Goodbyes and Second Chances (The Bleu Series Book 1) (9 page)

When Leona was
twelve, she crawled through my window and openly wept. That’s something you
very rarely ever see that girl do. She’s not a tear shedder. She had started
her period that night and couldn’t bring herself to confide in her dad. I
remember putting my arm around her shoulder and whispering, “We got this.” I
went to Aunt Evie’s bedroom and filled her in on what was up with Leona, and
you know what she said? “We got this.”

My aunt drove
over to Walmart and stocked Leona up on all of the necessary supplies. She even
grabbed a huge box of chocolates that we
women
sat up late devouring. She then went over to Leona’s and explained to Mr. Dan
what was going on. So once a month, until she was old enough to take care of
things herself, Leona would fall into my room, and with a dramatic eye roll,
saying it was that time again.

Max showed up in
my room one night with women trouble. He was having a hard time getting any
girls to take him seriously. It was his own blame fault. I told Max if he would
knock it off with all of the goofing around and the wild pranks, then maybe
someone would be able to take him seriously. I also informed him that most
girls did not like to be referred to as being hot thangs and babes. I schooled
him till dawn the next day about what he was doing wrong. I gave him my last
twenty and told him to take this new girl in the trailer park out to the pizza
joint and to not pull any fast ones. She dated him, of her own free will, for a
few months until he could refrain himself no longer and went back to his old
goofy ways. Some are just not teachable.

Of course, Mave
has showed up on a regular basis over the years to just hide from whatever
trouble the idiot got himself into at that moment. If it’s out there to get
into, Maverick King finds it. If he doesn’t find trouble, it somehow finds him.
The dude is a haphazard.

Dillon has
always been the exception to the rule. He has always used the front door and
barged his way into my room when he needs me, without knocking. Well, up until
now, I suppose. He’s still sprawled out on top of me, but has most of his
weight shifted off me.

“Take a walk
with me?” He pushes his hair out of his face and eyes me.

“No. It’s too
cold,” I mumble.

“Then put on a
coat. Please?” He rolls over so I can get up, but I just continue to lay here.
He shoves me off the bed, not too delicately. I’m about to lay into him, but
then I remember his gift, so I crawl over to my small closet and begin
rummaging for a thick jacket with a hood. It’s not freezing by any means, just
nippy. I slide his gift into the inner pocket of my coat. Then I push my feet
in a pair of Ked’s knockoffs and follow him through my small window. I’m amazed
he was able to get his long body in and out so easily. My short body is
outright protesting, so he finishes pulling me through and sets me on the
ground outside.

Once I’m steady
on my feet, Dillon releases me, but gathers my hand in his without hesitation.
We head over to the dock. The moon isn’t so full tonight, but the night is
still crystal clear with barely any breeze. We stand at the end of the dock for
a while, but eventually have a seat on the planked top and gaze out over the
water. I love the lullaby of the lake water as it whispers into the night. I
watch it glide by until I turn my attention to my company. He seems lost in
thought, so I nudge his knee with my own. He looks over with an apprehensive
smile that is barely there.

“Happy
birthday,” I say as I pull the songs from my pocket and hand them over.

He eyes the tube
of papers and grins. “This what I think it is?”

“Yep. They are
all new, too.”

He slides the leather
bracelet off and hands it back to me, but I shake my head no. “It’s a guy
bracelet, anyway. I want you to have it, too.” I take it out of his hand and
tie it around his wrist.

“Thanks, Jewels.
This is my favorite gift.” He fingers the papers reverently.

I lean back and
eye his right shoulder. “Speaking of gifts…You got new ink today, didn’t you?”

Dillon looks at
me curiously. “Just how did you know about that?”

“Come on,
Dillon. I’ve known you a lot of my life. There’s not much you can get past me. For
one thing, you wouldn’t take your jacket off all night, and you’ve been babying
that right side of your upper back.” I ever so slightly place my fingers in the
spot and feel the soft give of a gauzy dressing.

He glances at me
sideways then looks away. “I don’t think I’m ready to show it to you just yet.”

“Why not?”

“It’s pretty
personal.”

“Okay.”

He looks back to
me, skeptically. “Okay?” he asks, as though he doesn’t believe me.

“I get it. It’s
your body, and I know a tattoo to you is a personal expression. I won’t nag you
about it.”

He stares at me
warmly and seems to appreciate my response. I shiver a bit, so he pulls me
closer and wraps his arm around me. I automatically lean my head on his left
shoulder.

“So tell me why
you woke me up and dragged me outside in the wee hours of this morning,” I
mumble as I take a whiff of him. He has a light hint of cologne on. It’s a
woodsy clean smell, and is so inviting. I automatically nuzzle closer to the
side of his warm neck without thinking twice about it. This little place feels
like home. Like it’s exactly where I belong.

“I’m waiting,” I
say after a few minutes of silence.

I feel him
stiffen a bit, as though he is reluctant to tell me. “I want to…” He pauses, so
I raise my head to look at him. His hair is masking his eyes. I reach up and
brush it away from his forehead. I search his handsome face and find it
remorseful. “I want to apologize for stealing that kiss.” This apology is only
a whisper.

“Dillon, why did
you kiss me?” I whisper back.

“I couldn’t wait
any longer,” he says in a husky voice, while holding my gaze.

Before I lose my
nerve, I climb into his lap and rest the tip of my nose to his. “I want that
kiss back now,” I quietly demand before leaning the rest of the way, reclaiming
my kiss. It’s a delicate unrushed kiss, and I want to live in this spot for the
rest of my life. It feels right and I savor it. His lips are so warm and
surprisingly soft and too tempting. I wait for him to end the kiss, but
eventually realize he has no more desire than I do for it to stop. I pull back
as we both become breathless and stare at him.

“My Jewels,”
Dillon murmurs as he places my hand over his heart. It beats strong and
vigorously. “I was scared I totally screwed things up with you.” He rests his
forehead to mine.

“Never. You will
always be my best friend.” I scoot as close as I can to him and brush a kiss
along his ear before whispering, “My Dimples.”

He chuckles
lightly and rewards me with a glimpse of those babies. “Yes, I’m your Dimples,”
he says. I guess he has finally relented to my name for him.

We stay out on
the dock until the dawn of the new day appears on a haze of greys and peaches.
We shuffle back to our trailers, with him boosting me back through my window
and stealing one more kiss before heading to his own bed.

I’m in love, and
this feeling totally blows my mind. I’m eighteen and I’m just experiencing my
first love. It was well worth the wait. I didn’t waste that special title on
some jerk who only wanted one thing. I’m a blessed girl. I got to give that
first love to my best friend, and I adore that. I want this feeling to never go
away. Dillon is so important to me, and I want him always as a part of my life.
I can hope and dream, right?

Well, this is
the little dream bubble I live in this morning as I snuggle deeply under my
quilt and relive the magical night. It was definitely an unexpected turn. It
gives me hope that exciting and awesome experiences are obtainable after all.

* * * *

“Go on a
treasure hunt with me,” Dillon says.

It’s Thanksgiving
weekend and this place is a ghost town. Aunt Evie let Kyle go with the twins an
hour away to their grandparents’ home for the weekend. The twins were pretty
psyched about the endless amount of food at their disposal. Kyle is growing
like a weed, so he was all for going with them. Leona works at the mall—enough
said. With the sales events, I won’t see her until at least Monday. My
pocketbook definitely won’t allow me to go see her. That’s just too much
temptation. So it’s just me and Dillon, swinging on the dock swing. He helped
me out with trash duties earlier, and now we are free for the remainder of the
day. As soon as he says the words treasure hunt, I automatically rise and we
both head to the sheds.

This is
something we’ve done since we were old enough to wander off together. The whole
lot of us has come down to these sheds and walked away with a bounty of
treasure over the years. Well… It’s treasure to us anyway. This is where we
discovered our boat after all.

We scoot into
the bigger shed and memories assault me, causing me to smile. Aunt Evie’s
family didn’t believe in throwing anything away, which has been a big plus in
helping us combat our boredom over the years. Never have I slipped into one of
these buildings without discovering something new.

Another treasure
unearthed in this place was a dirt bike. It took the boys over four months of
searching around for all of the scattered parts and to get it up and running.
And it only took Mave less than a week to completely destroy it. The guys had
set up some shady ramps, which I absolutely didn’t trust, along the edge of the
woods. They all managed okay as long as they kept their speed reasonable. Leave
it to Mave to push it way past the limit. The daredevil and that bike took an
unexpected nosedive into the lake after crashing through a few trees. The bike
was completely ruined, and Mave earned a broken arm. I can still see him
trudging up out of that water holding his arm. He had looked more confused than
hurt.

“Dude, something
don’t feel so right with my arm,” he said as he tried to hold the misshapen
appendage up. He had to play the drums one-armed for six weeks. In all
actuality, it probably helped to improve his skills. His left-handed drumming
improved dramatically during that period.

Speaking of
drums, this is where we found Mave’s first drum set, buried underneath some
gross-smelling burlap sacks. The set was nearly dry-rotted, but he didn’t care.
That boy wore holes into the tops of the drums from playing them so much. A
week after we had to finally trash the set, Aunt Evie surprised him. She had
swapped a few treasure items she had held back for a used set of drums in
pretty good condition from a local pawn shop.

“Drums seem to
be the only thing to keep that boy out of trouble,” she had said as she gifted
him the set. He had planted a sweet kiss on her cheek, then went to pounding on
those drums and has never stopped.

Leona found
trunks of vintage clothes last year and spent the remainder of the school year
rocking out all sorts of mod outfits. She looked spectacular in the shift
dresses. Only she could pull off such a style and not get laughed at. The only
item I swiped from one of the trunks is a faded army jacket, and I’m actually
wearing it today with some old jeans and a Beatles T-shirt. I scored the
Beatles shirt from the thrift shop across the way just last week. Leona and I
plunder through the racks at least once a week. Living in such close vicinity
of the rich does have its perks. Those people wear something one time and deem
it unworthy, and then send it packing on down to the secondhand stores. It’s
ridiculous, but I don’t mind.

I look over at
Dillon and see that he is wearing another name brand hoodie I found for him.
Dillon has always been an exception to my white-trash rule. He has never looked
like he fit in with us. He always looks impeccable, even in jeans and T-shirts.
I guess with Cora not really having white-trash roots, Dillon doesn’t either.
My clothes are clean, don’t get me wrong. I just feel lacking.

Dillon catches
me looking over a rack at him, and he gives me a peek of those dimples, before
something in a box catches his eyes. I turn back to my thoughts as I stroll
down the aisle. There are three distinct rows in this shed, and it makes for
easy shopping.

I remember one
day when the boys were on the brink of their teenage years, Max and Kyle came
barreling out one of the sheds with armfuls of gardening supplies and cracked
plastic kiddy pools. They had spent the week before helping Ms. Raveena with
tending to her rose bushes. Ms. Raveena is a northerner from Buffalo, New York,
and had wanted to retire in the South as lots of northerners do. I love how she
keeps her long, black hair tied neatly in a knot, always. There is an
attractive streak of grey in the front. The boys call her Grey Streak behind
her back and contemplate what sort of band she would have. It’s all in good
fun, because the crowd adores her. She even lets the twins go through her
cabinets and fridge like they own the place. She and I share the same theory on
those two. This little old lady’s pocketbook is deep enough to live on the
other side of the lake, but she says she prefers the simple life over here
instead. She hauled in a brand-new trailer and set out to making herself at
home. I like to visit her cozy little place. Unlike most of the trailers around
here, her floors don’t droop and no mildew smell is evident. She also has
central air conditioning, which doesn’t make so much racket like the window
units we are all used to hearing. She has the prettiest little yard too. It
resembles a mini flower showcase. I guess she inspired the two boys to want
their own garden, because the next thing I knew, they had talked her out of
enough topsoil to fill the half dozen or so pools.