Page 22 of Mr. Broody

He drew back and took my cheeks in his hands. We stared into one another’s eyes for a long beat as if promising without words that our time would come again. But I wasn’t so sure. Our lives were forking off in different directions, and we had no idea if they’d meet again.

“I love you.” He pressed his lips to mine.

He made love to me that night, and it was filled with so much raw emotion that I cried in his arms afterward and for most of the night. But Henry kept telling me that exciting things were going to happen. He told me everything he’d seen online in Holland and how much he knew I was going to love it there. I wanted to beg him to come with me. See the world together. Our life could be like those nights we’d grab snacks from the convenience store and climb up to the highest point to watch the sunset. But he had his own dreams, and I had yet to discover mine.

He watched me pack a suitcase and drove me to the airport, assuring me that he’d take care of everything I’d packed at the apartment. So many times, I wanted to beg him to stop and turn around. His hand never let go of mine for the entire ride.

After he parked along the curb, he got my suitcase out of his car and hugged me.

“I don’t want to go.” My tears wouldn’t stop coming.

“I know. I don’t want you to go either, but you have to, Jade. I’ll handle everything here, telling everyone. Go and live. Figure out what your dream is.” He kissed the top of my head and rested his cheek there, squeezing me into his large body.

My hands gripped his shirt in the back, and I pressed my cheek into his chest, never wanting to forget him… forget us.

“Call your mom in a few days so she doesn’t call the police thinking I did something to you, okay?”

Only he could get me to laugh at a time like that.

He never stopped hugging me, giving me the time I needed, before stepping back, my fingers grappling to hang on until the last inch. Our gazes snagged on one another’s, and a small smile creased his lips.

“If you need anything, you call, okay?”

I nodded, knowing I wouldn’t have the strength to hear his voice and not come running home.

“I love you.”

“I… love… you.” It took everything in me to grab my suitcase and not climb back into the safety of his car. I rose to my tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “I will always love you, Henry.”

He wrapped his arm around my waist, tugging me into him, deepening the kiss, his tongue thrusting into my mouth. My suitcase slipped from my hand, and I climbed him, wrapping my legs around his waist, not caring who witnessed us.

Panic seized me. No, I couldn’t go. What were we doing? We were making a huge mistake. We were the lucky ones who found love at such a young age. We were one of those love stories people tell each other.

Then he closed the kiss, and my legs unwound from his waist. He lowered me back to my feet, and I saw the determination and acceptance on his face. “You’re going to kill it.”

All of the emotions we were trying not to show couldn’t be hidden in our last look at each another, and I almost crumbled to the concrete. Somehow, I found the strength to reach for my suitcase and walk through the sliding doors, saying goodbye to Henry Hensley, the only boy I’d ever love.

Nine

Jade

I’m not sure if it’s because I aced my interview or because Reed has more pull at St. Pat’s than I thought, but they hired me on the spot.

So today is my first day starting at St. Pat’s as a teacher.

“It can’t be that hard,” my brother Waylon says to me, piling a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

I thought taking care of my twin brothers would be easy. They’re fourteen and should be mostly self-sufficient. Sure, I knew I’d be their taxi driver, but they’re way more babied than I ever was. So instead of sipping coffee and watching my morning news show, I’m chained to the kitchen, preparing eggs and bacon because they’re “growing young boys” according to my mom.

“You go sit in a classroom with twenty first graders.” I pick up a piece of bacon and take a bite.

“I have to sit in a classroom with thirty freshmen.”

Waylon has a point. I’ll take the first graders.

“Don’t you just have to read them books?” Owen asks, pulling toast out of the toaster and buttering it. At least they can do some things for themselves. He takes the pieces back to his plate and makes a sandwich with the eggs and bacon.

“Good idea. These eggs are dry as shit.” Waylon gets up and heads over to the toaster.

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