Two Blue Lines (Crossing The Line #1) (15 page)

I cringed as tears began to collect in her eyes. My conviction wavered whenever she cried, but I tried to remain firm. “No.
You
made up our minds.”

Hurt splashed across every muscle of her body as she slumped against her dresser. She opened her mouth to speak then snapped it closed.

I stood and reached out to her, but she yanked away and stared at me with wide, pained eyes. “Why?” she whispered.

I took a breath and laid out all the reasons I’d rehearsed in my mind. It was better for the baby; we couldn’t afford to give Peanut much. We could have a normal, teenaged life with sleep and no crying baby. I ended with my coup de gras: “And we could go the open adoption route, babe. You could pick the parents you want and we could stay in touch and watch Peanut grow up.” I grabbed her cold hand again and met her eyes, ignoring the tears. “It wouldn’t have to be like it was for you. I swear.”

Purposely, she pulled her hand from mine. “No. All that may be true, but I’m not looking to be a
friend
who watches my baby grow up through letters and pictures and occasional visits, Reed. Maybe you are, but I’m not.” She sniffled and straightened, as if firming her resolve. “I thought you understood how I . . .
why
I feel this way.”

“I do, but—”

“Then how can you even say these things to me?”

I had no words. Her hurt was shredding me into bits, but I’d come here so sure that I was right.

She tilted her head, studying me. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?” She didn’t wait for me to answer her ridiculously rhetorical question. “Well, you know what? So am I. But God, Reed, you’re like the only person in the whole world who knows . . . really knows . . . how it’s killed me to not know who my biological parents are! Why would you put this baby through that?”

“But it wouldn’t—”

“I. Don’t. Care.” She put up a hand in a move I’d seen my mother do a million times. “You can spout ‘Open Adoption’ all you want. At the end of the day, we would be
giving
our baby
away
. And I can’t do it.
I won’t
. I won’t have this baby question for one second that its mother didn’t want him or her. So, if you’re not up for the task, then feel free to go. I’ll do it on my own.”

I studied my girl as the Mama Bear came out. She wasn’t playing around. I could stay or I could go.

Damn.

She’d just thrown down the gauntlet.

September 10
th

I can’t write through my tears right now. Reed and I just broke up.

Daddy Dearest

A
s it turns out, I don’t care much for gauntlets, ultimatums, or anything of the sort.

I spun out of Mel’s house as quick as my Vans would carry me and might’ve even left skid marks.

I blocked out all thoughts of her words, her tears, her haunted eyes. Her pain.

My pain.

It was over. I was free. I should be relieved.

So why did it feel like a searing hot poker had pierced my heart, my soul, and was twisting—wringing, until it was wound like a choking weed?

Scalding tears blurred my vision, but I swiped them viciously and sped up, directly toward the fat purple-gray clouds in the horizon, their bellies swollen with what was sure to be a bruising rain.

Still, I drove faster, emotion thrusting me forward. Raging through me.

The last three years of my life had just been thrown out the window. Trashed. Wasted.

Murdered.

Over a peanut that should’ve never been.

I pounded the steering wheel and urged the car on, weaving around some slower traffic, earning myself some honks and stares. I didn’t care. I had to get this . . . this anger out of my system.

. . . if you’re not up for the task, then feel free to go. I’ll do it on my own . . .

I swerved violently and pulled to the side of the road, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. I dropped my head as her parting words echoed like a death sentence:

“I guess this is goodbye, Reed. I’m sorry . . .”

I killed the car and sat in the silence, my breath the only sound. Outside, those fat-bellied, purple clouds had swollen to bursting and were splitting open in a deluge, drenching my car violently; matching the swirling thoughts bathing my brain with confusion.

Who was that girl who just dumped me? Where was the sweet, gentle Melissa who said she’d love me forever . . . only me? The girl who’d been so frightened of losing me? That I’d hate her and the baby?

What the hell had just happened?

When had I become the bad guy for wanting a normal life? For wanting something more for the baby than we could give it?

Well screw that. She could take her ultimatum and the baby and go screw herself. I was done.

Done.

I cranked the ignition violently as the wind rocked the car and the sky dumped buckets of rain on me, mocking any storm I’d ever seen before. The engine gave a rolling whine, but didn’t turn over. I gave it some gas and tried again. Nothing.

I waited about five minutes—long enough for the wind and rain to overtake and numb the roaring in my mind. Long enough for me to see the danger as the water began to rise in the ditch across the road.

I swallowed and tried the ignition again. Dead.

Shit.

With trembling hands, and no other alternatives, I dialed my dad.

As I waited for him, I studied the worn, burgundy vinyl seats, checked my phone about a hundred times. How long would it take Dad to get here? My heart began to thump uncomfortably as the chilled air from outside began to creep in and wrap around my legs, the downpour rocking my car like it was a plaything in a bathtub.

Finally, the hazy flash of headlights shone murkily in my rearview mirror. I snapped around, heaving a relieved breath to make out the dark outline of my dad’s big red truck. I watched him jump out and jog to my passenger door, swing it open and slide in, slamming it closed behind him, bringing in a sheet of rain and the scent of the storm.

“Hey,” I said, never happier to see anyone in my life.

He shook the water from his hair like a dog and shot me a glare. “What are you doing out in this? Didn’t you hear the warnings about the tropical storm?”

I just stared. “What?”

He shook his head like I’d disappointed him with my ineptitude. Again. “Never mind. Just try and start the car.”

I cranked again. Dead.

He sighed. “Could be a few things; battery, starter, fuel filter maybe.” He glanced at me. “But we can’t do anything with it in this weather. Lock it up and hop in the truck. I’ll take you home.”

I nodded but didn’t move.

Really? Could my day get any freakin’ worse?

Yes.

Yes, it could, I realized as my humiliation reached new bounds and hot tears began tracing unheeded down my face. I had no idea when they started, or how to stop them, as pain, frustration, confusion, anger, and a million other emotions that had no name boiled up and spurted out with each salty tear.

God, but I was
mad!

A tentative hand clamped my shoulder. “What is it, Son?”

I shook my head.

“Buddy? Come on . . .”

I glanced up, my vision blurred with the stupid evidence of my emotional upheaval. If only I could tuck it away as easily as him.

A sudden memory resurfaced of when I was about four . . . he was teaching me to ride my bike without training wheels and I fell off in the street. Then he told me to quit crying like a sissy. He’d laughed over dinner and told my mom that I must be emotional like her.

She scolded him, reminding him how I was “advanced” in other ways, smart. He never said it again. But it stuck like glue to my subconscious. And I tried the rest of my childhood to not cry in front of him, to be the son he wanted.

But today, it didn’t matter.

He could call me a sissy. I was beyond scraped and raw inside. And I was beyond angry.

“Reed?” His eyes glowed true concern. “What’s happened? Are you all right?”

The rain pelted harder, the wind whipped around us, all somehow solidifying my emotion. “I’ll live.” I met his gaze. “Mel and I broke up.”

He didn’t say anything for several heartbeats as our ragged breathing filled the car. “Oh,” he finally said. “Can I ask what happened?”

I shrugged. “We had a fight about the baby.” I didn’t want to say more.

An expression I’d never seen before crossed his face and I had to do a double-take. Beyond disappointment. Grief? “What about it?”

I hung my head. Mel and I had presented a united front to our parents. Now I was the one changing the game plan. “It doesn’t matter. She dumped me.”

“Well, I sure as hell hope you still plan on doing right by her and the baby.”

My head snapped up at the vehemence in his voice.

“I mean it, Son,” he went on, his face darkening like the clouds outside. “Girlfriend or not, you two made a baby together. So you’d better get your shit together and take care of your responsibility or I’ll personally string you up by your family jewels so there won’t be any more children. You hear me?”

I snapped my gaping mouth shut. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get your butt in the truck before we drown out here.”

September 11
th

I woke up from a nightmare this morning, drenched in sweat, the words “I won’t tell,” trapped in my throat, along with a choking sob. I thought I’d done pretty good at pushing The Night aside, but sometimes it comes roaring back when I sleep . . .

How upset I was that day. Emotional and unsure why. Sitting on a bed in the back room, hiding away with my own private pity party.

The slamming door. Realizing I wasn’t alone.

The incredibly loud music, drowning out everything but the noise in my head. The shock.

His hot breath near my ear. The tears streaking down my cheeks. His weight on me, pinning me until I thought I’d be sick. His grunts. How disgusting I felt . . .

When I was fully awake, my aching heart still pounding, it hit me.

I’m alone now.

Damage Control

J
onah met me at Lettie’s site two days later so we could assess the storm’s damage.

I’d spent that time assessing the damage on my heart and letting my anger simmer down to a low boil. It had basically fizzled out now to a mild achy throb. Mel hadn’t called or texted, and I hadn’t called her. I didn’t know what to say.

Sorry I was an inconsiderate douche, even though I still think I’m right. Can we talk?

Somehow, I didn’t think that would work.

So I buried it for now as I stood with Jonah and stared down at the haggard wooden cross—or rather, the pieces of it strewn around the sand, along with tons of debris that the storm had littered along the beach.

“Dude,” Jonah said, the breeze ruffling his hair. It was hard to believe how quickly the weather could change from the shitfest of that storm to this gorgeous day. “What a mess.”

“Yeah.”

He kicked at a couple soda cans in the sand. “What do you wanna do?”