Monica Murphy - Four Years Later

Fuck. That was intense.

“I’m too heavy,” I tell her, bracing my hands flat on the mattress so I can lift away from her, but her hands press hard on my back, keeping me in place.

“A couple more minutes,” she murmurs, her voice soft, her lids downcast. As if she’s feeling shy again and well … fuck that.

I kiss her. A fierce, possessive kiss that’s full of tongue and heat and demand. I need her to know she doesn’t have to be shy with me any longer. We’ve done everything.

But she doesn’t know everything. Not about Mom. How Des deals in my fucking house. How I’m one of Des’s clients. And I smoked pot and was high as hell when I gave her an orgasm in a no-name hotel in a no-name city.

Shame washes over me and this time I do pull out of her embrace, offering her a brief smile when I find her studying me with concern etched all over her beautiful, flushed face.

“Where are you going?” she asks, sitting up, completely naked and comfortable with it. I stare at her breasts, those pink nipples that match her lips that match the rose I gave her, and I want to climb right back into bed. Clutch her close and never let her go, pretend that my problems don’t exist and will never bother me again.

Never bother us again.

But that’s just wishful thinking. I gotta get the hell out of here. At least for five minutes. I need some clarity.

I need a fucking hit.

“I’ll be back. Gotta get rid of this.” I peel the condom off and pinch the top, keeping it in my hand as I make my escape out of the bedroom, still naked, not caring. I dart across the hall into the bathroom and slam the door, flick the lock. Dispose of the condom, then search through the cabinet drawers until I find what I’m looking for.

A joint. We keep them everywhere in this house. I mean, what the hell? Was someone gonna sit on the toilet and pass the time by taking a few hits? I wouldn’t put it past Wade to try something like that.

The idea disgusts me. I should disgust me because here I am, hiding away from Chelsea, contemplating smoking a joint rather than going back inside my room immediately so I can hold her close and show her how much she means to me.

I stare at the joint I hold pinched between my fingers. I can smell it, that strong, skunk-like scent that I love. Used to love.

Fuck it. Still love.

There’s a lighter in the drawer, too. Of course. I pull it out and flick it once. Twice. Five fucking times before it finally catches and I bring the joint to my lips. Light the burned-out tip, hear the subtle crackle of the paper catching fire. Glancing up, I catch myself in the reflection of the mirror. Naked and sweaty and about to suck in a bunch of smoke that’ll burn my lungs and clear my brain.

I don’t want to clear my brain. It’s full of Chelsea.

The lighter drops to the counter with a loud clatter and I stub the joint out in the sink, then rinse it out. I drop the half-smoked joint into the toilet and flush, watch as it disappears down the drain forever.

If my friends caught me flushing a joint they’d be pissed. But I don’t care. I need to get this shit out of my life. I need to focus. I need to do the right thing.

I need to prove myself worthy of Chelsea. But no matter how much our relationship means to me, it also scares me.

Scares me so much I’m afraid I might do the wrong thing. And once I do that, I can never go back.

Chelsea

I’m attending a college football game for the first time ever. Only took me three years to do it. Of course, I never had a reason to attend one before. I hated sports. I kind of still do. I can never understand exactly what’s going on down on the field and that drives me crazy. I like knowing what’s happening at all times.

As Owen teased me about last night right before we drifted off to sleep, I do wish there were a textbook for all of these things we’re supposed to know and do and learn and watch. If I can’t figure it out right away or read up about it, I’m lost. And frustrated.

I hate that.

But I’m letting all the anxiety go. It’s the second half, our team is winning, Owen is out on the field, and I’m sitting with his sister and niece, bundled up against the crisp, cold fall air. The baby is adorable, sweet and content in her mother’s arms, and when Fable offers for me to hold the baby, I take her, bouncing her up on down on my knee, cooing at her and saying the dumbest stuff that has probably ever come out of my mouth.

I don’t care. Autumn likes it. She reaches for my face and my heart stops. She smiles at me and I want to make her do it again. Her eyes remind me of Owen’s, green and clear and achingly beautiful. No wonder Owen goes on and on about how sweet his niece is. She’s adorable.

“She likes you,” Fable says, reaching out to readjust the little cap sitting on top of Autumn’s head.

I cuddle the baby close to me, gazing down at her. “I like her, too.”

“This game is sort of boring,” Fable says, looking out at the field. “We’re totally kicking their asses.”

I muffle the laugh that wants to escape. “Yeah, we are.”

“Thank goodness we’re almost out of here. I need to get Autumn down for a nap soon before she starts getting cranky. You’re going to dinner with us later, right?”

“Yes, definitely,” I say, happiness filling my chest so full I feel like I’m going to burst. “What time did you want to meet?”

“I don’t know.” Fable shrugs, a little smile on her face. “After Autumn’s nap, but not too late. I think I want to go to The District.”

“Really? Didn’t you used to work there?” I ask.

“I did.” A wistful smile crosses her face. “I have a lot of fond memories at that place. Some not so fond, too. Most of them are pretty awesome, though.”

“Is that where you and Drew met?”

“Oh, no.” She laughs and shakes her head, then reaches for the baby and plucks her from my arms. “Daddy and I had an—unusual meeting, didn’t we, princess?” She’s talking to Autumn, who smiles and kicks out her little feet.

I’m almost afraid to ask how they met now. So I don’t.

“You and my brother are getting pretty serious then?” she asks after a few minutes have gone by.

I glance around, thankful no one is really sitting by us. We’re down on the bottom row of bleachers, close to the exit, because that’s where Fable wanted to be. She was unsure how Autumn might behave while we’re here and didn’t want to take any chances. “Um, what do you mean by serious?”

“Boyfriend/girlfriend kind of serious?” She sends me a pointed look, one that says you’d better tell me everything, and quick. I swallow hard, suddenly intimidated.

“I—I think so.” I shrug, feeling stupid. And I despise feeling stupid. “We haven’t made an official declaration or anything.”

“Ah.” She nods. “I get it.” She offers me a smile, cuddling her baby close to her chest. “Be patient with my brother. He might not be the best when it comes to relationships, but he’s a good guy.”

He’s definitely a good guy, but I think we’re both amateurs at relationships. I keep my opinions to myself. He’s never really had a relationship and neither have I, but we seem to be navigating the course fairly well so far. And I don’t want to rock the boat, asking him for something more that he might not be ready to give yet.

So I remain quiet and enjoy what we share. Ever since that night I went over to his place with the Indian food and we ended up having sex for the first time, I’ve spent every free hour I can spare with Owen at his place. So much that I’m starting to irritate Kari because she never sees me. I ignore Mom’s texts, just occasionally sending her a one-word answer in the hope I can get rid of her for at least a little while.

It rarely works. I need to actually call her and find out what’s really going on. I just … I don’t have time for all that right now.

I’d rather spend all my time with Owen.

He’s been edgy lately and I don’t know why. Des never comes around anymore. Wade leaves a lot, but we never protest. That just gives us the opportunity to be a little more vocal when we’re in bed together. And when we’re alone in the house, Owen has this way of looking at me, touching me, that makes me lose all inhibitions. He can get me naked in minutes, both physically and emotionally. He’s made me come so hard, I’ve screamed his name.

My body goes a little limp just thinking about it.

“You know, our mom was pretty screwed up,” Fable continues.

I become instantly alert at the mention of their mom. Considering Owen never, ever talks about her, I’m all ears.

“She was?” I ask, hoping she’ll continue.

Fable’s gaze meets mine and she rolls her eyes. “She’s awful. Just a terrible human being. I saw right through her tricks. She didn’t know how to take care of us and after a while, she didn’t want to, either. I was fine with it. Yeah, it hurt my feelings, but I just wanted to get away from her forever.”

I wait breathlessly for more information. Their mom sounds like a nightmare.

“She abandoned us awhile ago. Well, she abandoned us at first when Owen was just fourteen. Like, he came home one night all alone and found our apartment empty. She’d taken all of our stuff and just left.”

I stifle a gasp. “That’s awful,” I breathe.

“I know.” She nods sagely. “Then over a year later, she tried to come back. Got an apartment in town, had Owen half convinced to move back in with her and everything.” Fable shakes her head, her gaze growing distant. “That’s a time I don’t like to think about. Neither does Owen. I almost lost him. She was going to try and convince him to leave with her. Leave the town, the state, go somewhere completely new and start over.”

If that had happened, I would never have met him. My heart hurts at the realization. I can’t imagine my life without him.

“I can’t even comprehend what might’ve become of him if he’d done that. She would’ve ruined him. He’d be some high school dropout junkie living in the streets if he’d gone with her,” Fable continues.

“So what happened to her?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, her gaze meeting mine. “I haven’t heard from her in four years. Neither has Owen. Good riddance, I say.”

Four years. I can’t imagine not hearing from my mom in four years. Dad? That I can see, but I don’t want to hear from him and there’s a difference. Sounds like Fable and Owen don’t want to hear from their mom either.

“She sounds like a despicable human being,” I finally say.

Fable laughs, and the sound makes baby Autumn smile. “Great word. So true. She is a despicable human being. That’s why it’s nice to see Owen with someone so … normal. Not some over-the-top cheap-looking girl with her tits hanging out of her shirt and her hands all over him.”

Ugh. Just imagining that makes me want to throw up. I hate thinking of Owen being with anyone else, and it’s a reality I kind of have to face.

He’s been with a lot of someone elses.

“Our mom screwed with his head. He had all this guilt over her. Always thought he was responsible for her well-being or whatever. She put it on him. So when she finally left and disappeared out of our life for good, he’d go out with girls, but none of them were worthy of him. They were all kind of trampy.” Fable gives me the once-over but her eyes are kind. “You, Chelsea, are not a tramp.”

“Um, thanks?” I say, laughing nervously. I have no idea how to respond to that assessment.

“It’s a compliment. Trust me.” She smiles, and we both glance at the football field when the crowd cheers. My gaze snags on Owen and I can’t help but go all dreamy-eyed at seeing him running across the field in his uniform, the number 26 and his last name emblazoned on his back.

He looks good—big and broad and indestructible. He’s quick on his feet and can catch a ball with a preciseness that impresses. No wonder his coach was so eager to get him back on the team as fast as possible.

“He reminds me of Drew.” I look over at Fable and she’s watching Owen with the same sort of wistful expression I must have. “Different position but same determination, same natural ability. He could go far. As far as Drew has, if he wanted to.”

“You really believe that?” Football hasn’t been up for much discussion between Owen and me. I know it’s important to him. But we’d focused on his grades so much we hadn’t discussed anything else. And if we weren’t talking about school, we were busy flirting.