I’ll Meet You There

  “No.” I whispered into the night, just to hear myself say it.

  I thought about Josh sitting there in the bed of his truck, ignoring me after all those days full of stolen glances and secret smiles. I didn’t know how I could have misread all of that. God, I was such a moron, why did I think—

  “Skylar!”

  Josh.

  I stopped, my eyes on the creek. The water was black, threaded with silver moonlight. Away from the party, I could hear the gentle slapping of the water against the bank and the anxious string quartet of crickets in the clumps of bushes that pushed through the earth. A breeze danced around me, and I shivered, clutching at my arms.

  I was half naked and just about the stupidest person I’d ever known.

  “Sky—what are you doing?”

  I wondered how fast he’d had to limp-walk to catch up with me, and for a second I felt bad. Then I remembered how, a few minutes ago, I’d hardly existed.

  “Leave me alone, Josh. Just go back to the party.” I couldn’t look at him, just spoke to the empty space in front of me.

  “Look, I … I don’t want you to be out here alone, okay? People have been drinking, and it’s not a good idea for you to—”

  I turned, hurling words into the space between us. “Don’t you have a Swenson to fuck?”

  It was out of my mouth before I even knew I was thinking it, and for a second, we just stared at each other.

  “No” was all he said. The word hung in the air, heavy with a million other, longer words.

  My fingers clutched at my dress, all my shaking hidden within the folds of the thin fabric. I could feel this thing in me building—anger at myself, him, Dylan, everybody. I was volcanic. And the fire burned up my throat until it filled my eyes. It wanted to burst, burn, destroy. I turned away and focused on the creek, the way it swept by, not caring about our trivial human drama at its bank. I heard Josh step closer, felt the warmth of his body, even though he wasn’t touching me. I wanted to lean into him, to jump off this cliff I kept finding myself on whenever I was around him.

  But he obviously didn’t want that. Had changed his mind, or something.

  “Skylar, I—”

  I whirled around, practically falling against him. “You what, Josh? You’re the one who told me to come to this dumbass party!”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. His eyes were shuttered, hiding away so that I couldn’t get a read on him.

  I didn’t want remorse—I wanted a fight.

  “What does that even mean, I’m sorry?” I snarled. “Are you apologizing for ignoring me or for inviting me in the first place?”

  He shrugged, pushing at the loose sand underfoot with the toe of his flip-flop. “I’m sorry for being a dick.”

  “I think I need a little more specificity, Josh.” I was classic pissed-off, hands on my hips, nostrils flared. “I mean, what I think is being a dick and what you think is being a dick are probably two totally different things.”

  He looked down at me, those eyes pressing against mine even though we were a good four feet apart.

  I couldn’t breathe when he looked at me like that. Couldn’t think. God, it was so unfair that the first time I really cared about someone it was some screwed-up, womanizing soldier who was probably only being whatever he was with me because he spent all that time in Afghanistan not getting any.

  “What did you want me to do?” he said, his voice low. “After what happened at the Paradise and—”

  “Josh, that was nothing to be ashamed—”

  “My brother was all over you. You’re his ex, which makes me an asshole for going after you because he’s obviously still into the great, unattainable Skylar Evans and—”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “C’mon. Ever since you were in junior high you’ve been on this pedestal, looking down on all of us—”

  “You know, I thought you were different, but you’re not, are you? You’re still a total player, still crazy full of yourself—”

  “Right, Skylar. You’re right. In fact, why don’t we just do it right here? Yeah, I mean, you’ll have to be on top because of my fucking metal leg, but whatever, let’s just—”

  “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you right now?”

  “Sure, why not? You can be like all the other girls around here, wanting to hand out mercy screws like it’s their patriotic duty.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Been there.”

  “That’s great, Josh. Play the wounded-soldier card. Bet it works every time.”

  He shook his head and looked up at the sky, his lips pursed. The night was wearing thin, and I was already dreading the after—going back to the motel, alone and knowing how badly the whole thing had gone. Wanting his goddamn face out of my head, but it would be the last thing I’d think of before I fell asleep.

  “I just don’t get you,” I whispered. I bit my lip and let my eyes fall to the water trickling by our feet. “I mean, at the Paradise or my mom’s house, it seems like you’re this whole other … and I wore this stupid dress because I thought … I thought that you…”

  My eyes blurred again and I turned my back on him, trying to find some tiny reserve of control. Josh reached out and pulled me toward him, my back against his chest, his forearm resting on my collarbone.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his lips touching my hair.

  I shivered and pressed closer when I should have been pulling away. It felt like the world was holding its breath.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” he said. “You’re so different from the rest. Every time I try, I just keep screwing it up.”

  He leaned his forehead against the back of my head, and everything in me that was wound up so tight suddenly unraveled.

  “I don’t know how to do this either.”

  He sighed, relief and frustration and wanting all mixed up. We stayed like that for a few minutes, his breath against my neck, his heartbeat in my shoulder blade. It was the same creek I’d been going to all my life, but in his arms it took on a magical quality, everything tinged in iridescent silver, the velvety black night encircling us.

  He still had his arm around me, and I leaned down and kissed his wrist, letting my lips linger against his salty skin. His fingers tightened around my shoulder, and I smiled as my lips traveled to his thumb, his index finger.

  “Sky,” he whispered.

  My name in his mouth sounded like a warning, but he wasn’t letting go, was gripping me harder, and after all these weeks of anxious hope, it was suddenly so easy to just turn my body a few degrees and press my lips against his.

  His hands in my hair.

  His tongue in my mouth.

  My hips against his.

  My fingers clutching his shoulders.

  Josh saying over and over:

  I love you.

  I love you.

  I love you.

  chapter twenty-five

  And then: Josh’s arm around my waist as he led me away from the creek, everyone staring as we got into the truck, me sitting close to him as he drove to the Paradise, the truck swerving every time he kissed me. Then us laughing between kisses as we tried to open my door, shushing each other, touching and holding and smiling.

  I’d finally gotten the key into the lock, but Josh was kissing my neck, and I turned around and let him press me up against the door because I just wanted more more more. He tasted like cinnamon gum, and I loved the way he’d bite my lower lip, like he wanted to eat me up.

  “I”—kiss—“have the key”—kiss—“in the”—kiss—“lock.”

  He just said, “Mmmm,” and grabbed me around the waist, then turned the key behind my back. The door swung open, and I could smell the incense I’d burned that afternoon, its smoky vanilla scent clinging to the air. I’d imagined this moment so many times. And now it was happening, but it was so much more.

  His eyes were heavy with want, the lines around them gentle, and when he kissed me
again, there was nothing, nothing except his lips and hands and the feel of his heart beating underneath my palm. I grabbed his hand to pull him inside, but he stayed in the doorway, watching me.

  “How’s the Sky today?” he asked, his voice soft. His eyes were focused, like he really needed to know it was okay to do this, here and now.

  “Perfect. Not a cloud,” I said. “Low seventies with a breeze.” His description of heaven, from when we went to Subway together.

  He got this look on his face—a peaceful sort of happiness mixed with … love. That one look seemed to shatter every defense I’d worked so hard to build around me. I didn’t know what was going to happen, was terrified of everything I was feeling, but it was a good terror, the kind you get on those freaky free-fall carnival rides where you know you’ll lose your stomach but you don’t care because the rush—the rush—is what it’s all about. Wanting him made me feel completely out of control, like I couldn’t even think because I had this overwhelming need to have him. Tonight. I was going to lose my virginity. To Josh Mitchell. Josh Mitchell.

  He stepped through the door and shut it behind him. And when I kicked off my shoes and moved toward him, I was crossing a line I could never retreat back to. Moonlight filtered in through the sheer curtains covering my window, turning him into soft angles, smudged lines. I ran my hands up his arms, letting the shadows mix us together, like we were already becoming a part of each other.

  His fingers brushed the top of my thighs, then slid, ever so gently, under the hem of my dress. “We can do other things,” he murmured, “if you want. We don’t have to—”

  “I want to,” I whispered.

  He reached up, his palms warm on my cheeks. “Yeah?”

  Was I ready?

  “Yeah.”

  He looked at me for a long moment, his fingertips hot against my skin. I smiled up at him, and he leaned down and kissed me, a soft brush of the lips.

  The dress was easy to take off—Dylan only bought those kinds of dresses, and Josh had a lot of practice. Even though it was warm in the room, I had goose bumps everywhere, but the places he touched me turned to flames. I pulled Josh toward the bed, but he hesitated, biting his lip and casting a doubtful glance toward it.

  “What?” I whispered, suddenly wondering if I was being whorish and had gotten this all wrong.

  “It’s just…”

  A flash of—something, I couldn’t tell—but then he shook his head and leaned in to me, his lips on my mouth, my eyes, my neck.

  I reached up and started unbuttoning his shirt. My fingers skimmed along his dog tags, and I could feel his heart pounding faster and faster.

  His lips found my ear, and when I shivered a little at his touch, he laughed, soft and low. I felt clumsy and uncertain, all of my inexperience matched against his countless times of doing this. For a second, I panicked, like I’d swum out to sea and lost sight of the shore. But then I caught his eyes and saw the way he looked at me. Hungry, yes, but tender too.

  I’ve got you.

  I ran my fingers along the raised letters on the dog tags that spelled out all the pertinent information the military needed about Josh. But the important stuff—how he watched out for me, how good he was at chess, the way he always hit his knee when he laughed—they weren’t the sort of things you could stamp onto a thin piece of metal.

  He swallowed as my fingers reached for the last button on his shirt. I slipped it off his shoulders and slid my hands across the bumps and ridges on his chest I’d noticed that first night, when we’d gone swimming—a dozen scars that told a story he’d never shared with me. He watched my fingers slip over his chest, and as I pressed my lips to each scar, he shuddered, gripping my hips. I made my way up his neck and kissed his closed eyes, and he reached behind me and unhooked my bra—it was off in one single movement.

  “You are way too good at that,” I whispered.

  His lips turned up, and he ran his fingers down my back, his eyes following the lines of my body like he was tracing me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned into him, our bare chests pressed together. Our lips met again, each kiss harder, more insistent than the last. My body responded to every touch, and Josh’s breath quickened. His hands moved from my back to my chest, and I gasped a little as his fingers brushed up against my breasts, then skimmed the elastic waistband of my underwear. His eyes held mine, and something in them gave me the confidence to reach my hand down between us and touch him. He closed his eyes and moaned softly into my neck.

  “You,” he whispered, “are way too good at that.”

  “Now we’re even.”

  There were a million thoughts in my head or no thoughts or maybe just a single overriding one that was telling me yes. Yes to Josh. Yes to this. Just yes.

  His kisses slowed, and he leaned his forehead against mine. I breathed him in.

  I was ready.

  My hands trembling, I reached for his belt, but he shook his head and pushed my hand away. I looked up, uncertain. Wasn’t that what I was supposed to do? Didn’t he want that? Maybe he wanted to—

  Then I saw his face. Every bit of gentleness had suddenly drained out of it. He looked … disgusted? Like he couldn’t believe he’d ended up here. He let go of me and backed away, toward the door. We’d never even made it to the bed.

  I crossed my arms over my bare chest. I suddenly realized I was naked. “What?”

  He shook his head. “It’s … we just … can’t.”

  My heart was twisting, cracking, and my hands were still warm from touching him, and my chin was raw from his stubble, but he was leaning against the door as though he couldn’t get far enough away from me.

  “Josh.”

  I barely heard myself say his name; it was a whisper, all broken confusion.

  He shook his head, mumbling. I caught the words mistake, sorry, but it was like he was on the other side of a door and I was trying to listen in. I couldn’t catch everything he was saying, wasn’t even sure I wanted to.

  I stood there with nothing on but my underwear, watching as he grabbed his shirt from the floor and threw it on. His fingers were trembling as he tried to button it, and he cursed under his breath. I reached for the throw blanket I kept on the end of my bed and wrapped it around me.

  “What the hell is going on?” I said.

  It didn’t make sense. I knew he didn’t think this was a mistake—I’d seen how much he’d wanted me. He’d told me he loved me!

  “If this is about Blake—”

  “It’s not about Blake.”

  “Okay, so tell me—”

  “Sky.”

  “We can slow down—”

  “It doesn’t feel right.”

  I stared at him. The shimmering bubbles of happiness that had been floating all around me popped one by one, the whole breathlessness of our summer becoming nothing more than old soap on a stained industrial carpet.

  “It doesn’t feel right,” I repeated. Dull, dead.

  “No.”

  Josh gave up on his shirt and threw open the door. He stepped out, into the night that had held so much magic for me just a few minutes ago, then looked back. I turned away before he could see what those few minutes in my room had cost me.

  “Sky … I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  I heard the door shut behind me. I practically ran to the bathroom, then sank onto the cool linoleum, gripping the blanket from my bed. My sobs echoed, and I wondered if the guests on either side of me could hear. I turned on the shower and got in, crying as the water rained down, scratching at my skin until I couldn’t feel him on me anymore. I stayed like that until the hot water ran out and then for a few minutes longer because my body didn’t feel the cold.

  Didn’t feel anything.

  JOSH

  Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck. I don’t know what to do. What the hell should I do? Tell me, fucking just tell me, man. Please. Please. What am I doing? I should go back, just tell Sky I freaked because since the war I haven’t … and it’s a mess do
wn there and she’s not like the others, she’s never—no, I can’t. The look on her face when I said what I said … God, I want to go back but I don’t, I leave the Paradise and I go to Market and buy a bottle of whiskey. Javier doesn’t card me because he feels sorry about my leg, only Jenna Swenson is there too and I feel so fucked up and she follows me to my car and I don’t care anymore about anything because I’ve lost Skylar and how the hell could I have done that to her she fucking trusted me I was going to be her first and now she hates me, I disgust her I know it and I keep pouring the whiskey down my throat and I forget Jenna’s there and everything’s going blurry and warm and dark so dark fuck I just want to cry or fight someone or—Jenna whispers what she wants to do in my ear and I say okay because what’s the point of anything and I might as well I don’t give a fuck what Jenna thinks and we’ve been here before so many times and we drive out to this field I used to take girls to and, I don’t know man, I just … I’m not even here. I’m chugging the whiskey and Jenna’s on her knees and it feels good, yeah it’s amazing but all I can see is Skylar’s face and when it’s over I pull up my pants and Jenna wipes her mouth and I tell her I’ll drive her home. I don’t let her kiss me. Even though it’s been hours, I can still taste Skylar’s lips, sweet just like I thought they’d be. I swear, if God or some angel or whatever came to me right now and said I had two choices: I could have Skylar for, like, the rest of my life, but I’d never get my leg back, or I could have both my legs, but not Skylar, I would seriously choose one leg. But I’ve got no leg and no Skylar, and I give up. I fucking give up.

  chapter twenty-six