Dear Life(68)

What a stupid name.

Ugh, that’s a lie. Mars is a pretty cool last name, but I want to hate her . . .

I swallow hard and say, “Veronica Mars, huh? Did you guys date long?”

“What?” Carter asks, a furrow in his brow. I’m about to ask again, maybe he didn’t hear me, when his face goes from confusion to humor. Right on cue, his head falls back and he laughs, full-body, from deep within his gut, laughs.

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, his neck exposed to me for my viewing pleasure. I hate to admit it, but with each bark of laughter that escapes him, I grow more and more self-conscious over this Veronica Mars girl. I wonder what she looks like. Is she pretty? Of course she is. She had to be someone special for Carter to name his bike after her.

Growing a little tired of his laughter, I say, “I don’t see how this is so funny.”

His hysterics die down. He takes me in. “What? Are you jealous?”

“Jealous? Who me?” I point at myself and then wave him off. “Of course not. I’m not jealous at all.”

Oh my gosh, I am so jealous. Darn you, Veronica Mars, for making me feel like this, darn you.

“Oh, Snowflake.” He cups my cheek again and pulls me close, pressing a very light kiss on my lips, once again sending chills up and down my body, which is a stark contrast to what’s happening inside me. With our lips just a whisper away, he says, “Veronica Mars was a TV show a few years back.”

“A TV show?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Did you really think I would name my bike after an ex-girlfriend? Do I look like that kind of guy?”

Feeling awfully stupid, but relieved, I answer him. “Well, you are moody. Maybe it was a rebellion thing.”

“You are so sheltered.” Laughing some more, he pulls me into a hug, and I take that moment to rest my head on his chest, memorizing the way his chiseled chest feels against my cheek. Loving the way his chiseled chest feels against my cheek. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

Linking our hands together, he walks me over to the fence that I almost ran us into, grips my hips, and lifts me to sit on top. Not wasting any time, he joins me, making sure to sit as close to me as possible.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks, looking out into a field of nothing. Thanks to the cool winter months, the ground is brown, no spring life in sight quite yet.

“Beautiful?” I ask, confused. Maybe he’s seeing something I’m not.

“The field. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Okay, so we are looking at the same thing. Seeing the beauty in everything has always been a trait of mine but this, this is a field of upturned dirt.

“Uh, sure?” I ask as a question.

He snuggles even closer and wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side. Is this how he is with every girl? Being this close to him, having him touch me so easily as if he’s done it for years, is incredible. I’m trying desperately to not read anything into his tactility. Perhaps he’s just one who likes to touch. He speaks closely into my ear, and his breath tickles. “Sometimes, Daisy, you can’t see the beauty in something right away. Sometimes you have to sit back and hope it grows into what you know it can be. Life is a fucking funny thing. There is so much we want from it. We both desire freedom, but in two different ways. And even though I’d like to say there is a beautiful future ahead of me, it’s hard to see the potential in my situation. But with you . . .” he kisses the side of my head, his lips grazing my skin as he continues, “you have a field like this in front of you, with just as much potential. It may seem like a dirt pile at first, but when you let it grow, when you actively nurture it, it can grow into something of such beauty.” From the side, his arm lifts up, his phone in his hand, a picture displayed on the screen. When it comes into view, I see why he brought me over here. We are in the same spot the photo was taken, but instead of a brown field in the picture, it’s a field of sunflowers, spanning out for yards. Bold varieties of yellow against the bright blue Colorado sky enchant me. It’s one of the most gorgeous pictures I’ve ever seen. “You’re just like this field, Daisy,” he continues to whisper in my ear, “waiting to sprout and bloom.” Kissing the side of my head, he says, “Don’t let anyone stop you from achieving what you want. Got it?”

My eyes fixated on his, I nod. “Got it.”

“Good.” He sighs and looks back out at the empty field. “You’re special, Daisy. You have so much potential. I hope you know that.”

If only he believed in his potential as well.





HOLLYN


Announcements about arriving and departing flights ring through the airport as I make my way down to passenger pick-up. The world stands still around me, family and friends celebrating and reuniting, kids running around, their parents trying to wrangle them in, but nothing fazes me. I look for Jace, his pained, yet angered voice still haunting me, but I don’t see him until I’m at the very bottom of baggage claim and moving toward the doors that lead to the street.

There he is, leaning against the wall next to an elevator, his sweatshirt hood pulled low on his head, one of his feet propped up, the other balancing his large frame. Deflated, his shoulders are slouched, his gaze cast down, and in one hand, he scrolls through his phone until he looks up, instantly making eye contact with me, as if he knew I was in the same room as him.