Page 34 of Broken Highway (Cult Boys #1)
But Seven and I no longer run from our ghosts. We face them head on.
Whenever I’m confronted by the ghosts in the rearview, I revoke every little bit of power I ever handed them. A part of me will always be somewhat broken, but that’s life.
As for Seven, he faces those demons with the power of words. He swears the memoir will be a bestseller someday. Promises over and over again he’ll use the money to buy a farmhouse with land as far as the eye can see.
I believe in him, the way he always believed in me. Truth be told, when that day comes, I’ll miss the trailer park. Life is simple here.
Nothing in the world is more haunting than the songs of crickets after midnight. The moon is in a lull, hiding beneath the horizon. The air is crisp and cool with a calm breeze.
My father used to read me a book about the stars, and how we become one when we pass.
Even as a little kid, I contemplated mortality.
I remember confiding in him. Told him I was scared the day would come when he would die.
He said he’d always be there, the brightest star in the darkest night skies.
If he was right, he’s up there somewhere.
But I find myself wondering if the wicked exist as stars when they’re gone, too.
Are Mother and Kevin up there, too? Watching me. Watching this.
Seven’s shadow passes under the dim porch light as the screen door creaks to a close. He joins me, taking a seat on the top step and resting his head on my shoulder.
“Do you know what today is?” I ask.
“Hump day,” he whispers.
I roll my eyes, all the while trying to hide an amused smirk. “Do you know what else today is?”
“Nothing is ringing a bell.”
“I’ll paint you a picture. It was a hot, humid night when some dumb boy almost got himself killed?—”
“I don’t think that’s the way the story goes. ”
I reach for a small box to my side. “I met a boy that night who changed my life.”
“Who is he, because I would very much like to—” He shifts his gaze to the wooden box as I pass it to him. Underneath the glow of the porch light, the letters ‘SN’ can be seen etched into the top of the box. “Are those our initials?”
“No, it stands for shush because you’re always talking.” I catch a sideways glare from him. “Yes, it’s our names.”
Seven and I disagree when it comes to our anniversary. His stubborn ass believes the date falls on the day I told him I loved him in the prison cell. In my mind, it’s the day I almost ran him over with my car. It’s been three years since that day.
I watch him as he pries open the box, half-expecting what’s inside and half-surprised
A beautiful pair of rings—if I say so myself.
Wooden rings with our nicknames for each other burnt into each.
Daddy on mine and Punk on his. On each side of the names are diamonds burrowed into the wood.
Everything I touch used to burn, so it’s a fitting touch because now the only thing that burns is the love I have for this man.
I don’t love this whole Daddy business, but relationships are about give and take.
His hand trembles as he slides the ring onto his finger.
“We can’t afford this,” he says, choking back tears.
“Sure we can. The trailer is paid off. We have food on our table. The electric stays on. We have a car and never run out of gas. Little Silas has a closet and a half of clothes. The only thing we don’t have is an air conditioner, but you know I love the way you look drenched in sweat.”
“Aren’t you supposed to get on one knee and ask the question?”
“I don’t think I have to.” I grab the other ring and slip it on.
“You’re inside my head, always and forever.
I can feel you poking around in there. You know what’s on my mind before I do, but if you want me to get down on my knees, I’ll make this as magical as you need me to, so long as you promise me forever. ”
He swings his legs over mine and takes a seat on my lap, throwing his arms around my neck.
Eye-to-eye, I pop the question. “Will you marry me and be my punk forever?”
He kisses me more softly than I’ve ever been kissed before. “It’s been forever since day one.”
I pull him closer to me, draping his head over my shoulder. Hold him tighter than I’ve ever held him before. I can feel his heart beating through his back.
“I’m really tired,” he whispers in my ear.
I whisper back, “You ready for bed, Punk?”
“Where you go, I go.”
“Then to bed we go.”
If I live to be a hundred, I’ll have another twenty-five thousand nights with him.
Nights like these.
Nights I wish would never end.
We make our way into our home, through the narrow living spaces inside, and crawl into bed. He rests his head on my arm and scoots his body against mine. And even though I’m the one who holds him, I feel safe.
I used to want to be a ghost, to disappear.
But a ghost can’t feel, can’t love, can’t touch or be touched, can’t hurt the way we need to hurt sometimes.
Through darkness, there is light, and the sun always rises on the other side.
Seven is my sun.