Someone to Love (31 page)

I should have known it would be my own
stupidity that would ruin things between the two of us and not some
fictitious inclination in him to “cheat.” If anything, that night
at the restaurant proved Cruise doesn’t give a rat’s ass about
other girls. That waitress could have qualified as a bona fide
supermodel on seven different planets. You could see the invitation
she was giving him, plain as the boob job wedging out of her
blouse. But it was me Cruise hauled to the back. It was me he
thrust all of his affection into until I thought my spine would
snap from the pressure—me he pleasured until I gave a heated
scream. Now, the only one screaming will be Cruise as he runs the
other way when he sees me coming.

Face it. We’re over. And now we’re going to
have a baby of all things to remind us both for the next eighteen
years what a complete idiot I am.

My brother, Morgan, was an accident. My dad
hung out just long enough to produce me then made a beeline for the
state line before I hit preschool. That would paint a rosy picture
for Cruise and me. I would give anything to have him love me with
that body just one more time.

The nurse walks in and jolts me back to
reality.

“Kendall Jordan?” She gives a knowing smile.
“I have your results.”

After the nurse breaks the news, I speed out
of the bowels of the medical facility and through the waiting room,
hoping to chase down Cruise’s truck, but it’s still safely parked
in the lot sans its drop dead gorgeous owner.

I spin around, and there he is with that
sexy, devilish grin. He wraps his arms around my waist and plants a
full kiss on my lips that neither feels like a felony in the
making, nor angry in the least.

“So tell me”—his breath evokes a plume of
fog, round as a halo—“am I going to be a father?” He expels it with
such peace, such wonder and beauty, that for a fleeting moment I
wish it were true.

“Not this time.” I give a wry smile. “But you
just might get the flu.”

“The flu?” He touches his forehead to mine as
he breathes a sigh of relief. “I was sort of rooting for the
baby.”

I let out a laugh, and for the first time in
twenty-four hours, I don’t feel like I’m going to hurl a lung.

“You’re off the hook,” I say, slipping my
hands into his sweatshirt to keep from shivering.

“I can deal with that for now, but one day
we’re going to have an entire tribe of gorgeous dark-haired
children.”

“A tribe?” I take in a breath at the
thought.

“With those genes? You owe it to
humanity.”

Cruise and I get into the truck, and he runs
the heater while I tell him about my misunderstanding with the
little magic pill. Turns out, putting a “hat” on it was simply a
precautionary measure for the first cycle.

“That, and it helps prevent STDs.” He nods
into his knowledge of all things prophylactic.

Oh shit!

I didn’t even
think
of STDs.
Gah!

Having sex with Cruise means I’ve technically
had sex with hundreds of girls—wait, that doesn’t sound right, but
I think it totally is.

His eyes round out in horror at my silent,
yet terrified, reaction.

“I swear to you”—Cruise gently picks up my
hand—“I’m clean. I just had a physical before school let out for
winter break. I’m free and clear, and I’ve never had a single
thing.”

“Oh, um…” Forget about
me
. I need to
warn Molly before she becomes infected with all sorts of warts and
blisters no thanks to Brayden I-Sleep-With-Sluts Holmes. “Actually
no, I wasn’t thinking about STDs.” Because apparently, I’m an
idiot.

Turns out, I was more worried about babies
than I was rabies.

“You went on the pill just for me?” He looks
humbled by the idea.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I press
his hand against my lips.

“And you thought, we were going to have a
baby.” He reaches over and covers me with his arms, tightening his
grip around me as if I might drift away. “Kenny”—he bounces a kiss
off my temple—“if something like that happened, you don’t have to
hide it from me or think I’m going to hate you. I swear, I’m not
going anywhere. I’m in this for the long haul. You couldn’t get rid
of me if you tried.”

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me.” I take
him in against the backdrop of a deep navy night.

“And I guess you’re stuck with me.” He
cradles my face in his hands and examines me as if he’s peeled back
all the layers and is seeing something new, something far more
defined than before. “I love you, Kendall Jordan.” He offers the
softest kiss under a bed of burgeoning stars that peer in through
the windshield.

I pull back and soak in all of his perfection
both inside and out.

“I love you, too, Cruise Elton.”

Cruise

In the next few weeks, the north winds scour
the sky clean. They scrub the details out of the fir-lined
hillsides and draw the oils from the eucalyptus like perfume
straight from the throne of God.

Kenny and I file through the syllabus of my
own making as if it were some sexual bucket list that begged to
race to completion.

On a Tuesday, at five-thirty in the morning,
I convince Kenny to join me in watching the sunrise from Barrels’
cliff side. Barrels, lies tucked at the distal end of a thicket, a
good thirty-minutes away. Juniper and myrtles gnarl their branches
together, locked in a perennial swordfight as I drive the truck
down the congested dirt road.

I happen to know firsthand, Barrels affords
the best damn view of the sunrise.

“My dad took me here once.” I confess. “We
went camping when I was a kid.”

I may only have a handful of memories when it
comes to my father, but that camping trip we took when I was seven
burns in my mind, alive and fluid. For some unknowable reason, I’m
able to crawl back into the moment and live it over and over again.
It was the last time I did anything of quality with the man who
would grow to be Pennington’s father, not mine. Maybe that’s why I
held on so strong. It was the eulogy of the father-son relationship
that would never progress beyond that point.

“Really? Did Pen go with you? I bet you beat
him up a lot.” She bites the air, teasing.

Kenny rolls her head back, slow and easy. Her
neck peaks as if calling my lips to bless it. Her sleepy eyes send
a silent invitation to drown in her kisses. Kenny is the heroin and
the wine—the choice opiate of the gods, and I want nothing more
than to lap her up by the bowlful.

“Nope, not Pen—just my dad and me. It was the
last time he ever made the effort. I keep thinking about how
beautiful this place is. In my mind, it’s become this living
postcard.”

“Is that why you wanted me to see it?” She
says it soft, uncertain of what my real intentions might be.

“No.” I park as deep inside the overgrowth as
possible before killing the engine. “I was sort of hoping to stomp
out all those old memories and make some new ones today—with you.”
I reach back and grab the fleece-lined sleeping bag I keep for
emergencies. It weighs ten pounds, but you can survive a subarctic
winter nestled inside it if you had to.

We get out and make our way to the edge. The
cliff is blocked off by wood fencing that’s cracked in two places
like a car might have tried to plow through, and I know for a fact
a couple of them did.

A tangerine glow surprises the darkness far
in the east and sprays the new day with promise.

“Come here.” Kenny pulls me in and lays her
cushioned lips over mine. “Let’s hop in the back of the truck and
start building that memory.” She dips her iced hand into my sweats,
and I take a quick breath.

“Sounds like you mean business. Let’s give
the sun another thirty seconds to show.” I help her to the hood of
the truck then spread the sleeping bag over the roof.

“Have I mentioned I’m afraid of heights?” she
asks as we climb to the roof. “You make me feel safe.”

“You make me feel safe.” I echo the
sentiment.

Kenny purrs as she washes those pale stone
eyes over me. “Hey…anybody can do the back of the truck,” she
whispers it smooth like a promise. “But the roof at sunrise…how
would you like to build
that
memory?”

“The roof,” I muse. “You, my love, are
frightfully brilliant.”

“And eager to please.” She peels off her
shirt in one lithe move.

I pull the sleeping bag over us, slip off
both my sweats and Kenny’s as though they were one. Kenny closes
her hand over me and guides me toward my newfound nirvana. I cup
her breast and give a gentle squeeze.

“This is my new favorite way to start the
day.” I inhale sharply as she pushes me deep inside her warm
body.

My hands ride over her smooth skin, and I
pull her knees up high to afford maximum entry. I secure her by the
shoulders and push in with soft easy waves, trying not to launch
either of us off the truck in the process.

When Kenny walked into my life, she blew all
of my bad luck away like dust. Kenny is the anti-Blair, the one I
could love forever and then that wouldn’t be enough. Together we
were ushering in a new day with all of our explosive passion, the
frigid mountain air can’t cool the fire brewing inside the two of
us. Kenny peeled away the old memories, the ones born of pain and
yearning. She filled in the crevices of my thirsty soul better than
my father could have, far better than any of those one-night stands
could ever hope to do. This is a new dawn in our lives, the
beginning of the best season—the very first bite of sweet,
delicious fruit that would satisfy for a lifetime.

We ride the waves of our affection, and I
hold out until she’s panting, just about to detonate. Then I
release, and we shake uncontrollably for a few of the most blissful
moments that love has to offer.

I always want to remember Kenny like this—the
kiss of a new day, glowing over her skin.

“Good or great?” I heave the words in her ear
through a ragged breath.

“Neither.” She plants a wet kiss over my
lips. “It was perfect.”

Her hair encircles her marble features like a
charcoal-colored wreath. Her eyes reflect the virginal morning
light, clear as cellophane.

“I think we’re perfect Kenny.” I collapse
over her just as the sun pierces us with its luminescent joy.

We birthed a new memory at sunrise. We made
it happen.

With Kenny all things are possible.

Weeks sweep by, and the bed and breakfast,
much like my mother, is hobbling on its last leg. Thank God for
Molly, crutches, and home health nurses who are willing to pop in
every now again. But, mostly, thank God for Kenny, who not only
brings Mom and Molly hot meals, but is helping out at the salon
when needed.

Mom and I sit in her bedroom, which she
sacrificially ventured up to on my behalf.

She takes a breath after espousing the woes
of the B&B. “I’ve got one couple next weekend, but after that,
it’s dead.” She laments while digging through the top drawer of her
antique dresser.

The furniture has been in the family for
generations—sage and cream oak, inlaid with carvings that decorate
the edges. Mom took the smallest room in the house to make sure the
guests would have a great view of the stream out back and the sun
as it sets over the hillside. Molly has a room downstairs behind
the kitchen, and now that Mom is gimpy, she’s bunking in my old
room next door. But today, she hobbled up a flight of stairs to
gift me with what’s going to be one of the most treasured memories
I have ever known.

“You didn’t give this to Blair,” she says,
cradling my grandmother’s ring in the cup of her hand.

“Nope. Went store-bought, three months of
imaginary wages down the drain, but I’m not too broken up over
it.”