Just One of the Guys(31)
The tears were coming hot and fast, so I kept my head down and ran to the library, found a deserted bathroom and cried, my heart open and raw, big bellowing sobs that bounced off the walls. When a librarian came in and asked me if I needed to go to the infirmary for a sedative, I got myself under control, splashed some cold water on my face and went back to my room. I changed, went for a ten-mile run and made my decision.
When Trevor came to my room that evening, any doubt I’d had was cleared up by the misery on his face. “Hey, buddy,” I said with forced cheer. I suggested we go out, because even though I was resolved, I didn’t want to break up in the same room where we’d been making love all weekend. We walked to a bench under a particularly beautiful chestnut tree and sat. The branches rose and then curved downward, nearly to the ground, and the golden leaves sheltered us from passersby, and the dark made what I had to say a little easier. Beside me, Trevor sat stock-still, staring straight ahead, tense and quiet as a cat.
“Trevor,” I said, taking his hand, “I think we might have made a mistake.”
His shoulders dropped. There was no mistaking the utter relief that lightened his expression. “I was just about to say the same thing,” he admitted.
Funny how pride makes you tough, sometimes. I turned to face him a little better and swallowed hard. “Look, Trevor, you mean the world to me. But when I saw you with Matt, well…” My voice broke, but I coughed to cover. “We’re young and foolish, and our whole lives are ahead of us, all that crap.” I swallowed again. “We probably shouldn’t be doing this.”
I thought I sounded pretty good, given that my heart was in an increasingly tightening vise. I tried to smile, succeeded, and watched as Trevor nodded, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets.
“Chas, I should’ve…I should never have…” He swallowed. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault,” he said miserably.
“I think it’s both our faults, okay?” I whispered. “You’re not to blame. It’s just that there’s too much to lose, don’t you think?”
He looked at me, his face so terribly serious and grim. “It’s not that…that I don’t care about you, Chas.” He looked down. “Because I really do.”
The leaves rustled in the breeze, a dozen or so drifting and swirling to the ground. One landed on his hair, and I reached up and took it. “Oh, me too, Trev. But the last thing I want is to have things be weird between us. So maybe we should just get while the getting’s good.”
His face looked so sad. My throat was killing me with unshed tears, my muscles were taut and ready, my pulse was racing. With my whole being, with every corpuscle, I wanted him to object. To say, No. I can’t. I love you, Chastity. I have to be with you. Instead, he nodded. “Yeah. You’re right, Chas.”
We sat in silence a few more minutes, me trying not to swallow too loudly. Then Trevor put his arm around me, hugged me fiercely, so hard my ribs creaked, and let me go.
Standing up, he looked to his left, the direction of my dorm. “Want me to walk you back?” he offered, his voice rough.
“No, no. I, um, I’m gonna run to the library for a book. See you around, big guy.”
I waited until he was out of sight to cry, silent, endless tears that dripped off my chin, cursing my own stupidity. In my hand, I still held the leaf from his hair.
Oh, I knew we’d done the right thing. In that first moment when I saw him with Matt, I knew everything. That he was terrified that being with me would cost him the O’Neill family. That things would change if he were Chastity’s boyfriend. And what about the future? How many eighteen-year-olds marry their first college boyfriend? Inevitably, we’d break up, and what then? Where would he go at Thanksgiving? Would my mother welcome him if I was sobbing in my room because Trevor Meade dumped me? Would Dad think of him as his fifth son if he knew that Trevor had slept with his little girl?
Trevor had already lost a family. I wouldn’t make him an orphan again.
CHAPTER NINE
AS PART OF THE Eaton Falls Gazette’s community relations, the paper is one of the corporate sponsors of a ten-mile road race to raise money for breast cancer research. For a week now, the paper’s banner had been run in pink, and those little ribbons and pink bracelets were everywhere. The idea was to get people to sponsor you, pay your entrance fee and run, walk or otherwise finish the race. It’s a lovely tradition. I’ve run in it a time or two before in college and after, but now, as an employee of the sponsor, my participation was mandatory.
I arrive at the meeting point, clad in my lycra running shorts and a Lord of the Rings T-shirt—Mordor is for Lovers. There’s a stage swamped in pink balloons, vendors selling hot dogs and pretzels, and hundreds of people there to watch the start and finish of the race. The course starts on the green, goes down River Street for a couple of miles, crosses the bridge into Jurgenskill, runs parallel the river again and then crosses the Eaton Falls bridge by the energy plant and comes back into town for the finish.
In addition to the Gazette, the hospital has a team running, as do the fire department, Hudson Roasters, Adirondack Brewing and the electric company. I look around, full of smug love for the scenic little city I live in. Pink flags are flapping from all the streetlights. Several of the buildings on this block have pink bunting hanging from their windows. The high-school band plays somewhere nearby, and I can hear the brass section bleating, feel the drums reverberating in my stomach. It’s quite the event. I’m pleased to see how it’s grown.