Page 14 of My Best Years

The next words fly out of my mouth before I have a chance to register what I’m saying.

“You probably don’t care, but I aced my test today,” I grit out, holding his drunken stare. “Pretty sad that you care more about my room than my grades.”

The instant the words leave my lips, I regret it. Not because I feel bad about standing up to him, but because he’s bigger than me. I couldn't stop him, even if I tried.

I don’t have a second to breathe before his hand collides with my face. My neck cracks from the strength of his hit, andthe back of my skull thumps against the corner of a metal picture frame, knocking it clear off the wall. Glass shatters against the floor, a sad tune that’s become the soundtrack of this home.

I can already feel the hand-sized bruise forming on my cheek as blood drips from my nostrils and down the back of my neck. My fingers shake as I reach behind my head and feel the fresh gash on my scalp. My eyes widen in fear when I find my fingertips coated in crimson.

I miss school for the next three days. My father calls and tells my teacher that I’m sick.

I’ve been taught that boys aren't supposed to cry, but for the next three days, I do nothing but cry.

Scream and cry and wish I didn’t live in the biggest house on the lane.

SEVEN

Callum

Present Day

I only make it a few steps into my house before bracing a hand against the wall to steady myself. My fingers tremble as I run my free hand through my hair. I can’t seem to catch my breath. All I needed was a gallon of milk, but I forgot how to fucking breathe—forgot my own name—when my gaze caught a glimpse of a familiar golden head of hair and set of steel-gray eyes.

I thought I wouldnever see her again. But there she was, in the middle of a grocery store. In Gulf Shores, Alabama. In the blink of an eye, my biggest regret became my reality.

Birdie Wren.

I didn’t need to search for Birdie on social media to know she would still be beautiful. She’s always been stunning. But God, really seeing her and not just imagining what she must look like after eleven years was a moment I could have never prepared myself for.

When she met my stare, I saw so many things.

I saw the little girl on the bus who quickly became my best friend. I saw my first crush. My first love.

I saw the teenage girl who spent all her free time on the shores of Myrtle Beach. I saw the way she looked at me the night before I left, like I was the beginning and the end of her world. And then, I saw a piece of her that I’d never seen before.

I saw a woman.

A woman who grew up to be strong, independent, and so painfully breathtaking. Absolutely fucking flawless.

The first thing I noticed was her eyes. Those mesmerizing silver eyes that haunt me in my sleep. Without a second thought, I knew it was her. I’ve never seen eyes like Birdie’s before. They remind me of a mirror ball, changing colors and revealing her every emotion. It was faint, but I saw a hint of pain in those reflective eyes. Similar to my own agony.

Just as I remembered, a natural shade of rose painted the curves of her smooth cheeks. Her button nose and pouty lips, which I used to kiss, haven't changed either. The first time I fell in love with Birdie’s lips, I thought they were the prettiest color of peach I had ever seen. I often wondered if she tasted like peaches, too. Unfortunately, it was better than that.

Today, I found myself staring at those heart-shaped lips and remembering exactly how sweet they tasted.

Her blonde hair—bright like rays of sunshine—fell in waves past her shoulders. Her signature surfer girl hair, even though she was never a surfer. Birdie’s best friends even envied her because of her locks. Meanwhile, all the boys wanted to run their fingers through it.

That’s the thing about Birdie Wren, she never had to try to stand out in a room. She could roll out of bed, throw on a wrinkled T-shirt, and still make every jaw drop.

I used to hate how people would look at Birdie, despisingher simply because of her beauty. It’s no different than when someone wrinkles their nose at a person they find unattractive. It’s so fucking cheap to judge a human without knowing their heart.

Speaking of her heart, I didn’t miss the way Birdie’s pulse fluttered against the tan skin of her neck. Beating in sync with mine.

She was wearing this little gray tank top that showed exactly how much of a woman she’d become. The thin cotton stretched across her full breasts and stopped right above her belly button. She had on these ripped jean shorts that reminded me of something she would have worn in high school. And hell…The sight of Birdie, grown and wearing those fucking shorts, did shit to my head that I haven’t felt in years.

In so many ways, she’s still the exact same Birdie. But it’s also clear that she’s changed…Matured. And she made it known that she wants nothing to do with an asshole like me.

I’ve seen lots of different emotions paint Birdie’s face, but what I saw today…It was a look of pure devastation. Hatred.

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