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Tina

“W here did you keep the note?” His random question startles me. My mind is still busy playing catch-up.

“It was in my suitcase.” But he should know this since he found it already. He moves off the bed, yanking the suitcase from the closet. My wrists and ankles are tender, but I’ll worry about them later. It’s my heart aching the most as I watch Dustin.

Now he’s not so close to me, I can see the way he favors his side, the way one shoulder hangs, and the slight limp in his gait. The damage to his face and body he endured for me. I sit up, scoot to the edge of the mattress, legs dangling. “What are you doing?” I gasp when he pulls my note free from the pocket.

Smiling, he rushes to the one on the nightstand and holds it out to me. “This note is mine.”

I study the words identical to the ones on my note, but now with a clearer head, I can tell the writing looks like mine, not Connor’s. “I didn’t write this.”

“But don’t you see? I thought you did.” Then he hands me the one from my suitcase. “ This note is yours.”

“I don’t understand.” I run a finger over the faded ink. I think back to the time in high school when Connor and I aided in the school’s office, and how he could forge anyone’s signature. He used to write notes for other kids excusing their absences and the office was never the wiser. They weren’t the only ones in the dark, it seems.

Oh, Connor. What did you do?

Dustin sits beside me, pausing before resting a palm on my thigh, like he’s afraid I’ll refuse his touch. I set the notes aside and swing one leg over his, straddling his lap. His whole body begins to shake. “God, peach, if Hernandez had hurt you…” He chokes on the words. “I can’t lose you again.”

“I’m right here, Dusty.” I run my fingers through his hair and then hug him to my chest.

He wraps his arms around me, body curling, careful of both our injuries. “Back then, I thought you finally realized what I’d known forever,” he whispers. “What Connor knew and why he counted on me helping him cover up his shitty attempts to be a boyfriend to you.” He pulls back, staring into my eyes. “Because I loved you, always have. Anything you asked of me, I’d do, then and now.” A lump forms in my throat, realization dawning. “That night in Sin’s brother’s bedroom, you didn’t give yourself to Connor… you gave yourself to me.”

How can someone be numb yet hurt at the same time? My heart breaks for the teens we were and the years we’ve missed out on since.

Dustin picks up the notes from the bed, staring at them like they’re a portal back in time. “I went to the bedroom and waited in the dark for you to come to me.” He taps his chest, whispering, “Finally, choosing me.”

“Oh, Dusty… I’m so sorry. I—I had no idea.” But didn’t I suspect? Didn’t I question the change in my boyfriend that night? The boy in the room with me didn’t act like Connor. It was wishful thinking and guilt all these years keeping me from admitting the truth. I didn’t love Connor. Not like I love Dustin. Loved Dustin then too. He was there for me. Every time I needed him, without question, he was there. “Connor never loved me.”

“He did love you, just not the way you deserved, and knowing now he wrote those notes, I think it was his way of fixing things. Then he went and died like an asshole.”

A laugh bursts free, surprising me. Dustin chuckles too, falling to his back, taking me with him. The heaviness in the room begins to ease. He always did have a way of bringing me out of whatever mood I was in. All this time Dustin was hurting putting others first. Poor baby.

Baby. Oh, God . I jack-knife up in bed with a gasp.

“Hey.” He rubs my back, and I choke on a sob. “I know this is a lot to deal with.”

I clutch my head. “You don’t understand.” My hands drop like lead weights to my sides. “I thought it was Connor.”

He takes one of my hands, running his fingers up and down my fingers. I shiver and a memory hits me of him doing the same the night at Sin’s. “I know, babe, and I’m sorry for being such an idiot and not suspecting you didn’t know the truth.”

I need him to hold me more now than ever. I curl on my side, bringing him with me to wrap his arm around me from behind like a blanket, safe and secure. I sigh. “Shortly after Connor died, I found out I was pregnant.” Dustin stiffens, knowing full well whose baby it was, but doesn’t say anything. “I was so excited to have life growing in a time when there was so much death.”

He places a palm on my lower stomach, having no clue he’s cradling our baby now and it makes me cry. Joy and sorrowful tears. He whispers in my ear. “Tell me what happened.”

I wipe my face on the pillow. “A few months into the pregnancy I started bleeding heavily. By the time Gramps got me to the hospital, it was too late.”

He buries his face in my neck, and after a beat, his tears wet my skin. “I’m so sorry, babe.”

We remain in the same position, lost in our shared misery, for a while longer. Finally, he reaches out and slips the leather journal Dee left for me to read from the nightstand. With all that’s happened, I forgot about it. “What is that?” he asks, holding up the little book.

“Dee gave it to me before she left.” I finger the aged binding with a trembling hand. “It’s Connor’s journal. She wanted me to read it. Said it would clear up some things.” Dustin hands it over but I shake my head, pushing it away. “I can’t. Will you? Please?”

He places the sweetest kiss on my lips. “Anything for you, peach.”

Together, propped with our backs against the headboard, Dustin opens the book to the first page. I cover my mouth, muffling a gasp. The words from our notes are written repeatedly in what looks like mine and Dustin’s handwriting like a practice sheet.

Hours later, I’m cried out, Connor’s words spoken in Dustin’s voice echoing in my head. Knowing Connor had been thinking of us in his final moments is almost too much to bear. He planned to tell everyone he was gay on his birthday.

“How did I not know?” It all makes so much sense now. The excuses. The lack of passion. Pushing me towards Dustin all the time. “I remember rushing over and telling Stan and Dee about the baby, thinking, like me, they could use some good news. Looking back, from their looks of shock and confusion, it’s clear they knew. They knew their son would never be intimate with me.” This new knowledge makes me curious about something else. “Do you think they knew it was your baby?”

“Maybe.” The movement of his shrug jostles us both.

“God, I was stupid.”

“Not even close,” he says. “Connor was good at hiding.”

He’s not the only one. I study the man beside me with new eyes. All the years he harbored this knowledge. His feelings for me. Sacrificing his own happiness for his friend even in death. I almost laugh at how in-my-face it all was. The feeling of déjà vu when Dustin touched me again so many years later. The rightness of it.

“He was afraid and, right or wrong, he used you and me to cover his true self.” Almost reverently, Dustin places the book back on the nightstand, slipping the notes inside before returning his attention to me. Slowly, we remove each other’s clothes, touching and kissing, remembering another time when two teens found each other in the dark, seeing it now in a whole different light.

“Your poor beautiful face,” I say, pressing a soft kiss to his bruised cheek. More sacrifices for the people he loves.

With his signature cocky grin, he rolls on top of me, spreading my legs with his thighs, entering me hands-free. “It’ll heal.” His arm muscles bulge in his push-up position, but he takes his time, rolling his hips, painstakingly slow. “Will you be my girlfriend, Tina James?”

I laugh at his ridiculousness. “Yes.”

Bending, he takes one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking in tandem with his thrust. By the time he releases me, I’m panting and fisting the sheets to keep me grounded. He lifts his head, smiling at my struggles. “I have something for you.”

“Is it an orgasm?”

“Hold that thought.” He chuckles and, to my dismay, pulls out of me. With his erection glistening, he turns and saunters away, leaving me sprawled on the bed.

Puzzled, I prop up on my elbows, watching as he riffles through the clothes on the floor. “Now is not the time to become tidy.”

He spins with a flourish, holding a T-shirt in his grasp. Before I can ask what the hell, he’s pulling it over my head, feeding my arms through the holes. I look down, seeing his nickname printed on the front. I’m still laughing as he joins me on the bed, finding his way inside me again. He palms my breasts over the shirt. “Damn, peach, I thought my name on your ass looked good, but these tits…” Then his thumb finds my clit, circling how I like. Primed, my orgasm builds quickly. “Mmm. I feel your walls hugging me.” He picks up the pace, sweat beading on his skin. I palm his pecs, squeezing the weight of them.

I’m not sure if it’s the position we’re in or all the memories coming to light, but suddenly I’m remembering the song playing at Sin’s house the night we were together. Candy Shop. “Your warm-up song.” Our eyes connect and I know he sees my lightbulb moment.

His lips curl. “It’s always had special meaning to me.” He gets to his knees. I’m powerless against his strength as he drapes each of my legs over his shoulder, the change in position allowing him to hit my G spot with every thrust. “Thatta girl,” he coos. “Come for me.” He pinches his eyes shut and I can tell his hold on his own release is slipping. “I want to remember you just like this, coming all over my dick, every time I see you in this shirt.”

My orgasm peaks swift and sharp, stealing my breath. He curses and I feel him pulse his own release deep inside me. He collapses like his battery died and I laugh, loving the heavy weight of him pinning me to the bed. I run my nails up and down his back and he shivers. Something occurs to me as I stare at the bright room. “We always have sex with the lights on or during the day.”

He sighs and lifts his face to look at me. “I wanted you to see me.”

I cup his cheeks. “I see you, Dusty.”

He rolls us so we lie on our sides facing each other. I stroke his hair away from his face. We’ve unpacked so much baggage tonight, it’s like information overload. Can he handle more?

As if he can read my mind, he says, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you back then.”

My heart rate picks up speed. It’s like the Rockettes are performing in there. But I’m not going to let what happen to naive teenagers ruin what we have now. “Dusty?”

“Yeah, peach?”

I smile, feeling more confident. “You’re getting a second chance.”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

I drag a finger over his brow. “I’m pregnant.”