Chapter 1

chapter 1

. . .

“ I ’m going to miss this,” Liam’s voice cracks as he inhales the scent of my hair. Last night, after I washed and dried it, I purposefully left it down for this reason. Feeling him nuzzle the side of my neck, his scruff gently scratching my skin, is something I don’t want to forget.

Every day, since Mason told Liam he wasn’t going to the University of Texas with him, I wake up and wish like hell Liam was staying here or I was going with him. I’m jealous of Katelyn, and I’m pissed off at Mason. If it wasn’t for Liam, Mason wouldn’t have had the offer to play at UT.And then he bails on Liam, like it’s no big deal. Did Mason even think about Liam and how he’d feel? How I’d feel?

I hold Liam tighter, not willing to let him go. He’s leaving a day early because he doesn’t want to be at the party tonight. Everyone is gathering at the water tower—Liam’s water tower—to say goodbye and what not. He’s afraid people will say shit about him and his football career. Mostly, even though he won’t say it aloud, he doesn’t want to see Mason, and I don’t blame him. I don’t either but he’s my best friend’s boyfriend and I have no choice unless I ditch Katelyn.

Without her, I’d have no one. I’d be all alone. I suppose this is what happens when you have a tight foursome and the future gets in the way. Once Liam leaves, I won’t see him until Thanksgiving at the earliest, but I’ll definitely see him at Christmas. The next five months are going to be hell. Tortuous. I don’t know how I’m going to survive. He’s been my life for the past couple of years, and now I won’t see or talk to him every day.

Liam doesn’t let me go.

Maybe I should’ve asked him to take me with him. Do to Katelyn what Mason did to Liam. I don’t care if men are supposed to be more resilient, stronger, and not as emotionally charged as women. Mason did his best friend dirty and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive him.

I know Liam won’t.

“I wish things were different, Jojo.”

My fist grips his shirt tighter. Is he going to ask me to come with him? God, I hope so. All he has to do is ask and I’ll run home right now and grab my stuff. I don’t even care about school. I’ll get a job and work while he kicks ass as QB1. We could get an apartment off campus and live together and really be free to start our lives without his parents or mine being in the way. It could just be us and I know we’d be happy.

“How so?” I don’t try to look at him and keep my head on his shoulder and my lips near his neck because I know if I look into his eyes, I’ll be done for. I’ve already dampened his shirt with my tears and know they’ll come in full force if I chance a single look at the man I love.

“I wish you were going with me, or we had chosen a school together.”

“Me too,” I whisper as I pray with all my might that Liam asks me to go with him. Wishing and asking are two different things, though. You make a wish when you blow out your birthday candles, but when you want something, you ask.

Please ask me.

Liam adjusts and my head moves just enough for the sun to temporarily blind me. We’re parked at the water tower—the place where he told me he was going to marry me someday—and right now I wish someday was today and not in four or five years.

All night, our moods have been somber. It’s hard to be excited when you know you’re not going to see the love of your life for a while. Five months feels like five years, and I don’t even want to think about the exact number of days, hours, or seconds it will be until I’m in his arms again. Everything is marked on my calendar. Every moment we’ve shared together. I can’t wait for the day when my mom finds it and asks why there are hearts on certain days. I’ve practiced my answer so many times, “Those are the days Liam and I made love.” When I say it in my head, it’s cheesy. Do teens “make love” or do they bang, fuck, screw? Or maybe it’s just sex. To my mother, it’s sinful.

My parents don’t like Liam and for the life of me I can’t figure out why. He’s perfect in my eyes, and I know there are a lot worse out there. I think it’s because he’s rich. Well, his parents are. And we’re not. Maybe Sterling says things to my mom or dad if they ever run into him. Lord knows Bianca doesn’t speak. She’s drunk ninety-nine percent of the time. I suppose I would be too if I had to live with Sterling.

Liam’s parents are horrible. The worst of the worst. Who doesn’t show up for their son’s high school graduation because you don’t like the college he chose?

Sterling and Bianca Westbury—that’s who.

And then my father really drove the nail into the coffin when he didn’t invite Liam to dinner after grad. I’ll never forgive him for that.

I guess that’s three men on my shitlist: my dad, Mason, and Sterling.

With the sun coming up, it means I missed my curfew. Not that I care. What are my parents going to do, ground me? Tell me I can’t see Liam? There isn’t anything they can say or do at this point. I’m leaving for school soon anyway and with Liam gone, the only other thing I would even consider doing is going to Katelyn’s.

Liam turns the dial up on the radio. He’s playing one of the mix tapes he’s made for me. His thumb taps against the steering wheel, in beat with the song.

“Who’s singing?”

His arm wraps tighter around me, and he nuzzles my ear. “Me.”

Can’t take my eyes off of you

I’m a man that’s speakin’ the truth

This love could make mountains move

Hope you feel the same way I do

I wanna be holdin’ you

When the dawn is breakin’ through

As yesterday fades with the moon

And forever fills up this room

I wanna wake up with you

I listen and absorb the words, wondering where they came from. How did he learn to write a song?

“How did you get your song on there?”

“It’s a crappy recording,” he says. “But the player did an okay job.”

Player? Like a football player?

“You’re going to move mountains at Texas, Liam. You’ll break all their records and win the Heisman.” My fingers rub up and down, along his T-shirt.

“There’s more to life than football, Jojo.”

He’s funny when he says this. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s always been about football. It’s his dream, and then he sold it to me. We’ll be the couple you see on television, living the American Dream, only more modern.

“Sure, there is,” I say, laughing.

Liam’s quiet for a moment and then leans forward to start his truck. He shifts out of park, and I suppose if he needs to drive, I need to move off his lap. Only, I don’t want to and think if I stay where I am he never has to leave.

Reluctantly, I slide off his lap but don’t go far. He doesn’t allow me to. He holds me, the best he can while he drives me home. My tears come in hot streams, and I know if I don’t stop crying, I’m going to start sobbing. I’m an ugly crier and he doesn’t need to see me like this.

When he pulls in front of my house, I expect him to shut his truck off. To come in and have breakfast even though my parents are dicks, I still want him at the kitchen table eating my mother’s runny eggs and overcooked sausage.

“I love you, Josie Preston. You own my heart. You stole a little piece of it the moment I saw you and you’ve taken the rest every day since,” his voice breaks as he stares out the window. I sniffle and wipe the wetness from my cheeks.

He opens the door to his truck and steps out, tugging me behind him and right into his arms. His hold on me is tight, but not enough. I want to crawl into him and stay there for an eternity. Liam presses me into his truck. It’s one of my favorite things he does. His hands roam to my ass, squeezing it.

“God, I’m going to miss you,” he says as his lips crash into mine. The kiss is rough, and then smooths out as our mouths and tongues move together. I cup his cheeks, hoping my fingertips remember the feel of his stubble.

“I gotta go, babe.”

I nod but refuse to let him go. He can’t leave me.

Liam puts his hands over mine and kisses me again. “I love you, Jojo. You’re forever my girl.”

He pulls my hands away from his face and I unleash an ungodly sound from my throat. Liam jumps into his truck and pulls away without rolling down his window and saying goodbye again. I stand there, in the middle of the street, and wait for the red taillights of his truck to light up.

They don’t.

I hear the front door open but don’t care to look to see which of my parents is standing there. Crossing my arms over my breasts, it’s the only way I can hold my heart into place. His red truck disappears down the road. Even now, I can’t hear the roar of the engine.

“Breakfast is on the table,” my mother’s voice says.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat,” she says. “Pining over him will make you sick.”

Then maybe he’ll come back .

She goes back into the house while I stand there, watching the roadway.

Why didn’t he ask me to go with him ?

Inside, my father calls my name, but I ignore him and head to my room. I lock the door behind me, not wanting either of my parents to come in. As I look around my room, I know what I need to do.

Under my bed, I keep my suitcase. I pull it out and start throwing clothes in there. I know if I call him, he’ll come get me and we’ll figure things out on our way to Texas. I can’t live without him.

My phone sits on my nightstand, next to a picture of Liam. It’s a photo I took in the early spring with the camera he’d given me for my birthday. I always keep it in my school bag and take random photos throughout the day. But on this particular day, he was standing against his truck, with his foot on the door, waiting for me to come out of class. Liam didn’t seem me walking toward him, but I saw him and the way the sun shined on him. He looked perfect. God knew what he was doing when he created Liam Westbury.

“You’re my future,” I say to the photo of the man I love.

I pick up the handle of my phone and begin dialing Liam’s cell number. His father bought him a phone so he could stay in contact with recruiters. He hates it, but it’s a way for us to talk without his parents listening in on the other line. I get to the last number and my thumb hovers over the nine. If I call him and he tells me he can’t come back and get me, then what?

What do I do if he doesn’t want me in Texas with him?

I sit on the edge of my bed, with the cradle in my hand, looking down at the illuminated buttons even though the coloring is faint. Finally, the line tone changes, and a rapid busy signal starts. My calls been disconnected. I hang up and let the tears flow, wishing things were different.

Under my pillow is one of Liam’s T-shirts. I made him wear it the other day, along with his CK One cologne. I pull it out and bring it to my nose, pulling in a deep inhale. This will have to tide me over until I see him again.

At least, I have the mix tape he made me so I can listen to his voice . . . only, I don’t.