CHAPTER 19

SCOTT

She didn’t want to go back to her mom’s house tonight. I can’t say that I blame her. Too many bad memories live behind those walls. If those walls could talk, I shiver to think of the stories they would tell.

Skylar never had it easy when she lived here in Chicago. Not like most other kids we knew from school. Her mom was the town drunk, and she had quite the reputation with a certain set of men around town. The water tower I took her to had been one of her favorite places to escape the hell she lived in. On many occasions, I’d find her there, sitting all alone, writing in one of the many journals she kept. And if she wasn’t writing, she was reading. Skylar’s the reason I used to write poetry. Most of the stuff I wrote were just silly limerick-style poems, but there were some nights when I’d be lying in bed, thinking of her, wondering if she was okay. On those nights, I’d pick up a pen and paper and write what was in my heart.

I’ve never shared those poems with anyone, at least not willingly. I didn’t think they were worth embarrassing myself over, but one day while ‘cleaning my room,’ Mom came across one of them, and when I came home from practice that night, I found her sitting in the kitchen reading it. Of course, she told me it was good. Moms are supposed to say that shit. Right? But then she went on to tell me that Skylar and I were lucky to have found each other. She told me a girl like Skylar deserved a man who would love and protect her always. I remember later that night, when Skylar was tucked safely against me after a bad night at home, I kissed away her tears and rocked her to sleep. I vowed that night to become the kind of man she deserved.

I look at her now, standing in the middle of my childhood bedroom, and pray when she looks at me she can see that man in me.

She spins in a circle, taking it all in. Not much has changed since I left home. Mom kept it all right where I’d left it. The trophies. Cap from graduation. Senior yearbook. That’s the first thing she reaches for, and apprehension fills me when she sits on the edge of the bed to flip through the pages. I’m fairly certain that book in her hand contains nothing but more bad memories. I turn some music on and settle in next to her.

“Look at you.” I point to a candid shot of her attending one of my games. “You were always so cute with your camera strapped around your neck.” I stare at the snapshot a few seconds longer and whisper, “Beautiful.”

She sighs and runs her fingers over the image before flipping through a few more pages. “Back then, you always used to call me that. Funny, but I never saw myself the same way.”

I pull the book away and close it before tossing it on the floor. “Hey”—I ease her back against the pillows and lean over her—“I hate that you can’t look at yourself and see the same beautiful woman I do.”

Her eyes fall closed and her lip disappears between those perfect teeth of hers. “My mom used to tell me you were only with me for one thing. She always said you’d leave me after I gave you my virginity.” Her eyes spring open and she looks right through me. “She said I wasn’t good enough for you. I guess maybe a small part of me believed her.”

Fuck.

“Pardon me for speaking ill of the recently deceased, but your mom was a raging bitch who didn’t know dick about our relationship,” I seethe. “That’s not what it was like between us. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I think so. But you have to admit your reaction that night went against everything you’re trying to convince me of now,” she challenges.

“I know, and I’ve already told you how sorry I am for that. I never wanted to hurt you, but I was a stupid kid thinking with the wrong head. If I could, I’d go back and change everything about that night.” I trace the bow of her lip with my thumb and lower my voice an octave. “Well, maybe not everything. There were some really great parts about that night. Do you remember?”

Our eyes meet, and I see the pain hidden beneath the beautiful blue hue.

“Yes. I remember a lot of things, Scott. That’s the struggle I’m having. I’ve spent the last four years fighting to forget you, and now here I am, back in this room. Chasing after something I’m not even sure I should be chasing.”

“I seem to recall some pretty good memories were made right here in this room.” I settle beside her and brace my weight on my elbow as I lovingly gaze down at her face. “I’m not proud of the way I treated you. And I know I fucked up really badly.”

The song on my playlist changes to one we used to like listening to and it gives me an idea. “Do you remember this song?” I ask as Nick Lachey croons out the first line of his love ballad, “What’s Left of Me.”

She nods and offers a sad smile. “I do.”

I run my palms over the front of my jeans and stand, holding out my hand for her to take. “Dance with me?”

She wrinkles her nose and huffs out a laugh. “You’re serious?”

“Come on.” I wiggle my fingers at her. “You know you love this song.”

“I do,” she says slowly, releasing a sigh as she places her hand in mine. One hand goes to her side while I keep the other holding her right hand as I gently rock her. The song plays and I find myself listening to the lyrics with new ears, finding they apply perfectly to where we are in this moment. She rests her cheek on my chest, and I draw her in tightly against me. Shielding her.

“I trusted you,” she whispers in the dark of the room.

“I know,” I whisper back.

“You hurt me.”

“I know, baby, and for that I am so fucking sorry. I’d give anything to have those moments back and do them over, but we both know that isn’t possible. The only thing I have to offer you is myself. Right here. Right now. Give me the chance to prove to you that I’m the man you need. The man you want. The man you deserve.”

I tip her chin up and lower my face to hers. Our bodies are pressed together. I feel the heat between us building. Smoldering. “Being back in Chicago with you. Having you back in my arms. God. I don’t think I realized just how much I missed you until this very moment.”

“What if I told you I still have feelings for you? Would that change things? Scare you away?” Her eyes scan my face for a reaction.

“Not a chance, Dennison. Nothing’s going to stop me from going after what I want.”

A smile fills her pretty face, and she nibbles nervously on her bottom lip once more before looking up, this time with lust in those blue eyes of hers. “What exactly do you want, Scott?”

“You.” My voice croaks, sounding strange.

“Then what are you waiting for?” she asks in a breathy voice.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, eyes searching her face. Absorbing just how incredibly beautiful she looks standing before me. She looks just like every man’s wet dream. Better still, she looks like my dream come true. “It’s just… You’re perfect, and I want our first time together to be perfect, too.”

She captures my face in her hands. Damp lips a fraction away from meeting mine. So close. But still not close enough. “Then kiss me. Tell me you still want me. And it will be.”