Into Your Arms

  With a little contented noise, she settles in, and I hope that she falls asleep again. I will sit here until the end of fucking time if it means she’ll feel better.

  I would do anything for this girl. Anything. That realization hits me like a truck, but it’s so obvious that the second after I think it, I’ve already absorbed it as truth. As inevitable. As real.

  I didn’t even try to fight falling for her. I’ve been there for a while. I don’t know exactly when it started, but now . . .

  My fingers move a little bit along her side and she makes another happy noise. I love this noise. I love that she makes it for me.

  I love . . .

  No. I can’t say it yet. I can’t think it yet. Not right now. Not when things are so precarious. We’re both teetering on the edge of something and it could end well, or it could end badly. This is no time for me to make a declaration. Timing is important.

  And what do I think is going to happen even if I tell her how I feel? That she’s going to swoon into my arms and declare that she’s been nuts for me this whole time? I don’t think so. That’s not happening. Because this isn’t a fucking movie, and I’m not some prince on a white horse or a billionaire with a kink.

  She’s just a girl and I’m just a guy, and this is real life where there’s no soundtrack, no epic kiss in the rain. Just two imperfect people trying to get through the day without fucking up too badly.

  Freya’s fingers curl around my shirt and I wonder what the hell she’s got going on in that gorgeous brain of hers. But there’s no way to know unless I ask, and asking runs the risk that she’ll completely shut down.

  I stay with Freya and the show goes on and on and I can tell by her breathing that she’s asleep, but I am not fucking moving. I’m keeping this moment and the smell of her hair and the feel of her warmth. Something tells me that I might not get a whole lot more of this with her.

  * * *

  Somehow I fall asleep too and wake abruptly in the middle of the night because Freya is making noises and sitting up.

  “Oh,” she says, looking at me. The TV is still on and so are all the lights.

  “Did you sleep okay?” I ask. Her face is inches from mine and she’s sleepy and sexy and I want to kiss her so much. Her eyes are still a little puffy, but I think it’s from sleep and not crying.

  “Um, yeah,” she says, looking down at her hand and releasing her hold on my shirt. She coughs and pushes away from me.

  “Thank you,” she says, running her fingers through her hair.

  “For what?” I ask.

  “For . . . for being here and for checking to see if I was okay. And for not telling me that I’m a crazy bitch and pestering me until I talk to you. You’re . . . you’re a good friend, Rhett.” Friend. The word cuts, but at least I’m that. At least I still have that.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” I ask. She slowly shakes her head.

  “I think I’m just going to go to bed.” Freya gets up and starts to walk toward her bedroom, but she stops and turns.

  “Are you coming?”

  “Do you want me to?” I ask.

  She presses her lips together and nods.

  * * *

  This time there is no skipping our morning workout, but thanks to going to bed relatively early (for us), we’re both pretty much ready the next morning when her alarm goes off. I still have to go home and change because I wasn’t prepared to spend the night here.

  I half expected Freya to want sex when we went to bed, but she just pulled off her clothes and climbed under the covers in just her underwear and no bra. I pulled off my shirt and got down to my boxers and did the same. I stayed on my side until she rolled over and laid her head on my chest.

  “Good night,” she said, and then she was out again.

  “I still feel gross,” she says. “I’m going to take a quick shower. I know I’ll just have to take another one later, but I don’t care.” I nod and tell her that I’m going to head home and I’ll meet her at the field house. She grabs some clothes from her dresser. Or at least she tries to.

  “Shit, the drawer is stuck again.” I get up and go to help her, but I end up banging into her desk as I yank the drawer open.

  “I can fix that,” I say, pulling the drawer completely out and inspecting it. All I have to do is file it down so it will slide better.

  “Sure, sometime. Ugh, if I don’t hurry, we’re going to be late.” Rushing around and grabbing some workout clothes to change into, she tells me I can let myself out. I get up and put the drawer back and bang into the desk again. A bunch of stuff falls, and I reach down to pick it up. Some papers have fallen out of a green folder, so I pile them together and am about to shove them back in the folder when I realize what they are.

  I’m reading them before I can tell my brain to stop, and by then it’s too late. The shower turns on, and I hastily shove them in the folder and put it back where I think it’s supposed to go. I hope I put it back where it’s supposed to go.

  Shit. The information is burned into my brain now, and as I stumble out of the apartment, I realize one thing:

  Freya is going to kill me.

  14

  Freya

  Rhett isn’t at the field house when I get there. I just assume that he’s running late. I wait a few minutes for him, but he doesn’t show up. I text him, and he says that something came up so he isn’t running today. I’m puzzled and a little worried. Coach is going to ream him out for it, but that’s not my main concern. After everything that happened last night, I wonder if he just needs a break from me. I hope that’s not the reason. I send him another text, asking if he needs to talk. I’ve got to start being a better friend to him.

  “You look like shit,” Tobi says as we jog together. Normally she’s at the head of the pack and one of the first to finish, but she took one look at my face this morning and started running next to me.

  “Thanks,” I pant. The air is slicing my lungs, and I think this is one of the last days I’m going to be able to tolerate running outside. I gaze at the gym and wish that I’d run inside today. But I didn’t want to be a princess and the first one of us to cave. Maine people are weird. They do all kinds of shit in all kinds of weather. I’m a Texas girl.

  At least, I think I am. I don’t really know. I haven’t done any more searching for Rebecca, and I really need to. I need to just start making little steps. Little tiny steps. I know I’m procrastinating. I know I’m putting it off. I know I’m giving myself excuses. As many times as I told myself I wouldn’t get distracted by Rhett, I have gotten distracted by him and I’ve been using him as an excuse. Tonight. I’ll do something tonight. I’ll tell Rhett that I’m not coming over, and I’ll do it tonight.

  After the horrible run where Tobi and I agree to meet tomorrow at the gym for running on the track or treadmills, I run back to my house and take another shower. The stupid dresser drawer sticks again, and I hope Rhett is actually going to follow through on fixing it. I guess I could do it myself. I sigh and just leave it open so I can get my clothes. Hopefully I won’t trip over it.

  * * *

  I don’t hear from Rhett the rest of the day, and I’m seriously getting worried. I might go over to his place later to make sure he’s not like, dead or something. It isn’t like him to be out of touch for this long.

  “Where’s Rhett?” Tobi asks me as we’re stretching out.

  “I’m not sure,” I say, trying not to look too worried.

  Coach calls practice to order and says that Rhett isn’t here. He’s got some sort of illness. Well, that sounds like a load of shit. I want to go call him immediately and find out what’s going on, but Coach is a stickler for her “no phones during practice” rule so I can’t until she finally lets us go.

  I have to stunt with one of the other guys and it’s just . . . wrong. I mean, it’s not terrible, but it’s not Rhett either. I’ve gotten so used to being with him that having someone else toss me just feels off. Like I missed a step
going down the stairs. It’s not a good night for most of us and some of the squad are nursing injuries so Coach lets us go early, shaking her head at us.

  “It’s not looking good for Nationals, is it?” Tobi says as we walk out to our cars.

  “Probably not,” I say with a sigh. I’d thought that maybe we had a shot but now it seems so far away.

  “Wonder what happened to your guy,” she says.

  “No idea. And he’s not my guy,” I say. At least I don’t think he is. It’s complicated.

  “Whatever. Let me know if you hear from him. And if he needs medical attention, definitely let me know.” I give her a thumbs up and get into my car. It’s a little angry starting since the temperature has dropped. Fucking Maine. I don’t know how people stand it. I think about calling him, but he hasn’t answered my texts.

  “Oh, fuck it,” I say and start my car.

  * * *

  I arrive at his place and knock on the door. He opens it with surprise and is wearing his typical flannel and jeans. Definitely doesn’t look sick. He looks amazing. As always.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. “You weren’t at practice and you didn’t text me back and . . . I was worried about you.”

  “You were?” he asks as if it’s an outrageous statement.

  “Yeah. Well, I figured that since you took care of my ass last night, I should probably make sure that you were okay. If we’re okay,” I mumble. I look up at him and there’s a half smile on his face.

  He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms.

  “You were worried about me.” I shove him out of the way.

  “Don’t be so smug about it. It’s unbecoming.” I cringe because that’s something my mother says. Or used to say. I’m not even sure if I should call her that anymore.

  Rhett chuckles, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that I don’t like.

  “Do you . . . do you need anything?” I’m definitely not good at this. Mia was the caretaker in our friendship. When I had problems, she was always there to help. When she had problems, I would basically hold out a carton of ice cream and have movies ready. I’m not good at the talking or the comforting. It makes me feel weird. Maybe because my parents never did much of it. So I didn’t grow up with it. How fucking pathetic is that?

  “No, I’m good. But if you want to hang out, I wouldn’t say no.”

  “I’ve got a shit-ton of work to do,” I say, which isn’t a lie. I’ve got articles to write and pictures to fiddle with in Photoshop and reading to do. In addition to my quest to find my birth mother, I’ve also been slacking a little on my homework. Not enough to cause my grades to drop (much), but if I don’t want to scramble at the end of the semester, I’m going to have to get my act together. Again. Actually, I don’t know if I’ve ever really had my act together. I should work on that.

  “That’s fine. Don’t worry about me.” He smiles again, but his eyes are darting around. I’ve never seen Rhett squirrely before, and it would be amusing if I wasn’t so curious what’s up with him.

  But if I ask and he tells me, that would mean that I’m involved in his life and I don’t know if I’m ready for that, other than hanging and banging. And eating. Hanging and banging and eating. I don’t want him to get too close. I can’t let him get too close.

  “Okay, I won’t,” I say and then stick my tongue out at him. He does the same and then I start thinking about his tongue and what he can do with it and then I need to get out of there. Fast.

  “I’m gonna go. I’ll see you tomorrow morning? If your food poisoning clears up?” I say. I have this horrible fear that he’s going to vanish and it’ll be like he never happened. I don’t want that. The idea of Rhett disappearing is something I don’t like to think about.

  “Sure,” he says and gives me a bow. He does that all the time, and instead of finding it irritating, I find it irresistibly charming. I find a lot of things about Rhett charming. Too charming. It’s a real problem.

  “Bye,” I say, waving.

  “Bye, Freya,” he says, closing the door behind me.

  * * *

  My phone rings with a call from Melissa the second I get home from Rhett’s.

  “Hey, sweetheart. I just wanted to let you know that I went to your parents’ place yesterday and got everything. They, ah, had it all ready in boxes for me, and I inspected your room to make sure there was nothing left. I may have also checked around the rest of the house in case they hid something from you. But we’ve got it all. Everything. Okay?” I’m crying again. This has been one fucking hell of a week.

  “Oh, honey,” she says. “I would give anything to hug you right now.” I would give anything for that. I miss her so much it’s like I carved a part of myself out when I left Texas.

  “Me too,” I say, sniffing. I really need to invest in some of those travel packs of tissues so I always have them on hand. I grab a paper towel from the kitchen and use it instead.

  “Tomorrow I’m going to go through everything and send you pictures of it all. And if there’s anything you want us to mail or bring to you, we’ll do that. Mia is dying to see you, and I could use a road trip.” It would take them days to drive from Texas to Maine, but they’d do that. For me.

  Sometimes I wonder why I can’t just accept them as my parents. Forget about Rebecca. Forget about my adoptive parents. Forget them all and just be happy with what I have.

  I can’t. I know I can’t. I’ve already chosen this path and I have to follow through with it. I have to. I’ve already given up too much to go back.

  Rhett

  She knows something is up. She’s not an idiot and I’m not a very good liar. That’s why I couldn’t face her this morning or at practice. I know about her secret and I can’t un-know it. This would be an excellent time for science to discover brain bleach.

  I was right. She’s adopted. And thanks to my idiocy and bumping into furniture, I now know the name of her birth mother. Rebecca Cooper. Such a simple name that changes so much.

  Fuck. There’s nothing I can do now and I wonder . . . I wonder if the reason Freya is here in Maine is to find her birth mother. I mean, that would make sense. Why she’s so cagey about her reasons for moving and why she came to a college that doesn’t even have her major or a decent cheer squad. It all makes complete sense.

  I wonder . . . I wonder if she’s found her. If she’s met her. Something tells me that she hasn’t. That she’s been putting it off because she’s scared. I know how she feels.

  My search for my parents led me to a dead end. Literally. They both died in a car accident when I was a baby. They were out to dinner for their anniversary, and I was six months old and staying with a babysitter. Neither of them had any close family, or family that was suitable to take me in, so I went into foster care and never really had a home. I’ve always wondered what it’s like to belong to a place. To belong to someone. If I can give that to a kid someday with my job, then my life will have been worthwhile.

  Reading between the lines I don’t think that things were good with her adoptive parents. If she had them. She’s literally never talked about parents, so I don’t know. But I want to. I want to know her. I want to be a part of her life. A major part.

  I know that I’m reaching and I’m pushing too far and I’m probably totally going to regret this, but I go ahead and do an online search for Rebecca Cooper. There are a lot of them, but I also happened to see her middle name, so I can narrow the results down that way. I find a Facebook page and not much else. Hmm. Usually the Internet is far more helpful than this. I might have to do some deeper digging if I’m going to find her.

  Wait. What the fuck am I thinking? I delete the name from the search engine and shut my laptop. What am I doing? I can’t do this. It’s a massive invasion of privacy. I shouldn’t even know.

  But then I think about what not knowing did to me growing up. It wasn’t until I was much older that I was able to find the information on my parents. Seeing the news articles about the ca
r crash was like watching them die in front of me, but at least I knew. I knew and it wasn’t my fault. My parents hadn’t been terrible people. I hadn’t been taken away because they were unfit. I’d just been dealt a shit hand when I was an infant. There was a kind of peace in that. Somehow.

  I want Freya to have that. I want her to have answers.

  It’s probably wrong but . . . I go ahead and do another search and go further in the results. There. A newspaper article. About a birth.

  Holy shit.

  Freya

  I’m relieved that Melissa got all my stuff out of my parents’ house. I haven’t heard from them about what’s happening with their move, and I don’t expect to hear anything until I get a call that they’re in Florida and would I like their new address? No. Probably not. I could cut ties with them and not care. I know that makes me a horrible person. They didn’t do anything terrible to me. They never hit me or badly neglected me. They never did . . . anything. So I shouldn’t really hate them, but I do. It pisses me off when people complain about their parents buying them things or caring too much. Some of us would give anything to have parents that cared too much.

  At least I have Mia and her parents. My surrogate family.

  I end up texting Mia so we can have a Skype session. I’ve been neglecting her lately, and I know she has news about the guy she’s seeing and wants news about Rhett. I figure it’s only fair to give her a few details.

  Tobi and I hit the gym the next morning, and Rhett is already on the treadmill. There are a few people on the units nearest him, so I take one all the way on the other end. Tobi takes the one next to me.

  “The only good part about this is we can watch TV,” she says, turning the channel to some show about people buying tiny houses.

  “I thought you hated those kinds of shows,” I ask, flipping mine around until it’s showing reruns of my favorite show. Perfect. Guilt-free TV. What could be better?