I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(62)

Kay nods and kisses me in return. I love the feel of her soft lips pressed to mine. And I love that she’s as into this as me. Things start to get a little heated, but I try to maintain some control. After all, we are in the rectory office, and Father Maridale could walk in on us at any time.

Oh, f*ck it.

My tongue wraps up with my girl’s tongue as her hands move down to my ass. Our bodies kind of smash together, and our kisses escalate from simmering to boiling over. When we finally break for air, I take a step back. We give each other these big, goofy grins. We’re so f*cking ridiculous, but who cares? This is what love feels like.

A part of me considers telling Kay right there and then that I love her, but I hold off. Those words are way too precious to give away in the church office. I want the moment I give my heart to my girl to be better than this.

I take her hand in mine, and we just speak with our eyes for a minute. Kay gives me a look, like maybe she has something she wants to tell me too. But she remains silent.

After a beat, we sneak in a few more stolen kisses, and then I leave.

As I walk to my truck, I feel better than I did prior to seeing Kay. I flip the keys in my hand and ponder some things. Like, I wonder what Kay wanted to tell me. It seemed like it might be something good, based on the smile in her eyes. Shit, maybe Kay loves me, like I love her. Could it be possible for sweet girl to feel more for me than some kind of a friendship-lust thing? I sure hope so.

I think about this—and more—as I pull away from the church. But my inner reflection grinds to a screeching halt when my cell phone rings.

I glance down, and, shock-upon-shock, it’s my brother.

When I answer his first words are, “Mom made me call.”

I have a few choice words of my own in mind for a retort, but I hold my tongue. I know this kid has been hurt, by me, by f*cking life. So I need to move slowly and rebuild his shattered trust.

I opt to stick with a nice, benign, “Hey, Will. How’ve you been?”

“Okay, I guess.” Awkward silence, and then, “Oh, thanks for the happy birthday text.”

I laugh. “Does that mean I should delete your earlier reply?”

“Yeah, delete it.” Will chuckles a little, and I know he’s softening, the ice is finally breaking. “Sorry about that. Mom was on my ass when I typed f*ck off. I think I was probably saying it more to her than to you.”

“That’s okay, kid,” I reply. “But you should show Mom more respect. She’s trying, you know.”

Will doesn’t respond to my commentary on Mom. Instead, he snorts, “Kid? Shit, I’m not that much younger than you, bro. Besides, I’ll be eighteen soon, and then I’ll be a grown-ass adult. I’ll finally be able to do whatever the f*ck I want.”

I laugh. “Shit, you have three more years before you have the right to call yourself a grown-ass adult, kid.” We both crack up, but then I quietly add, “And, Will, you know you have six more years till you’re legal to drink.”

My brother sighs. “Guess Mom filled you in, huh?”

“Guess she did.”

“I only took Greg’s booze once, okay?” My brother pleads his case. “My friends wanted to start celebrating my birthday early, that’s all. We drank a little last week in my room. Mom needs to f*cking relax.”

“She’s just worried about you, bro. She’s doing her best, you know.”

That last gets a very sarcastic, “Yeah, right.”

He’s not completely off-base, but I have to be the adult here. “Will, you are only fifteen. I heard about you staying out all night. You need to slow down. Underage drinking…what else do you do? You better not be getting f*cking hi—”

“Like you never partied,” he interrupts.

He’s got me there, but that doesn’t mean I want him to make the same f*cked-up choices I made. I tell my brother as much, and he listens. I mean, I think he does. He remains quiet and doesn’t fight me at least.

I don’t mention anything about Mom’s proposed plan to send him to Ohio for the rest of the summer, but I do tell Will he’s welcome to visit anytime he wants. My brother thanks me, and when he does I hear just how young he really is. But I also hear how tired he sounds, and not in an up-all-night kind of way. No, Will’s tired tone is the sad, this-life-is-wearing-me-out variety.

My heart pulls and stutters. This kid should get to enjoy being what he is, a kid. But I guess that’s a luxury that was taken away from both of us a long time ago. I can’t lie to myself—Will’s just as damaged as I am from the shitty past we share.

So, I make it my mission to cheer him up. I spend the remainder of the call just trying to get my baby brother to laugh. I try so hard to make him feel like the kid he actually is, especially since it’s his birthday. I tell him crude jokes—filthy ones, really—until he’s laughing so hard he’s practically crying. And slowly, slowly, he starts to open up. Just a little at first. And then more and more, like a dam breaking.

He tells me about last night, the eve of his birthday. He and his friends got really drunk. No surprise there. Will doesn’t say if they did anything else, and I don’t ask. I just listen without comment.

My brother talks as I drive the rest of the way to my house, and when I pull in the driveway, he’s telling me about his art. He’s still drawing, comic book stuff. His dream is to someday have his own series of comic books.