When I got home, I went straight to my room and threw myself on the bed, my hands on my lips. Then I imagined what it would be like to kiss him.
Kissing Dylan Banks, the boy next door, was nothing at all like I imagined.
It was so, so much more.
I practically run to my house and straight to my room, where I close the door and throw myself on the bed like I did when I was twelve. Then I place my hand on my lips and close my eyes, reliving the kiss over and over again. It was different kissing him this time. My mind was clear, and so was my heart—clear and open and ready for him.
My phone vibrates on my nightstand and I quickly reach for it, as well as the glass jar he’d left at my door. I read his text first.
Dylan: You stole my kiss!
Riley: Because I’m worthy of it.
I set the phone down and pull out the two notes he’d left in a jar. I unfold the one he had written the number “1” on and take a breath, knowing what his words will do to me. It’ll be the third time I read it, and even though I know I’m going to experience the same things I do whenever Dylan had been involved—Butterflies, emptiness, guilt—there’s one more emotion I can now add to it. Love.
I’d come home for the weekend during my sophomore year of college. When I spoke to my dad earlier that day, he mentioned he was going away so I knew I would have the house to myself, which was something I’d been craving since I moved away. I liked being alone, liked the quiet I knew the house would provide. He was standing outside at the end of our joining fence pacing the sidewalk when I pulled into my driveway. I recognized him from high school but I couldn’t for the life of me remember his name. So it was kind of odd that when I got out of my truck, he looked over at me and stopped in his tracks. I wasn’t sure what he was doing so I walked over and asked him. He didn’t respond to my question. Instead, he said, “Banks, man. How’s UNC?”
I must’ve given him a look that terrified him a little because he laughed nervously and said, “I’m Jeremy. You went to my high school. I played on Varsity with you a few times.”
“Sorry,” I told him, and lied. “I didn’t recognize you.”
“All good,” he said, but he still seemed nervous. And distracted. He kept looking over at your house.
“Is there something I can help you with?” I asked him.
His entire body stilled and he slowly looked from your house to me. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I have this problem,” he told me.
“What kind of problem?”
I remember looking at him, and then at your house, and then at mine, because I just wanted to get inside and away from the world and all the stupid talking and even stupider questions.
“Riley, my girlfriend…” He pointed to your house. “She broke up with me. Again.”
“Again?”
He laughed. “She’s always breaking up with me.”
“Maybe she doesn’t actually like you, dude,” I told him.
He raised his chin. “Oh, she does. She loves me. She has no choice but to love me.”
I laughed with him, which now kind of makes sense. At the time, I was pretty sure Heidi and I were done, though we never vocalized it. It was a just a feeling—the kind you get in your gut, you know? And I remember being jealous of him—that he was so confident in your relationship and in himself that he could say that. “So what’s the problem then?”
“I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m going to leave her when we go off to college or some shit. So she’s trying to get a head start. Which is stupid—I’d never leave her. And I sure as hell won’t let her leave me.”
“Has she said anything to you?” I found myself asking.
He shrugged. “She says she doesn’t feel worthy of me. I don’t know.” His gaze dropped. “I feel like it’s my fault. Maybe I haven’t shown her how much I love her or how much she means to me and how sometimes I walk with her hand in mine and I get that sense of pride, you know? Not because I want to show her off or whatever, or the fact that I think it’s amazing that she doesn’t mind being seen in public with a kid like me but because she’s fucking smart, man. And she’s beautiful, and funny and passionate and opinionated and a complete pain in the ass but, fuck, I love her. I love all those things about her and it hurts she can’t see that. That she can’t love herself the way I do. I don’t know. Is it my fault?” he asked, his eyes back on mine, pleading with me to give him something.
I didn’t have anything to say. It’d been a long time since I felt what he was feeling. That kind of pain at the thought of losing someone he loved with everything he had. And it wasn’t a show, Riley. It was just me and him—two guys talking out on the street—him pouring his heart out, and me, not able to give him whatever it was he was looking for. “College is a long time away, bro.”
He just shrugged. “Time means nothing when forever’s in play.”
Then he looked over at your house again and I could see the desperation in his eyes. “Maybe don’t show her.” I told him.
His gaze trailed back to mine. “What?”
“Don’t show her. Tell her. Everything you just told me, say it to her.”
He squared his shoulders and took a long, deep breath. “You think it’s enough?”
“It has to be, right?”
He nodded and sniffed once and for the first time since I’d been speaking to him, I saw the fear in his eyes. He was so afraid of losing you, Riley.
Then he smiled and shook his head. “Under love’s heavy burden do I sink,” he mumbled. And then he was gone. He marched right up to your house and pounded on the door. I turned around and went into the house, not wanting to witness your moment of love and (hopefully) clarity.
I sat in my room in the silence of my thoughts, having no fucking idea what I was doing with my life. But that kid on the street—he knew. He wanted you to be his life. His love.
And at least you get to have that, Riley. At least you get to walk away knowing his heart belonged to you and that he was so afraid of losing you, so desperate to show you your worth, that he bled his heart out to a stranger. He loved you, Ry. He loved you so damn much. And I was so jealous of him, not because he had you at the time, but because he was so passionate about you and love and life and the future you’d share, and I didn’t have any of that.
What I had wasn’t enough.
I wanted more than enough.
I enlisted the next day.
And I found something I was proud of, like he was proud of you.
Jeremy Walters—he changed both our lives.
I cover my mouth with my hand to stop the sobs from escaping. Each read seems to hurt more, but not the kind of hurt that has me reaching for the bottle. It’s the kind that lets me know I’m breathing and that I’m alive, and that eventually, it’ll be okay. I fold the note and place it on the bed next to me, then I reach into the jar and pick up the second letter, already smiling as I unfold it.
Riley,
I’m sorry for making you cry with the last letter. I hate seeing you cry. I hate even more knowing I caused it. But, I thought you should know about that night because I know for sure it’s not something you can write to him about. I wonder if he’ll be pissed that I told you about it. Looks like I’m breaking bro-codes all over the place when it comes to you.
Anyway, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I haven’t really had the chance to say it in person, so I thought I’d write it to you. And with any luck, take away some of that hurt I just caused (I’m sorry—again).
Okay.
Here goes.
I find it completely appalling that you seem to love bacon. It’s weird. You’re weird, Riley. I mean, out of all the food in all the world, you ask for bacon? It just doesn’t make sense. But, because I’m trying to get in your pants, here are some random facts about bacon:
1. International bacon day is September 3rd. I mean… what the hell? There’s an actual day to celebrate bacon!
; 2. Bacon cures hangovers. Okay… so maybe that explains why you love it so much.
3. There’s bacon-scented cologne. Jesus Christ, what has the world come to?
4. There’s a bust of Kevin Bacon… made of bacon. Is now an appropriate time to use WTF?
5. And last, but not least. You, Riley Hudson, are bacon me crazy.
* * *
Riley: You’re such a goof, Lance Corporal Banks.
Dylan: Jesus. You just mafe me hard…er. The thinga I’d like toxbe doing to you wgen you call me that in person…
Riley: omg…
Dylan: Also, if youcever kiss me like thaf in front ofxall my friends again…
Riley: …
Dylan: I won’t let youxleave so easily. I can’t fuxking focus on anythinf else now.
Riley: Because I’m bacon you crazy?
Dylan: :D :D :D !
“Riley!” Mom shouts. I quickly put the letters back in the jar and move just in time to hide it under my bed before she opens my bedroom door. “There’s someone at the door for you.”
I race past her, cutting her off, my heart already soaring at the thought of seeing Dylan.
Only it’s not Dylan.
It’s his friend Jake.
My footsteps slow, my mind does the opposite. “Hey Riley,” he says, eyeing Dylan’s house quickly before returning to me.
My heart races as I step outside, closing the door behind me. “Hi,” I whisper.
I know why he’s here.
I hate that he’s here.
He clears his throat and shoves his hands in his pockets, looking down his nose at me. “Are you going to tell him or should I?”
Dylan
Apparently the whole bucket and feathers mayhem wasn’t enough. While I was at the cages with the guys, the girls were here—in my house, and with the help of Eric and Dad, they managed to turn my bedroom into a My Little Pony shrine. I’m not just talking about a few figures in there. No. That would’ve been too easy. I’m talking at least a hundred of them. And glitter. Every-fucking-where. And pink and purple streamers stapled to my goddamn ceiling. It was the first thing I noticed when I walked in. Followed closely by the full-length wall decal. A silver, glittery unicorn. And if that wasn’t bad enough… the unicorn had Logan’s face, while Jake and Cameron rode it. I would’ve beaten their asses had I seen the room while they were all still here, but I didn’t come in here until now… an hour after they’d left.
“I think it suits you,” Dad says from behind me.
Eric laughs, his head popping up over Dad’s shoulder. “So worth it just for the look on your face.”
I slump down on the mattress and rub the back of neck, ideas of retaliation already coming to mind. “I’m going to fucking kill ’em.”
Dad joins in on Eric’s laughter. “Those boys ain’t right,” he says shaking his head. “Sleep well, Princess.” He closes the door after him and I let out a frustrated groan when I see the giant High School Musical poster taped to the back of the door. And more glitter.
I reach for my laptop and open it. Then pull all those fuckers’ names into a group message.
Dylan: You know the rules of mayhem, right?
Logan: Retaliation. Fight or die, brother.
Lucy: Every little girl wishes for a pony. You got eleventy-three of them. What’s the big deal?
Cam: LOL.
Jake: Just so we’re clear, I knew nothing about this.
Amanda: LIES!
Mikayla: LIES!
Logan: Jake supplied us with the glitter and High School Musical poster. He won’t say how he got it, though.
Jake: Shut up.
Mikayla: Jake stopped liking Zac Efron after 17 Again.
Jake: Wow, babe. There’s a bus. Just throw me under it.
Lucy: Lol. It’s okay, Jake. Amanda told me she thinks about him when Logan’s on the bottom.
Logan: WTF!
Amanda: LIES!
Dylan: Yo, Luce.
Lucy: Yeah?
Dylan: I got Riley this book. She said it ends in a cliffhanger and wants to know when the next one’s out.
Lucy: You got a girl a book? Mother fucking swoon.
Cam: I’m right here.
Dylan: So it’s a romance book, I guess.
Lucy: OMG. She reads romance? Wtf! Totes my new bff. Does she have a fave bbf?
Dylan: I don’t know what any of that means.
Lucy: Title? Author?
Dylan: No idea.
Lucy: ?
Dylan: The cover’s blue.
Lucy: Seriously?
Dylan: Yeah. Like a light blue.
Lucy: You’re a shit kid, Banks.
Amanda: He seems happy, Heidi. I’d leave it alone.
Amanda: Crap.
Amanda: Wrong chat.
Amanda: Ignore that.
Logan: I shouldn’t let her out of the house.
Dylan: I’ll see you guys soon.
I close out of the screen, ignoring Amanda’s comment. It’s irrelevant. And if Heidi wants to know how I am, she knows where I fucking live.
Dylan: Message me as soon as your mom leaves tomorrow. I’ll be waiting. I can’t wait to see you.
Riley: K.
Dylan: You good?
Riley: :(
Dylan: ?
Riley: Hang on. I know you hate seeing those dots so I’m just warning you that the next one will be a long message.
Dylan: K.
Riley: I wanted to wait until I told you in person, but I don’t think I can. I know it’s been less than a month since we’ve really known each other, but what’s time, right? Because in that short time you’ve become the most important person in my life, Dylan. You’re the reason I actually get out of bed in the morning, the reason I haven’t had anything to drink all weekend—no matter how badly I wanted to. You’re the reason I want to face reality head on and not just float through it. There are going to be things that happen, things we’ll probably share that’ll change the way we think or feel about each other, or at least the way you feel about me… but I just wanted you to know that you matter. You matter so much to me. And regardless of how things will end up between us, that’s never going to change. You’ll always be the boy who changed my course in life. The one who changed ME. The one who gave me a reason to look for something more than just the “enough” I was struggling to get through. I’m grateful you showed up on my doorstep that day—pissed off and angry at the world. Because if you hadn’t… I wouldn’t be here. And I don’t just mean here, writing to you. I mean here, in this world.
Twenty-One
Riley
I spend the entire night wide-awake, tossing and turning, and then tossing and turning some more. Before I know it, the birds are chirping, the clock is ticking, the sun is rising, and my heart… it’s sinking.
Dylan stands on the other side of my door, looking the same as he always does. Sweats, white grease stained tank under a flannel shirt—sleeves rolled up. But his eyes, his smile, they’re different. They’re settled. Like our conversation last night and the two days apart has given him the same sense of calm it gave me… until Jake stood exactly where Dylan is right now.
“Hi,” he says, and I release a breath, stand on my toes, and throw my arms around his neck. I squeeze tight, because I don’t know if it’ll be the last time.
Guilt. Guilt is such a fucked-up emotion, because it’s not one I should be feeling when his arms wrap around my waist, pressing my body flush against his. “I’ve missed you, Riley.”
“Me too,” I whisper, pulling away.
He grasps my top and brings me into him, like I’d done with him so many times before. “Come back,” he says, his smile getting wider. “You give such good hugs.”
We repeat the process, holding each other a little longer until his low, sweet chuckle reverberates in my ears and he releases me.
His smile falls when he looks at my face, the bags under my eyes, the redness from the thousand tears I’ve shed. “Has J
ake spoken to you?” I ask.
With his eyes on mine, he slowly shakes his head. “What’s going on, Riley?”
“We should talk.”
His face falls. “I figured as much.”
I take his hand and lead him to my room, but there’s resistance. When I turn to him, he’s looking at my bedroom door. His throat bobs with his swallow. “Can we maybe go somewhere else? I just… I don’t think I want whatever is going to happen next to take away from the memories I have of us in your room.”
Nodding, I slip on my shoes and walk past him and outside. I don’t deflect from his prediction. I don’t tell him that it’s okay—that it’s not what this is about. I don’t say anything, because I don’t want my next words to be a lie. I want to give him the raw—and until today—unspoken truth.
He closes the door after him and takes my hand, then leads me to his garage. The same garage I once declared my clear and unquestionable need for him.
I stay silent as he opens the passenger door of his truck and I get inside, waiting—my heart slowly breaking—for him to join me.
He drives.
I don’t know how long he drives for but it’s not like it is in my dream because the idea of teasing myself with that moment, that wish, doesn’t just break my heart. It completely disintegrates it.
So I sit with my side against the door, as far away from him as possible.
We don’t say a word.
Not out loud.
But in my head, I shift through the jumbled mess—a dictionary of apologies and explanations—and I fight the tears, the sob brewing in my chest because the memories hurt, and I don’t have anything to dull the ache besides the man sitting next to me. And right now, he’s not enough.
Out of all the places he could possibly take me to, he takes me to a cemetery. Not the one I’m familiar with. It’s smaller, older and a little less well kept. He stays quiet as he gets out of the car and makes his way to my side where he opens the door for me and takes my hand to help me down.
I’m in a daze, too caught up in my own thoughts that I don’t even realize he’s walking ahead of me and I’m following cluelessly behind until he stops at a plot and starts picking at the weeds surrounding the headstone. Faded and damaged, the words on marble are hard to make out, but I read them.