Two Blue Lines (Crossing The Line #1) (31 page)

Best Friends. Forever?

W
hen visiting hours were over, I left Mel and searched the waiting room for her parents. They weren’t there, so I told the help desk volunteer to let them know I’d be back and took off. I had something I needed to do.

On the way down the elevator and out to the car, I called Roxanne like Mel had asked me to, and let her know everything was okay.

And it was.

I couldn’t have named why, but it was like a million pound weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Maybe because I’d subconsciously known Mel was hiding something from me and now everything was out on the table. Every painful, ugly thing.

There was just one more ugly thing that needed fixing.

So I hopped in my car and drove straight for Jonah’s. The drive was quicker than I would’ve liked . . . I needed some time to process all this new information, to work out what I was going to say to him. Somehow, an apology didn’t seem enough. But, as I drove into his droopy, tired neighborhood, I realized it was all I had to offer.

When I drove into the King’s driveway, Jonah’s mom came down the front steps with the little kids in tow, looking even drearier than all the surrounding houses; than the storm clouds that rained down pain on me the day Mel and I broke up.

She stopped when she saw me, her eyes dead.

I rolled down my window. “Hey. Is Jonah home?”

Her response was monotone, and it seemed to take all her energy. “No.”

“Do you know where he is?”

Her eyes dipped and I wondered if she had any idea that I’d beat the shit out of him last night. “No.”

“Oh. Okay, thanks.” I started to roll up my window and paused. “Will you tell him I came by when you see him?”

She nodded and started loading the kids into their dusty minivan.

Reversing out of the driveway, I tried to think where he could be. Then, suddenly, I knew.

Letting my grief over all that’d happened fill me, I headed to Surfside. To Lettie. To my best friend.

Sure enough, I found him sitting on the sand, a few feet from Lettie’s cross, facing the ocean.

With a deep breath I approached and sat next to him. He didn’t say anything for a long while, didn’t acknowledge me. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye and saw the nasty purple bruise high on his cheekbone, his swollen eye, busted lip. God.

“How’s Melissa?” he finally said, his voice low, unemotional.

“She and the baby are gonna be all right.” I studied him, trying to gauge him. Was he angry? Hurt? Even worse, totally detached?

His dark, wounded eyes met mine then, and I saw the depths of his pain.

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling like I was spitting into the ocean. A little bit of nothing to a world of hurt.

He looked away, still silent.

“Why didn’t you say something? Hit me back? Anything?” I waited until he faced me again. “I was wrong and you took it. Why, Jonah?”

His shoulder lifted in a one-sided shrug.

“Jonah!”

“What?” he exploded. “What do you want me to say? I took it because . . . because . . .”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve always taken it.” His words slipped out on a pained whisper and were nearly eaten by the fierce breeze. “Because it’s who I am. Jonah King, punching bag. Nobody. Why should it be any different with you?”

Agony ripped through me all over again. “No. Jonah. I was wrong. So wrong!” I studied his disbelieving, stoic expression. “You don’t even know why I was pissed, do you? Do you have any idea?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters!”

He shrugged again and shifted to gaze at the ocean, sadness rippling from him. Had I lost my best friend forever?

“Jonah.” He didn’t move, but I could sense he was listening. “Mel . . . she told me just before the baby was born that she might not be mine.”

Now he did face me.

“I thought she was saying it could be yours, man. But I was wrong and I’m so freakin’ sorry. I should’ve known better.”

Confusion washed down his features. “How’s that even possible? If not yours, then whose?”

I swallowed and took my turn to look away, to the rolling waves that had always comforted me. I could feel his eyes boring into me. I decided just ripping off the Band-Aid was the best thing. “She was raped.” I took a breath and met his eyes. “By Noah.”

Jonah’s expression went blank. That’s the only way to describe it. Nothingness. “When?”

“At his going-away party.”

Understanding dawned in his face. “Oh, God.” His pained words nearly killed me all over again. “I’m so sor—”

“No. Don’t you dare apologize for anything your brother did. Don’t.”

He shook his head fiercely. “No. I am sorry. For what my brother did and . . . and . . .”

I waited. What could he have to be sorry for?

“And because I thought maybe something was up that night, but I ignored it. I was trying really hard to stay in the house, out of Noah’s way. He was being a drunk asshole. Violent, angrier than usual.” He hung his head. “Shit. I feel like such a dick. I should’ve said something.”

Something weird started ticking inside me. Hurt, all over again. “What do you mean? Said something about what, exactly?”

“I was walking out of the bathroom and I saw Noah go into the back bedroom and slam the door. I heard music crank up crazy loud. I thought I might’ve seen a girl in there, but I blew it off. I never thought . . . if I’d had any idea.”

I dropped my head, picturing what he was saying. Where was I? How had I missed all of that? What might be different in my life if it had never happened?

We were silent for several long minutes. There were no words. None.

“So,” Jonah finally said. “Are we good? Do you hate me now?”

I peered at him sideways, my head rested on my folded arms on top of my knees. “Do
you
hate
me
now?”

“Nah, dude.”

I nodded and sighed. We’d be fine. Eventually.

November 2
nd

Mom brought me some stuff from home finally, including my diary. I needed to get some of this gunk out of me. Reed knows now. Everything. And he still loves me. I can hardly believe it. Before he left last night, he even made me promise to get some counseling and talk to someone about what happened. I swore I would, and I know I need that. I do. I want to heal more than anything. It’ll probably take a while for all of this to process and settle, but for the first time in months, I really think everything’s going to be okay.

My parents know what happened to me now, too. While my dad and Chris waited in the waiting room this morning, I cried and sobbed in my mom’s arms when she asked me about what I said to Reed just before the c-section. I saw the disappointment in her eyes, and I just couldn’t take it, so I told. All of it.

She cried along with me. Told me how strong I was and apologized for not seeing the signs, though I told her I was hiding it on purpose.

“I know you struggle,” she said. “That you find me lacking somehow as your mom. But I love you just as much as I love Chris and nothing you could do would ever change that.”

My heart twisted into a mangled mess in my chest. I’d been so unfair to my parents in my obsession with my genetics and history. I’d neglected my present for the past. I cried even harder and apologized for every selfish, bratty thing I’d ever said or done. Told her I loved her for the first time in I don’t know how long.

She nodded like she’d known it all along then blew me away by telling me she’d help me find my biological mom if I still wanted that. She said that she could probably never understand that hole in my life completely, but she was trying, and that she’d shut me down last time out of fear.

She didn’t want to lose me.

I’m not sure about finding my other mother now. Maybe someday. And then, maybe I’ll find out she was a hurting teenager like me. Or raped. Maybe she was a million things. But what she wasn’t, was my mommy, and I said so.

For the Love of Lettie

I
was right. My father was a genius.

It took another two days, but Melissa finally got well enough to get out of ICU and I was able to wheel her to the NICU to see our daughter. She seemed lighter, happier now. More like my old Mel. She said she and her mom talked and they were working some things out. I was happy for her. I wasn’t sure what I’d do without my parents.

In the nursery, I watched her face absolutely infuse with joy at the sight of our baby. That, along with the bursting love bubble I’d been living with for a couple days now, and I realized Dad had been right about the whole fingerprints on the soul thing.

Mel cooed and got all maternal, caressing the baby’s back as nurse Kelly patiently explained everything again, including how they could try and get her started pumping breastmilk.

“Oh, Reed, she’s so tiny. So pretty,” Mel said with a smile in her voice.

“Just like her mama,” I said, watching Melissa’s face.

She grinned up at me. “What do you wanna name her?”

I shrugged.

She glanced back down at the tiny girl in the incubator who’d already stolen my heart and was apparently absconding with hers. “How about Lettie? Lettie Victoria?” she asked after a moment.

I shifted my gaze back to her, shocked. “What?”

She looked at me. “Lettie. It’s a special name to you. It’s old-fashioned and classy. I like it. And Victoria is my mom’s middle name. They go together, don’t you think?”

I studied our baby, trying to gauge the name against her itty-bitty features. “Whatever you want, babe,” I finally said, choking back emotion. “Only if you really like it.”

“Do you like it?”

I swallowed. “It’s perfect.”

She nodded. “Lettie Victoria Young it is then.”

We gazed at our baby for the longest time, soaking in the newness of this life we’d created and I contemplated the reality of my situation.

Ideal? No.

Perfect? Definitely not.

Who wants to be a father at sixteen?

No one.

Including me.

But I am one. And I’m determined to embrace every rocky step along this journey. Because these two girls own every single piece of this heart.

November 3
rd

I can’t believe I had a baby! And, the doctor told me I almost died.

But, I have a daughter now. An adorable daughter who’s doing pretty well in the NICU.

Lettie.

I just couldn’t pick any other name.

Reed loves me. My parents love me. I’m going to get some help dealing with what happened. I’m slowly giving up some of my shame over it all, but it’s not always easy . . . but I will keep at it, a little at a time.

What’s important now is we’re going to be OK. Our baby is going to be OK.

If only I really knew she was
our
baby . . .

Melissa

M
y name is Melissa Summers, and I’ve dreamed of nothing more than being with Reed Young since I was thirteen years old. Well, that, and being an Olympic synchronized swimmer, but that dream quickly died when I realized I couldn’t hold my breath longer than about thirty-eight seconds and I’m pretty much as coordinated as a drunk mule.