Page 144 of Choosing Forever
“What are you looking for?”
“My purse.”
“In the living room. We didn’t bring it to my mom’s. I can get it?—”
I shake my head quickly, already heading for the door. “Just stay there for a second. Don’t move.”
“Alright,” he says with a laugh. “Consider me glued to the bed.”
Too focused to reply, I rush out of the room and to where I left my bag. It’s ridiculous how long it’s taken me to give this to him, but I guess I was just waiting for the right time. That hasn’t been until tonight.
When I get back to the room, Darren’s still in the same spot. His brows fly up when he sees me with my fist closed and nothing else.
“Should I be scared?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “No.”
Taking a seat on the bed, I cross my legs in front of him and take a deep breath before opening my hand. The purple bracelet feels like it’s made from silver instead of elastic and tiny beads.
“Is that the bracelet Abbie was talking about?”
“It is.”
“Can I touch it?”
I almost laugh. “Take it. It’s for you, in case you can’t read anymore.”
“Darebear . . . I haven’t heard that in forever.”
“That’s because it’s only for us.”
He takes the thin bracelet and slides it onto his wrist. The beads spelling the name I gave him when we first met dig into his skin, but he keeps it on.
“I love it, Elle.”
Lying down again, I curl into him and stare at my ring. It stares back, daring me to slide it onto my finger again. Only, I can’t. Not yet. Moving forward is what I want, but the ring will have to come later. Once I’ve finally figured out what it is that’s keeping me from taking it back.
45
EIGHT YEARS AGO
DELANEY
Coming hometo Cherry Peak feels different this time.
There’s something in the air that unsettles me as I drive into town. It could just be the smell in my car from weeks of unwashed laundry that I’m bringing to my grandma’s house. Since flying with all of my things wasn’t possible, I packed my car as full as I could so that I didn’t have to do this drive more than once. That included dirty laundry and a few boxes of reusable containers with spaghetti sauce stains in them.
I debate turning down the road that leads home instead of following my original plan. I’m exhausted and could use a shower before doing anything else. Or I could just pull my big girl pants on and stop trying to convince myself not to do this.
Tapping the steering wheel, I slow to a turtle crawl. My turn signal ticks as I hesitate to move.
It’s getting late . . . maybe he’s already asleep. Or his parents are. I already had to ask my grandma for information on whether Darren moved back into his childhood home after graduation, and the last thing I need is to be embarrassed again by showing up and waking his mom.
A loud car horn scares me badly enough that I drop my foot on the gas pedal and jerk forward into motion. I flip the driver behind me the bird, but they can’t see it past the piles of stuff blocking my back window.
Turning even slower just to piss off the driver behind me, I take a deep breath and wring the steering wheel. The brown street sign appears, and my stomach twists painfully.
There’s a car on the curb in front of his house and two others on the driveway. I pull up behind the one on the road and stay frozen in my seat, terrified to see him again. The sharp ache in my chest is worse than the fear, though, and that’s what pushes me to get out of the car.
