Page 92 of Moving Forward

The days leading up to the bachelor party passed faster than I expected—or wanted, in all honesty. I never realized a day could end so quickly. Probably because I’ve never wished for an endless day before now. I want to press the pause button all the time. Not just when we’re having sex. I want to press it in the quiet moments, when we’re tangled up in bed, or when she sits on the deck reading while I repaint “Hazelton” on the boat.

It’s amazing how well she fits into my life, like the missing piece in an unsolvable puzzle. After our first night together, I took her by the Millers’ so she could pick up her suitcase. I guess she got tired of only having my clothes to wear. Surprisingly Ellie didn’t look the least bit aggravated I was stealing Max away for the rest of the time she was in town. When we got back, it took no time before my boat turned into our boat. She shoved her luggage beneath my bed, put her toiletries in my bathroom, placed her books on the table, and bought drinks that weren’t beer.

Neither of us has broached the subject of her leaving. Her being so far away will strain both of us, because I’m not ready to leave and she can’t be here. If I don’t like it when she’s in a different room, I definitely won’t like it when she’s hours away. Except I won’t ask her to stay. I have to face that she’s leaving, but not necessarily leaving us.

Yesterday we took a hike up to my secret spot again. This time there was less eating and more fulfilling fantasies I never knew existed. When we were walking back to the car, she jumped on my back. I almost dropped her. After a few unmanly attempts, I managed to balance her on my back. By then we were both laughing so hard that breathing was impossible. I’ve never laughed that hard before. Our happiness didn’t end there. We kept laughing and teasing and just messing around. It was like that one small moment opened me up to something I’d been missing.

My good mood is sticking around, even now, suffering through this bachelor party. It’s probably because I can have Max whenever I want her, wherever I want her, and because I’m actually beginning to feel like myself—or at least how I should’ve been feeling all these years. Happy and joyous, as Max might say.

The bachelor party isn’t much, just like we expected. The guys have a game on that they’re all yelling at, a cooler filled with beer, and the biggest bag of chips I’ve ever seen. It reminds me of my life before I went downhill. Remembering who I was back then is like reading a book or watching a movie, and confusing it with part of your own memories. It’s fuzzy, and you’re not sure if you really lived it.

Conner slaps my back, hooting at the television. As big into wrestling as he was in high school, I’m pretty sure he knows nothing about any other sport. When we were freshmen, we went to a football game. About halfway through Conner was pretty confident in his knowledge about football and stood up and started yelling. What he didn’t realize was that he was cheering on the other team. The crowd in the stands got super pissed and one of the players had a personal vendetta against Conner for the rest of the year. I once found him taped to a car. Naked as a jaybird.

Over in the corner, Danny takes a shot. They’ve made it a drinking game out of how many times Conner cheers at the wrong moment, unbeknownst to Conner. The game isn’t even halfway over, and I’m pretty sure Danny’s almost shitfaced.

Conner swigs his beer. He’s been hitting it a little bit harder than I remember him doing. Can’t believe he’d have the balls to drink this much since Erin supposedly has a debauchery radar.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and reads a text, pissed. He throws the phone onto the couch beside him and grips the neck of his beer.

“Something wrong?” I ask. Am I allowed to ask him personal questions again after all these years? Did I ever ask personal questions?

“Family,” he grumbles. “My mama, in particular. Sometimes I really wish you could choose who you’re born to instead of relying on the luck of the draw. I must’ve done something really bad in my past life, is all I can say.”

Conner’s mom always seemed a little off when we growing up. One second she would be pleasant and laughing, the next she’d be screaming. There were some days when Conner would have to dress his little sister, Jessa—god, the shitty job he’d do to her hair—because his mom would lock herself in the bathroom or something. Conner stayed pretty quiet about it, but we spent too much time together for me not to notice. I stayed there one night and Conner had to make us all dinner because his mom refused to cook. Or eat. Conner made scrambled eggs because there was barely any food in the fridge; she’d thrown it all out, claiming she needed to lose weight.

“No kid should be brought up around the way you and Jessa were.”

“But we were,” he points out matter-of-factly. He takes another gulp of his beer. I’ll bet it’s the alcohol talking to me right now. “She’s a horrible person who only cares about herself. All my life it’s always been about her . . . her needs, her wants, her expectations. She made me and Jessa feel like we were in the way of all that—like we were some sort of inconvenience. God knows she’s always thought of Jessa that way, even when Jessa took over caring for her after I left. Now Mama’s got this boyfriend, Kyle Gamble. You remember his brother Beau? He used to play baseball with you?”

“Yeah, I remember Gamble.” Beau Gamble was one scary dude. Not in the way Conner’s size makes him scary, or in the hanging-by-a-thread way I am. More in the unfeeling, hard-edged sort of way. He was serious about everything he did—baseball, school, you name it. The guy could screw around big time, but he never screwed up.

“Well, their dad’s some big fucking senator. He’s rich and powerful and influential. And I guess Kyle’s goal is to be just like dear old dad. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate them because they’re into politics. I hate them because they deserve it. He treats Mama like shit and she doesn’t even care. She likes it. So long as he makes her feel like she’s not some washed-up, middle-aged woman, she doesn’t care. What use he has for her, I don’t know. All I do know is that I don’t like it.”

“Shit. I don’t know what to tell you, man.”

Conner gives me a grim look. “I wish you did. I wish somebody did. For now, I just got to take the chips as they fall and hope I get ahead before Mama is the one falling. More than she already is.”

Our attention settles back on the game. Even with the alcohol in his system, Conner’s good mood is gone. He stares blankly at the TV. The rest of the party’s mood deflates right along with his, now that they don’t have their drinking game anymore. I had the opportunity to leave. The whole time I’ve been out, I’ve had Max on my mind, missing her. I didn’t even have any room in my head to be anxious about other people.

When I get home, she’s already back from Ellie’s party, looking worn out. She’s drinking a cup of hot chocolate. I sit down beside her on the bed. “How was it?”

“I’ll be ready for another party in about twenty years. It was all good until Danny’s mom and Debbie left. That’s when Zoey decided the party needed more fun.”

The way she says fun sounds like she’s going into major surgery without anesthesia. “What type of fun?”

“She called a stripper, which was totally against Ellie and Danny’s rules. Except it turned out to be a large, bald man who I’m pretty sure was in his sixties. It was horrifying. I think I’ll have nightmares.”

I chuckle. “Should I be worrying that you’ll leave me for him? I’m sure he was much, much better looking.”

She blanches.

My eyes roam over her, drinking from my mug, in my shirt, in my bed. Woah. I don’t think I will ever get tired of this. Seeing her so . . . at home. At home with me. Even on my crappy little boat, I can imagine what it would be like to have something more with her. A real home where we can lounge on the couch at night and watch movies, or sit at the dining room table and have dinner together after a long day’s work. We’d have a king-size bed, and I’d make sure to show her just how much I love her every night in that bed and then some.

My mind doesn’t stop there. Flashing before my eyes are reels of Max and me that not only make my dick stir but would probably make Max’s face turn cherry red. I like her that way, though. I like tracing that blush with my gaze . . . with my mouth.

I swallow hard. “You showered after that?”

She nods.

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