From The Wreckage (13 page)

Stopping and releasing her hand, West pulls his dress shirt out of his pants.
Ummmm, hello?
Jules thinks, and takes a small step back. His fingers go to the shirt buttons and she feels her throat go dry.
Am I seriously about to see the famous Rutledge chest?
she wonders. The Rutledge boys are legends in the amazing abs, chest and buns category…or so rumor had it. She hasn’t seen West without a shirt on since the year-ending pool party in the seventh grade.

Damn shame
, she thinks to herself when he releases the last button and tugs the shirt off, only to reveal a vintage tee underneath. She groans inwardly and tries to cover her disappointment as West bends down and lays the shirt on the dirt path between the cornstalks.

"Have a seat, Buffy," he teases, and takes a seat next to the shirt.

Playing along, Jules carefully bends down and sits on his shirt with a smile.

"Now what?"

"Do you trust me?"

She doesn’t even have to think about it. He saved her life. Yes, she trusts him. "Of course."

"Lay down. Stretch your legs out and lay on my shirt."

"Ooooo-kay." Jules does as he instructs and scoots down until her head is resting at the top of his shirt and her legs touch the dirt. She crosses her ankles and tucks her dress between her thighs to hold it in place in case of wind.

West lays beside her with their shoulders touching, and Jules slides over immediately when she realizes his head is in the dirt.

"Share the shirt! You don’t have to put your head in the dirt."

He chuckles but angles his head towards hers and places it on the shoulder of his open shirt. Jules waits while he settles in before questioning him again.

"And?"

He sighs softly, which causes her to roll her head his way so she can look at him. His eyes are already closed and a peaceful, relaxed look washes over his face.

"Now we breathe," he whispers as his hand searches and locates hers.

Jules watches his face for a full minute, and when he makes no effort to open his eyes or look her way, she moves her face back to the sun and closes her eyes too, taking a deep breath as she does so.

She doesn’t know how long they lay there, both stiff as statues, stretched out on their backs, as the late summer sun burns her exposed skin with its hot Texas rays. She moves her left hand to rest on her stomach and ends up tilting her face back towards West's to prevent the sun directly overhead from burning white spots into her eyelids. Her ears pick up on the rustling of the crops as a breeze kisses her skin lightly. She hears the sweet song of a bird flying overhead, but that’s it. Lying out here in the middle of a cornfield, she feels all alone in the world, except for the boy lying next to her, holding her hand.

She is half asleep when she feels his thumb brush circles along the palm of her hand, causing her pulse to kick up a notch. Instinct kicks in and her senses tell her someone is staring at her. Slowly opening her eyes, she notices that West is facing her; his warm eyes a mere twelve inches from her face.

West licks his lips; not in the sexy
'Look at my lips'
way some boys do, but more out of habit, and Jules melts at the unintentional sexiness. Being naturally sexy is ten times more enticing than pretending to be sexy. His mouth forms a question while she lays there staring in fascination at his lips.

"Why did you wait for me?"

Jules freezes.

"At the house, when you were inside and safe," he clarifies, in case she doesn’t know what he is asking about. "Why did you wait for me?"

Her thoughts, her breath, her heart
—
everything stops as she looks at West Rutledge, the boy who hasn’t been her friend since the seventh grade. The boy who first called her 'cheerleader' and 'Buffy' instead of using her real name five days ago. The boy who grabbed her hand and pulled her and her best friend to safety that same night, and then had thrown himself over her to protect her life with his own.

She doesn’t have an answer for him, and she feels the tears start to build because of it. She has no idea why she stubbornly stood by the window and waited for him to make it inside the house before she would go to safety. She doesn’t know why he wants to know, but she tells him the only answer that enters her mind at that moment.

"I don't know. Standing there, all of a sudden it was like...like the thought of anything happening to you wasn't something I could live with."

Twelve

For one quiet, scary moment Jules wants to take the words back. She knows she doesn’t have the right to say what she said. She is taken – long-term-boyfriend-taken
—
and admitting to the inexplicable feelings West Rutledge makes her feel isn’t smart.

She can tell by the look in his eyes that her admission touched him. The problem is, it touched her too. From the moment he gave her his little grin and called her Buffy in his sarcastic tone, she began to lose herself. She can’t explain it because there’s no explanation for it. Some things just happen.

"Why did you speak to me that night?" she asks, and now it is his turn to look away.

Sitting up, he pulls a knee towards his chest and rests his arm upon it. His other hand never letting go of hers, although only their fingertips touch now.

"You all but slammed the door shut on everyone when we started back to school in the eighth grade. Why?" she asks and stares at the black tee shirt stretched across his back and shoulders. She resists the urge to brush the specks of dirt away as she waits for him to answer her.

"A lot of things changed back then." He picks up a stone and absently throws it into the row of cornstalks to their right.

"I remember the last time we talked. I mean
really
talked." Jules smiles and sits up; folding her legs to the side and facing his profile. She has to let go of his hand to get situated, and she grins when he catches it again without so much as turning his head to look at her.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Karen Wade's going away party, July before eighth grade started."

He offers her a small smile of acknowledgment, a light chuckle escaping his lips, as he turns to Jules. "You remember that night?"

"Of course. You were my first real kiss."

"No way. I call B.S. on that."

"You can't call B.S."

"There is
no way
I was your first kiss, Jules Blacklin," he insists and continues to stare at her incredulously.

Irritated, Jules tries to pull her hand away. "Yes there is, and you
were,
West Rutledge," she spits in the same tone he used. "Gimme back my hand if you’re going to call me a liar," she demands. Jules tries to tug her arm away again and pokes out her lip in a pout, but West resists.

"No."

"No? Damn it, West, let go of me."

"I can't," he grinds out between clenched teeth and she stops pulling away. "I can't seem to let you go, Jules. I can't stop thinking about you, and about those hours we spent trapped together." His voice cracks and tears spring to her eyes as his face falls. "Your hand was an anchor.
You
were an anchor. I had you to keep safe, and it kept me focused."

He takes a deep breath. "Man, this sucks."

He rubs a palm across his red eyes and Jules leans forward; her free hand reaching across and touching his forearm softly. She pulls his hand from his face to stop him from covering the tears. Her eyes are now overflowing.

"It does suck," she agrees, and allows her fingertip to brush his cheek.

West blows out a harsh breath before he hauls her into his chest and hugs her tightly. He rubs his cheek against the top of her hair and Jules’ arms go around his waist as she ducks her face into his chest with a sigh.

"I spoke to you that night because I was tired of pretending to ignore you. I've never truly ignored you, Jules. Never."

They sit there, tucked into a ball without a word for quite some time. Jules has no words to respond to what he said. She revealed something to him and he returned the sentiment. What do you say to that? She feels his chest quiver under her cheek, as well as the deep breaths he takes in and out as he tries to calm himself. She's cried so many times in the last five days, she isn’t sure how she has any tears left to shed.

Jules can tell he's pulled himself together when he clears his throat and runs his fingers over the top of her head to comb through her long hair.

"So I was your first kiss, huh? How is that remotely possible?"

She laughs under her breath at his awkward 'change the subject' tone.

"I don't know. I mean, I never paid much attention to boys back then."

"You've
never
paid much attention to boys."

"What? Sure I have."

"Ha!" He eases his grip and she pulls back slightly at his laugh. "Not since Mr. Football moved here. Stuart had your attention from day one."

"Whatever. What? Were you stalking me or something?"

"I noticed you." He says with a shrug.

"Creeper," she teases, crinkling her nose. "Besides, that's not true. I went on dates before Stuart."

"Everyone knew those were mercy dates, Buffy. We all knew you were biding your time waiting on Stuart. He's your Angel."

"What in the world? You're so weird. What's up with you and ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’? You're a guy! Where did you learn all this Buffy talk anyway?"

Although they are no longer hugging, they remain close enough for Jules to gape at the red flush that travels up his neck and ears.

"Oh!" she practically shouts. "Don't answer that
—
I already know... Carley." She does a little 'I knew it' wiggle when West's eyes roll in confirmation. She laughs and teases, "Your little goth girlfriend made you watch it, didn't she?"

His shoulder bumps into hers. "Oh, shut up. It was tenth grade. What's your point?"

Jules falls to her back giggling as she envisions West Rutledge with his black combat boots, messy, devil-may-care hair and sinful grin sitting in a living room somewhere watching 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' with Carley Raine. She pictures Carley in her mind: her jet black straight hair, purple lipstick and depressing obsession with all things black.

"Let me clarify things. First, the guys I dated before Stuart weren't 'mercy dates'. Second, Stuart is not my 'Angel', whatever
that
means."

"You guys have been together for, what
—
two years? He's your Angel; the guy you're hopelessly in love with.
Whether he's right for you or not." He mumbles the last bit, but Jules hears it
and her curiosity wins out.

"Why would you say he's not right for me? You don't know him."

"Forget it. Sorry."

"Forget it? Tell me what you meant."

West pushes up from the ground in one swift movement, walks up to a cornstalk and takes a swipe at it.

"I should get you home. I don't want your parents to worry about you."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"What?" He spins around with his hands stuffed in his pockets, and his face is a canvas of confusion.

Jules sits there and thinks about what West said…about how he finally talked to her last Friday night because he was tired of pretending to ignore her. She can’t figure out why he would ignore her, so as she sits there watching him beat up the cornstalks, it occurs to her that perhaps she did something to make him dislike her all those years ago.

She can’t recall a single thing she could have done. She remembers their kiss at Karen's party, which was the last time they truly spoke. It was during a game, “Seven Minutes in Heaven”, and somehow Jules ended up with West. They were pushed into a small storage closet before she could refuse. Although when she thinks back to it, she never tried to back out. She didn't want to. She always thought West was cute, and was nauseatingly excited to give him a kiss.

"Have fun, you two," Karen sings as she pulls the door closed; leaving them with merely a sliver of light coming through the crack at the bottom.

She stands there in the dark, wiping her sweaty palms on her bubble skirt when West pulls out his cell phone. The screen illuminates the closet enough so they can see each other.

He smirks at her and raises his brows. "Wanna sit?" he asks.

Back then Jules thought he seemed so cool about it all, but her memory reminds her of his awkward stance and the nervous shrug as he slid to the floor.

"Sure."

"How's your mom?" she asks before she thinks better of it. It isn’t a secret that
his mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer the year before. Everyone knows it’s fatal. Although she’s fighting her hardest, the cancer keeps spreading.

"Oh, well..."

"OMG!"
B
ecause apparently it was cool to speak in text speak when you were twelve.
"I shouldn't have blurted that out. That was rude." She sinks to the floor next to him, miserably embarrassed.