Page 11 of Choosing Forever
I don’t remember the last time that I didn’t have to use one of many attention-grabbing exercises to get through a morning attendance. It’s a relief and maybe even a sign that this could be my best year yet. If I haven’t just jinxed it, of course.
The list of student names rests on my desk as I stare down at the first one and clear my throat. Despite feeling excited about being gifted a potentially well-behaved class, I can’t pretend that it’s going to be all that easy getting through this year. Maybe it’s because I didn’t move out of Cherry Peak when I had the chance, back before I had integrated my adult life here, but the universe has a funny way of giving me something good with a side of struggle.
It would have been so easy tostay away, but . . .
“Abbie,” I call out.
The little girl with her daddy’s brown eyes shoots her arm into the air and wiggles her fingers in response. Her toothy grin is a dulled blade digging into my spine. My next breath sears my throat.
Still, I carry on down the list. Each name I read burns a little less.
I get halfway through the list when three knocks against my classroom door make me jump. My knee bangs against the corner of my desk before I hop up and swallow a curse.
“Give me one second and we’ll continue with attendance,” I say through a wince.
I toss an easy glance at the class and half stroll, half limp to the door. There’s a tall shadow behind the glazed window in the door that causes a cool dread to pool in my belly. It doesn’t take seeing the face of the person on the other side to know who it is.
I know better than anyone what being close to Darren feels like, and right now, the weird clunking sensation in my chest is exactly that. Because if there’s one thing Darren Huntsly always succeeds at, it’s twisting me up so tightly that it takes weeks, sometimes years, for the knots to unravel.
Back when we were teenagers, I didn’t bother untying them. The constant tug and pinch of them felt like a reminder of us. Of what we were and the life we promised each other we’d have. But now? They ache with a ferocity that terrifies me after how long we’ve been apart.
Suddenly, I hate him again.
It takes everything in me to haul the door open and bring myself within arm’s length of him. There’s nowhere near enough space between us. I’m throttled with the need to create more, but I can’t get myself to move back. As easy as blinking, I grow lost in his closeness and the scent of familiar cologne. Memories spear into my mind, but I shove up my walls, refusing to replay them right now.
I stare at the mustache that now lives above his top lipinstead of the eyes that I know are the same exact shade as melted milk chocolate. It’s criminally attractive yet not at all what I expected to see from the man who used to shave his face every single morning because he hated the scratchy feeling of stubble on his jaw.
Darren parts his lips, and I ignore the soft pink shade of them before looking at the curling hair behind the ear with the closed, empty piercing in its lobe. The dark curls are the longest I’ve ever seen them, and I know that if he took off the ratty old baseball cap flattening them, they’d be messy too.
His skin is still smooth and clear, and his eyebrows are large and a tad bushy without being too much for his face. The Steele Ranch–branded cap he’s wearing is one I’ve seen a million times, but I know it isn’t the same one he wore when we were teenagers. It’s missing the bleaching on the left side of the brown brim from when he left it out in the sun for the entire month of July.
By the time he speaks, I’ve latched my gaze onto his chin and offered him a sickly fake smile that even a stranger wouldn’t believe to be real.
“Hi.”
“Hi. What do you need?”
A heavy, tense pause. “The parking lot is full.”
“Okay. Is this about Abbie?”
Those peachy lips stay parted, but no words escape them. With every second we spend in this awkward, strained silence, the more tense I get. I’m glad I didn’t open the window now because one strong breeze is all it would take to have me barrelling over.
Darren clears his throat not once, not twice, but three times before finally speaking.
“Yeah. She won’t be late again. It was my fault.”
My eyes move upward without my consent, greedy to get their first look at him in months. The heat of that first glanceknocks the breath out of me, leaving me gasping to replenish my empty lungs.
“Right,” I push out, gripping my hip to keep my hand busy. “An in-person apology wasn’t necessary. You’re not my student, and Abbie wasn’t too late.”
His eyes may still be that rich chocolate brown, but that’s where the similarities end. I fell in love watching the dreams trapped within them dance, and as I focus on them now, I can’t find a single one left.
Has he achieved them all? Or simply given up on them? I shouldn’t care to know which option is the right one.
“I know. I just want Abbie to have a good first day. It’s already awkward with you?—”
I step outside the room and pull the door closed behind me before the kids can pick up on anything we’re saying. Lifting my hand, I cut him off. “I don’t let outside regrets dictate what I do inside my classroom. Your daughter is not going to bear the weight of what happened with us.”
