Rock Bottom Girl(75)

“And then injured the soccer team’s star player,” she added.

“You know there’s two kinds of people in this world,” I began.

“You mean the kind who divide all of humanity into two groups and the kind who don’t?”

“Har. Hilarious. There are people who take too much responsibility for everything and the people who don’t take responsibility for anything.”

“Which one are you?” God, she was pretty with the moonlight filtering in through the windshield. Her eyes were big and sad, and all I wanted to do was kiss that mouth into a smile.

“I’m one of the perfect ones who only takes credit for what I’m actually responsible for,” I said smugly. “Now, it sounds to me like you’ve been carrying a lot of baggage around with you for too long.”

“Everyone hated me,” she said in a small voice.

I was surprised by her statement. But a few things started to fall into place. “No, they didn’t. Maybe you’re only remembering Amie Jo and her inner circle of demons, but you were a hero to half the school. You don’t think you were the only person that girl tormented, do you?”

She shrugged, but I could tell she was listening.

“You weren’t hated,” I promised her. “And you’re certainly not hated now.”

She wet her lips, drawing my attention back to the mouth that fascinated me. “I just hate being judged on my eighteen-year-old self.”

“Honey, we all do.”

Marley looked at me, her wheels turning. “But your antics were a lot more fun.”

“Do you think I like having every class of students know that a substitute teacher got fired and could have gone to jail because I talked her into a make-out session in the copy room?”

She made a noncommittal noise.

“You really think I like that attention?” I poked her in the shoulder, and she grinned.

“Maybe I made a few unfair assumptions.”

I reached out and twirled a strand of her hair around my finger. “My point is, none of us are who we were at eighteen. Not even Amie Jo. And especially not you. You know what people remember more than a salacious story from our teenage years?”

“What?” she asked, resting her cheek against my hand. I felt something warm slide through my belly.

“How you make them feel now.”

“You definitely aren’t the same guy you were twenty years ago,” Marley admitted.

“So let’s go out there and erase a few old memories tonight,” I told her, nodding in the direction of the bonfire.

She bit her lip and studied me. And then she was leaning across the console and placing a soft, sweet kiss on my mouth. That warmth in my belly turned molten. This was something different from the fun and familiar tug of lust. This was something more. Marley was something more.

She pulled back, that smile I wanted on her lips.

“Thanks, Coach.”





We joined the crowd that ringed the tall flames in the middle of the star-lit field. I’d always found comfort in my history with Culpepper. I’d known the same people for decades now. And they knew me. We were part of each other’s memories. There was something to be said for sharing that kind of intimate knowledge of each other.

We understood each other.

I knew that it was apple cider in Wes Zimmerman’s cup because he’d quit drinking after a DUI six years ago. I also knew that as much as Heidi and Elton Pyle joked around about how hard raising triplets was, they thanked their lucky stars every moment of every day after a seven-year battle with infertility. I knew that Belinda Carlisle—not that one—needed a longer hug tonight because her mom was in hospice care and not expected to make it to the holidays.

I watched Marley join in the horseshoes game by the fire with Andrea, the guidance counselor, Faith Malpezzi, and our classmate Mariah. She was welcomed into their group like a long-lost friend. And really, that’s what she was. Marley had extricated herself from Culpepper. She’d left after senior year and never looked back. So it made sense that she was frozen in everyone’s mind as the girl who had been pushed too far in senior year.

“Hey, cuz!”

My cousin, Adeline, popped up next to me looking not a day over fourteen. She credited her Vietnamese heritage and Uncle Lewis’s lessons on skincare.

“Hey, Addy.” I looped my arm over her shoulder. “Long time, no see.”

My cousin might look like she was too young to drive, but she was a successful sales rep for an alternative energy company and spent a lot of her time traveling.

“I’m back for the rest of the year,” she said with a happy sigh.

“I bet Rob is happy to have you back,” I predicted. Addy’s husband, Rob, worked from home. Together, with their four kids, they achieved a delicate balance of work and family life.

“He kissed my feet when I got off the plane,” she joked. “So is that your girl?” Addy pointed her cup in Marley’s direction.

“News travels fast,” I said dryly.

“Spare me your social commentary on small-town gossip. Are you guys serious?”

I thought about our arrangement. Our temporary arrangement. And I thought about those wide, brown eyes looking up at me.

“Maybe a little more serious for me,” I admitted.