Before & After You Read online

“No, of course not. I’d love for you to come,” I easily admit. The relief I feel is palpable; hopefully it’s not as evident to him.

  But the deeper I sink into his gaze, the more obvious it is that he does know. He can see right through me. Can somehow look into my eyes and see straight down into my soul just like he always could.

  But more than that, he willingly lays himself bare, too. Allowing me to see right through him as well.

  And he’s just as relieved as I am.

  Twenty-eight Before

  SO, THE NEXT day, I was completely taken off-guard. Because Greyson was ignoring me. I was sure of it. We hadn’t talked all day. Not once.

  In first period? He’d barely even glanced my way. In the hallways? He was mysteriously absent. First break? Still absent. And now, at lunch, he was so engrossed in that notebook of his that he wasn’t paying any attention to anyone around him, let alone me. He was wrapped up in his own little world, sitting inside of an invisible bubble separating him from the rest of us. From me.

  I tried to not let it get to me. I tried so hard. But it was impossible when I knew that the reason he was being suddenly distant and quiet had to be because of me. Because of everything that had happened—or almost happened—between us the night before.

  I was having such a hard time drawing the lines between then and now. Lines that should’ve been showing me exactly what had changed for him between “Goodnight” and the most genuine smile I think I’d ever seen anyone wear, to this morning. To this moment right here, with Greyson sitting as far away from me as he could while still appearing, for all intents and purposes, to be a part of our group.

  And honestly, I was used to this kind of ebb and flow with us. The way he seemed to retreat every time he gave me too much of himself. But it was different this time; it felt different this time. Because I’d thought that for sure this time it would be different…after everything.

  The bell rang, sucking me back into the present. I sat there and waited for Greyson. Waited, because we always walked to the back of campus together for our next classes, but instead of looking up and finding me, he flipped his notebook shut, slid it into his bag, and walked across the quad to the front of school without once looking back at me.

  It’s not that I didn’t expect it. It’s just that it cut deeper than I thought it would. I dug my fingertips into my chest, pressing against my thundering heart and shaky breaths. Anger, and resentment, and a churning in the pit of my stomach battled for my attention, but I shoved them down—down along with my pride, because despite the way he clearly regretted handing those pieces of himself over to me last night, I still found myself standing up and following him.

  He had to have known that I was behind him, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down or turn around or acknowledge me at all. If anything, his pace only picked up as he strode across the parking lot, almost too quick for me to keep up.

  I think I’d decided right then and there, before we’d even had the conversation that followed, that I was over it—the back and forth, the give and take away, the uncertainty. I was better than that; I deserved better than that. I knew that, and yet it still hurt. I knew that, and yet my throat still tightened, and my heart still felt like it had been bruised.

  “Greyson,” I called out, just as he reached Lady’s door.

  The muscles in his arms tensed as he gripped the straps of his backpack and reluctantly turned around. He ran his hand through his hair, slid it down the back of his neck, returned it to the strap of his backpack—all while refusing to look me in the eyes. He was scanning the parking lot instead. The school, the trees, the sky, his shoes.

  I’d spent a lot of time watching Greyson, studying him. But it was different this time. This time I wanted to shove him, and strangle him, and kiss him, and scream at him to never talk to me again.

  Like that would be a problem for him. Clearly.

  I hated the way he made me feel. Vulnerable, exposed. A little broken. Enough for him to see my hurt through the cracks.

  Then get on with it, Jess. End this once and for all and get the hell out of here.

  “So, you regret it then,” I dug the words out from where I desperately wanted to keep them buried. The almost kiss, the I love you, the opening himself up to me; I wasn’t sure which one of these things I was talking about, but it didn’t matter. It felt like he regretted them all.

  He sighed and finally looked up at me, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t say that,” he said. His features were smoothed in a way that expertly hid whatever thoughts or emotions were lurking behind them.

  I scoffed in response, crossing my arms in front of me. Anger simmered in my veins. “You haven’t said anything!” I yelled, and I debated turning around and just walking away, because there was no way in hell I was going to let him see me cry. But I kept my feet planted where they were and managed to hold it all in—the tears, the chaos of screaming attempting to claw its way up my throat.

  I bit the inside of my cheek, released it. Took a deep breath, and released it, too.

  It was his eyes. His eyes were what said everything he clearly didn’t want to: Regret, regret, regret.

  “You don’t have to say it. It’s pretty obvious,” I said with more calm than I would’ve thought possible.

  He cleared his throat, and a sliver of that regret slipped through his mask. If I wasn’t mistaken, it almost pained him just to look at me.

  Awesome.

  I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. They burned with unshed tears. Tears I wanted to set free. I wanted to sit down in a hidden pocket of the world and let a lifetime of them go, because I was exhausted, so fucking exhausted, from holding them all in.

  “Shit,” he exhaled. “I’m sorry, Jess. I am. But I’ve told you I can’t do this. I’m not just saying it to be an asshole; I can’t want you. I can’t. I don’t know how many times I can say it and still feel like I mean it.” He stepped towards me, involuntarily, and ran his hand through his hair, his eyes searing into mine. “You know this isn’t simply about Jaymes, right?” he pleaded. “It goes a lot deeper than that. I like you, Jess—a fucking lot—but if we did this?” he gestured between us with one hand, “I’d only end up hurting us both in the end. I got caught up in a moment that I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry. I thought we could be friends—that I could be your friend, but…” He took a deep breath and released it, a look of broken resignation settling on his features. It made my stomach drop. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea anymore. I think we should distance ourselves,” he finished.

  His words felt like a punch to the gut. He was breaking up with me, even though we were never even together to begin with.

  A bubble of insanity slid up my throat and spilled out of my mouth. “Wow.” I laughed, bitter and angry. “I mean, you must think so highly of yourself, sparing us both. How noble.” I turned around to walk away but spun right back around again. “You know what? Fuck you, Greyson.”

  He actually looked hurt by my words. Good.

  “Jess,” he said, a last-ditch effort, before exhaling a “Fuck,” his fingers gripping his hair tightly. He let it fall with an audible sigh and turned around without another word, Lady’s door slamming shut. Her motor thundered, tires squealing out of the parking lot.

  I was good at that.

  Pushing people further than they pushed me.

  Twenty-nine Before

  AND THAT’S HOW Greyson and I had effectively screwed up our friendship. It had taken five weeks, less than four seconds of knowing him, three slightly embarrassing rejections, two almost kisses, and one too many nights under the stars to build one of the best friendships I’d ever had.

  But it had only taken one conversation, two broken hearts, and three words to ruin it all.

  Or maybe it was more than that. Maybe it had been simmering for a long time, waiting for the right second to boil over. Maybe it had been inevitable. But he wouldn’t talk to me after that, would hardly look at me. I
didn’t care, not really. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. But I couldn’t ignore my heart. It was a little broken, or a lot broken.

  In reality, it felt like a part of my world had come crashing down on me. Like an eclipse had come in and stolen back all of the light Greyson had given me.

  I was alone in the dark now, my own little flame. Flickering and faltering in the wind, but it was enough.

  “Jessica?” Elizabeth asked, ripping me from my thoughts.

  “Yeah?” I asked, more than a little apprehensive. I dropped my spoon back into my bowl of cereal and turned around to look at her, my eyes unintentionally narrowing.

  “Could you keep an eye on the boys for me? For just a few minutes? I need to run into the restroom, and they just started eating.

  “…I sure would appreciate it,” she added hastily.

  “Um…” I swallowed. It was weird. This was weird, right? Yeah, it was totally weird, because she’d never, not once, asked me to help with the twins before. And what the hell did I know about keeping babies alive? Not just one, but two of them.

  Nothing. The answer to that was nothing. But the only response that was willing to jump off the tip of my tongue was, “Sure.”

  I mean, how hard could watching two nine-month-olds eat their dry Cheerios be?

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling, genuine—both the words and the pleased tilt of her lips.

  I didn’t know what else to say, so I didn’t respond, turning to the twins instead. They were cute, I’d give them that much at least.

  I walked across the kitchen and pulled a chair over to their highchairs, sitting down in front of them. “So…Reagan and Ashton…” I said, and then laughed at myself. I’d never been around little kids before, but I’d been around these two enough times to know that they couldn’t talk yet. Not anything beyond the cute babbling and giggles and occasional Mama and Dada they were capable of.

  They laughed, too, smacking their hands down onto their trays. Cheerios bounced into the air and back down, again and again. They thought it was hilarious. I stole one of their Cheerios and tossed it in the air, catching it with my mouth. Ashton giggled, and Reagan followed. So I did it again, and they burst out in laughter again. I couldn’t help but smile, and then my smile shifted into laughter the harder they giggled.

  Who would’ve thought Cheerios could be so damn funny?

  Reagan looked at me with wide, excited eyes, bumping his fists together. Ashton squealed before doing the same fist bumping motion.

  I mimicked them with my own hands, and their eyes grew even wider in excitement.

  “They’re signing ‘more.’ They want you to do it again.” I was slightly startled by my dad’s voice, but I didn’t show it.

  “Oh,” I said, standing and quickly sliding my chair back over to the table. “That’s cool.”

  “They seem to really like you,” he said, an icebreaker. One of many he’d attempted over the last few months, but like every other time, I wasn’t sure what to say.

  What I was startled by, though, was the way I was having a hard time grasping onto the anger I usually felt when he tried.

  I think I was too tired to be angry, too drained. So I answered him, with the nicest words I’d directed his way since moving in. “Yeah, I kind of like them too.”

  Maybe I’d given him all the anger I’d had left to give the last time we were in this room together. Doubtful.

  He smiled in response, a slow, genuine tilt of the lips.

  It immediately made me uncomfortable. Itchy, and weird, and…uncomfortable. So I walked away. But as I turned the corner and made my way up the stairs, I found that I was sort of smiling, too.

  Just a little bit.

  Because of Ashton and Reagan, I told myself.

  Thirty Before

  I WAS STARTING to resent all things Greyson at this point. But at the top of my list? Was the way he perfectly filled out those stupid fucking football pants of his.

  It was obnoxious. Obscene. And irritating as hell.

  “Why are we here again?” I whined for the millionth time.

  “Oh, shut up,” Sara said. “I told you, a few more pictures then we’ll head over to Jaymes’ place.”

  I groaned. “Isn’t there something else we can do?”

  “Like what?” She looked over her shoulder at me, genuinely perplexed.

  “I don’t know!” I threw my arms up. “Anything else. I’m bored of the same old same old.”

  “Okay,” she said with a patience-filled tone that immediately irritated me. Screw that tone. “What do you have in mind?” she added, only half invested now, too busy taking pictures of the crowd celebrating another touchdown. I didn’t know which team was winning, because I refused to pay attention.

  “I’m not sure yet…” I eventually said. “…but I’ll figure it out.”

  So why was it that thirty minutes later, I found myself sitting on the couch of none other than…who? Yep. Friggin’ Jaymes.

  I was pouting like a child while Sara fed me shots of vodka every so often. Because let’s face it, she was right. There was shit else to do in this town.

  She was currently laughing at something Jaymes had just said, or maybe it was the private dance he was jokingly giving her from the coffee table that was just funny in general. I guess the dancing was meant for the both of us, but my mind was stuck elsewhere. Focused on something else entirely. Or someone else.

  Someone who happened to be walking through Jaymes’ front door at that very moment. Freshly showered and back in regular clothes. If you could even call them that. Because they shouldn’t have looked that good if they were just regular jeans and a black tee, right?

  His hair was still damp, tossed back in an effortless, perfect mess. His green eyes shined with the happiness of winning a perfect game—not that I’d been watching or anything. I definitely hadn’t been watching.

  I turned my back to the doorway, facing the TV instead. I knew I didn’t want to be here for a reason. Thanks for being the living, breathing reminder of all the things I can’t have in life, Greyson.

  I realized a heartbeat too late that I’d be forced to watch the back of him disappear into the kitchen from this angle. From the top of his impeccably mussed up head to the bottom of his perfectly scuffed up shoes. And then watch as some random girl followed him through, wrapping her witch-like fingers around his wrist and pulling him back to say something in his ear. Good one, Jess!

  He leaned down and listened to whatever stupid thing she was saying, her claws still grasping his arm. And then? He gave her one of his small, tilted smiles. One of my smiles.

  My stomach turned, jealously twisting my gut. So this was how he was going to play it? Seriously?

  I tried to ignore it. Them, my jealousy, Greyson’s successful attempt at being a total asshole by flirting with somebody else right in front of my face. Because funny thing? I’d never, not once, actually pegged him for one. Yet there he was. Smiling at another girl like an asshole straight from asshole-land where all the other assholes lived.

  I downed the last of my most recent Sara-made concoction. I flipped the red cup over, set it down onto the coffee table, and spun it around mindlessly. Around, and around, and around. Ignoring everyone in the room, the house—the kitchen entryway—as best I could. Which was saying a lot. But then I heard it: her laughter. The girl Greyson was still with. With? Ugh. Maybe I should point her out to Jaymes so he can piss on her, too. Then Greyson would be alone at this party like I was.

  Her laughter made my skin crawl. Like nails on a chalkboard. Or someone chewing with their mouth wide open. Or like some random girl clearly laying claim to my Greyson while I sat across the room and was forced to watch.

  It pissed me off. Her fakeness more than anything, because I knew Greyson, I knew him, and he was funny, but he wasn’t that fucking funny. I couldn’t stand it any longer.

  So I turned around and did one of the stupidest things I think I’ve ever done. I stood u
p, grabbed Jaymes’ hand, and led him straight down the hall and into his bedroom.

  Like I said, stupid. But sometimes jealousy makes us do stupid, stupid things.

  Thirty-one Before

  I’D LIKE TO say that I pulled Jaymes into that room and brushed the whole thing off, or told him the truth, or did anything but what had happened next, but I was hurt and angry, and I’d felt all alone. And I’d finally come to the conclusion that if Greyson didn’t want me? There was someone standing right in front of me who did. Someone who’d never once not made it clear to me that he did. In whatever twisted, backwards way that was.

  “Jess, babe?” Jaymes asked, clearly amused. I’d never dragged him into his room like this before. My hand was still clenched around his. He raised his eyebrows, a wicked smile curving his lips.

  Green eyes, and full lips, and a tilted smile…those are the things I imagined in place of the features in front of me as I shoved all rational thought to the side and pulled Jaymes in for a kiss.

  As soon as my lips touched his, he immediately took control, growling against my mouth and thrusting his hands into my hair and pressing my body right up against his. His mouth was aggressive, punishing. There was skill, and fire, and passion in his kiss. It lacked for nothing except for the most vital thing: my actually wanting to be there, with his lips pressed against mine.

  But it still felt nice. Nice to be kissed; nice to be wanted. Nice enough that I kept our kiss going, opening my mouth to his, letting him slide his tongue over mine.

  I’m not proud to admit that I made out with him for a while. A long while. Long enough for my lips to feel numb from the assault of his talented mouth. Long enough for us to have ended up on the bed with his shirt thrown on the floor. Long enough that he was clearly pushing for other things to happen.

  Things I knew I didn’t want. Not with James, anyway.

  I sat up, pushing him a few inches away, breathing heavily.