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I stand up and walk over to the bed. She shifts, making room for me. I slide under the covers with her and wrap my arms around her neck.
“You’ll take care of them?” she cries. “You’ll take care of my boys for me, right, Jenny?”
The tears slipping down my cheeks fall onto her yellow silk nightgown as I nod my head.
"I deserve this," she whispers. "For all the bad I've done in my life."
I shake my head. "No, you've done so much good. This is just life. It's...messy."
She lays her head against mine but doesn't say anything else.
We sit that way for a while until she gets tired again and needs to lie down. I help her get comfortable before I sit in the white chair beside her. She reaches out a hand and holds mine as her eyes close and her breathing slows.
Looking at her, I realize I need to forgive her.
For hurting Kyle.
For betraying Randy.
For attacking me.
As I watch her sleep, there's a slight shifting in my chest. And whatever anger or frustration I was holding onto, dissipates.
—
Pete’s is unusually sparse for a Saturday night. Kyle and I sit at the bar, facing each other while we wait for our order. No one could agree on toppings, so Randy handed us a hundred dollar bill and told us to “surprise everyone.” We then handed the money over to Shelly, who owns Pete’s, and told her to “surprise us.”
I sip my Dr. Pepper while Kyle’s hand runs up and down my bare thigh. The underground basement pizza parlor is my favorite spot on the mountain. The strobe lights. The sound of TVs blasting sports in the background. Arcade games and their catchy tunes. Lots of Friday nights with the Thompsons here.
I miss those days.
They were simpler, easier.
Kyle’s hand wanders further up my shorts, rubbing tiny circles on my inner thigh. “What are you doing?”
The mischievous grin that spreads across his face makes my insides clench. Damn him and his stupid, stupid, stupid good looks.
He slides my barstool closer to him. His lips find my ear and he sucks my earlobe into his mouth. My heart beats faster as his fingers slide up my thigh, under my shorts, against my underwear.
“Stop,” I warn, but it comes out weak and breathy and I don’t know why I’m even bothering to try and fight it. His lips and hands on me are always a good distraction and, after the heaviness of today, I could really use a distraction.
I pull my head back and find his lips. His free hand cups my face before running his fingers through my hair while his other hand strokes the edge of my underwear. I slide my tongue past his lips, flick the top of his mouth, hear him moan quietly.
"You're such a tease," he mumbles against my mouth.
No, he's the tease.
His lips mold to mine, pressing harder, sending jolts of fire straight to my core. I'm uncomfortably aware that we're making out. In public. And people might see us.
Ah, to hell with it.
My hands find his T-shirt as I ball the dark material in my hands. We kiss a little longer until everything feels really wet and achy down there and I need a breather.
"I need a moment," I tell him as I lean back and grab my half-empty drink.
His hand slides out of my shorts and splays over the one still clutching his shirt. He twines our fingers together over his thumping heart.
I set my drink down on the bar top and smile at him. His hair is a little worse for wear, his eyes chocolatey and bright and daring, his lips the color of Maraschino cherries. He looks sexy. He always does.
