Christina Lee - Before You Break

“So you were like one of those Peanuts cartoons?”

“Lucy, you mean? How she sets up her table and chair?” She twisted her lip, as if picturing it. “Yeah, pretty much. Too bad I can’t take my own advice on relationships.”

There was so much emotion behind those words I wondered exactly who she was referring to. If it ran deeper than just her last asshole boyfriend.

“Did you know about Joel, too?” she asked, the words bursting forth with no warning. She bowed her head as pink crept up her cheeks. “That he was with other girls?”

And suddenly I understood why she’d been pulling away from me. Maybe she didn’t trust herself anymore—or anyone else, for that matter. I hoped I could help her change that. I wanted her to trust me. For us to trust our feelings for each other.

Because I wouldn’t hurt her. If anything, I’d be the one wounded, damaged, abandoned—but maybe that was the chance I was willing to take.

“I . . . had my suspicions,” I said, working to keep my lips in a straight line. I wanted to keep my head. I didn’t want her to see how entirely pissed off I was at Joel for making her feel that way. “Damn it. I’m sorry, Ella.”

“Is that why it seemed like you wanted to pound him all the time?” she asked, taking a sip of her soda. A hint of frustration flitted through her eyes. Guess she knew after all.

“Pretty much,” I said. “He’s an asshole, Ella. You deserved better.”

“I’m not sure if I know what better is anymore,” she said, her mouth turning down in a frown. “So I’m just it taking one day at a time.”

I nodded and took a bite of my bread, even though it seemed to lodge in the back of my throat. That was Ella’s way of telling me that she wasn’t sure about me or even about us. So I needed to ask myself if I was up for the challenge. Was I finally ready to let somebody in? Even if it meant she might not want to stick around?

“So, how about you?” she asked suddenly, changing the subject. “Have you always played baseball?”

“I’ve played for a long time,” I said, careful with how much I revealed, because a large portion of my baseball life involved Sebastian. “Started in Little League and then moved up from there.”

“So, your parents come to games to cheer you on?” She looked away as if her question wasn’t a loaded one. But I understood her curiosity. Maybe stuff I’d said at her family dinner didn’t sit well with her. My family was different from hers and she wanted to know more. To understand.

“Sometimes. More my mom than my dad,” I said. I didn’t tell her that my dad never really came, and that my mom was more of a chauffeur in my younger years. But my aunt and uncle came and Sebastian’s parents always encouraged me and cheered me on.

“My best friend and I would practice throwing a tennis ball for hours sometimes—against the brick wall at the park so it would bounce back into our baseball gloves. Or even across our backyards,” I said before I realized it had slipped out. It was hard not to associate baseball with Sebastian.

Her eyebrows quirked up. “Does your best friend play for TSU, too?”

“No, he doesn’t,” I said.

And then I was saved by the server delivering our pizza to the table. I dug right in and kept my mouth full so I didn’t have to answer anymore Sebastian questions.

Quinn was as closed off as ever about his family and his past. He looked so uncomfortable whenever I asked him simple questions. He was holding on to something so tightly that seeing him struggle was a bit unsettling.

So we stuck to less threatening topics, like school, movies, music, and of course, video games. That was the place where we could find our middle ground. It centered us, in a way. Made us feel connected despite it all being make-believe.

What wasn’t make-believe, however, was our attraction to each other. Every time he shifted beneath the table, goose bumps whispered a trail straight to my epicenter.

After we finished eating and Quinn walked me outside, he said, “Can I drive you back to your car?” I was parked in the library lot, but it was still light out, so I could easily walk back by myself.

When he saw my hesitation he said, “Or I could walk you back.”

He looked so young and vulnerable right then that there was no way I could resist him. Besides, I knew that I wasn’t ready to let him go just yet.

After I’d learned about Joel’s cheating, I’d definitely taken two steps back. I’d decided that living in the gray was better than living with the knowledge that you were only a joke to your boyfriend and to maybe everyone else around him. I obviously wasn’t a good judge of character, so I’d just play along and get some of my physical needs met in the process.

My anger had built a protective wall around me, at least for now. And maybe I needed to take it slow, make sure I fully trusted somebody. Unlike last time. I didn’t know what Quinn wanted from me, but for now, I was fine with just living in the moment. Having some fun.

“Hmmm, I don’t know,” I joked. “It might take the same amount of time to walk to my car as it would to get to yours, parked over there in the boonies.”

“Smart-ass.” He swept me up in his arms, momentarily lifting me off the ground like he’d done at his parents’ house. It seemed so natural that when I felt him temporarily waver, I tugged his arms more securely around me.

I felt his breaths against my hair and the hard wall of his chest. His heart rate had picked up speed and seemed to match mine beat for beat.

He released his hold and then grabbed my hand as he walked briskly toward his car, like he was on a mission. Fury was parked in the last row of the back lot, taking up two spaces, as usual.

When we got to the passenger-side door, his eyes fastened on mine with such concentration that I couldn’t look away. His expression morphed into something deliberate, something that eased all the doubts I had locked up about him inside of me.

His head sloped to the side, his lips only a whisper away, and his gaze was so penetrating it seemed to devour me whole, beneath all the layers of my skin.

He was a living and breathing paradox. Laid-back and innocent just a moment ago and now so intense it left me defenseless, threatened to steal every last piece of my heart.

When his fingers grazed my jaw, I could barely catch my breath. I closed my eyes against the vulnerability I felt in this perfectly scripted moment.

His lips brushed mine so gently, in such contrast to the way he’d moved his mouth against me last time that I was momentarily transported somewhere else—maybe to the stars. There was something in his kiss. Something his lips were trying to communicate to me that maybe they couldn’t—wouldn’t—before.

I saw what was buried deep inside him—what reached far below the flecks of gold in his eyes, the rough pads of his fingers, the monosyllabic answers falling from his lips.

Something so honest and real, that it left me bare, stripped, breathless.

My knees became weak and I sagged against him. He reached around my waist with one arm to pull me tight, while lightly tugging back my hair with the other to deepen the kiss. His lips were so warm, his tongue so soft and tender, that my heart bloomed inside my chest in an array of bold and vibrant colors.

When he drew away he gazed into my eyes once more before pulling the door and holding it open for me. I stepped inside, still completely delirious over that kiss. But by the time he’d gotten into the driver’s side, his demeanor had changed.

His eyes were dark and positively on fire for me. He trailed a tingly hand across my knee, my stomach bunched in anticipation, and all I wanted was for him to kiss the living hell out of me.

I didn’t wait for him this time. I shifted forward and ran my hands along his biceps up to his neck. He inclined his head against my fingers and he huffed out a breath. “Ella.”

I traced my tongue against his bottom lip and then pulled it into my mouth. He groaned and grabbed on to my waist, tugging me closer.

The noise tumbling out of his mouth was all it took to make me come unglued. I crushed my mouth against his in a greedy and hungry kiss. He yanked me against him and I pivoted across his body, straddling his hips. I could barely register that the steering wheel was digging into my back or that we were in a public parking lot.

We stayed that way for minutes or hours or days, our lips bruised and our breaths harsh. My hands were busy beneath his shirt appreciating the firmness of his skin and the hard planes of his muscles. My skirt had ridden up my thighs and his arousal ground against my bare skin. Suddenly I was thankful for his tinted windows.

He opened his eyes and inched his fingers to the clasps of my blouse. Keeping his gaze glued to mine, he unfastened the first button. He kissed my bare skin as he continued downward, blazing a heated path as he went.

Parting the material, his fingers grazed the edges of my black bra, his thumbs slipping across my peaks. He palmed my breasts while he kissed the skin at my collarbone and then down the middle of my chest. I panted and moaned against his hot lips.

Focusing on the front clasp of my bra, he unhooked it with agile fingers. When I felt the cool air slink across my exposed skin, I bit my lip and threw back my head—half anticipation, half modesty.

“Goddamn. You’re gorgeous, Ella,” he whispered as he gazed at me in wonder. I’d heard guys compliment my breasts before, but this was somehow different. This was Quinn—yet again making me feel sexy. And powerful. And all woman.

His palms remained cupped against my breasts, his thumbs brushing my buds while he kissed me with such tenderness it was as if I were a fragile and delicate work of art.

It was intense. Mesmerizing. All-consuming.

We stayed that way—fingers splayed and lips joined—until the ball of light that had once shone higher in the sky sank lower still, in the twilight of sleep.

It was a couple of hours before my next game and I laid on my bed thinking about my phone call with Gabby last night. Somehow in that conversation, I had told her about Ella.

Ella had never asked any further questions about the best friend I’d played baseball with. And when she finally did, I’d probably tell her that Bastian was dead, and I needed to prepare myself for that revelation.

“What’s the worst that could happen if this girl did ask questions?” Gabby had asked.

“She’d want to know more—like maybe when and how it happened,” I said. “And that scares me.”

The accident happened days after high school graduation. The horror of seeing Sebastian in that wooden box at the funeral, in that black suit with the damn paisley tie, his hair neatly combed back, was second only to seeing him lying unmoving on the side of the road, caked in blood. My stomach bottomed out—my heart felt like it had been wrenched from my body—as I trembled and almost lost my cookies at his casket.

My father had given me a stern look as I stormed away from them—from Sebastian, from his parents, from everybody. But my aunt and uncle had intervened, told my parents to let me go. After the cemetery, I’d spent the rest of that day sitting on the side of the cliff, considering whether or not to jump in.

How could I tell Ella that?

“True, she might want to know more,” Gabby said. “And you’d have to be brave enough to tell her. What scares you most about having to tell her?”

“My best friend’s parents seem to have this unbelievable ability to forgive me,” I said. “But maybe she won’t.”

I figured Bastian’s parents were either going to straight to heaven or they were good at steeling their emotions around me. Regardless, it was difficult to be around them for long. Their showing up at my games probably put them on the level of fucking sainthood or something.

“If his parents have forgiven you, Daniel,” Gabby said, “is there a way you can finally forgive yourself?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

“I have a feeling you will,” she said. “Someday. And maybe this girl will be the one to convince you that you’re worthy to live the kind of life you’re hopeful about. I think you should give her a chance. I bet she’ll surprise you.”

Spilling my guts to Gabby again had made me feel better.

Or maybe just empty.