.
I looked at her flushed face which held a nervous look. I waited for her to explain, to tell me what to do. We’d come so far, we both wanted this, needed this.
“I… don’t look the same,” her cheeks flamed, and I could see reservation sliding into her eyes, but the greatest relief washed over me.
“That’s what you’re nervous about? I thought you changed your mind about me,” I told her.
She touched my face. Rubbing her thumb under my eye, then feeling my scar. I kissed her hand.
“Baby, I swear to God you are more beautiful than ever.”
“I had a baby,” she said slowly.
“And he’s awesome as fuck,” I told her with conviction.
She was still hesitating, “I have... stretch marks.”
