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A Boy Like You (Like Us Book 1)(42)

By:Ginger Scott


"I'm not invincible, Joss. I'm just not," he shakes his head. "I will  always fight for you. I can't say no when it comes to you. I can't not  fight for you. I can't not do everything in my power to keep you safe.  But I could fail. And if I ever lost you, if I was too late just once,  not strong enough, not capable-"

"I won't test you, Wes," I say, my hand running along his face again,  under his jaw. He leans into my touch, his eyes closed, and his lips  brush against my palm.

"Thank you," he breathes, his lips kissing against my hand again. "Jesus, thank you. I can't fail you, Joss. I can't-"

"I know," I nod, bringing his eyes back to mine. I nod again for him to see me. "I know."

His hands move into my hair, one reaching the tie twisted in the  strands, and he pulls it loose and runs his fingers deep into it,  combing along my scalp as his eyes fall over me in the most adoring way.  I've dreamt of him looking at me like this. There were times I even  thought for brief seconds he, in fact, did. But now that I'm here, in  his arms, I know that this … this is real. And it is a first for us. Every  fantasy I've had could never measure up.

I pull myself forward, into him, my hands running in his hair, and our  heads rest on one another again, until his dips lower, his nose grazing  along the curve of my neck, his lips whispering kisses along my skin, up  my jaw, until his mouth pauses over mine and I feel it slide into a  smile.

"I'm about to kiss Josselyn Winters," he says, a light laugh escaping him. "Holy shit."

I give in and smile against him too.

"It's Jose," I laugh, loving the feel of him laughing with me, his body  shaking with happiness, the sound thundering quietly in his chest. "And  you better make it a good kiss," I add, my bottom lip catching his top  lip. I hold onto it, I taste it and wait for him to make the next move.

He spends time dusting his lips over mine, his tongue finding my bottom  lip, taking small passes. Every movement is slow and savored. This is  our time-here alone in a pretend tree house shrouded in darkness. We're  two kids who found each other when each needed someone to believe in  them the most. Our bodies have grown. Our hearts are still the same. And  they knew …

Mine knew all along, and his remembered.

"You have always made me feel like I belong," Wes says, brushing another  soft kiss over my lips and resting his head on mine, his eyes closed.

"You have always made me feel like I matter," I say back, my head shaking at the memory of his embraces during my darkest times.

He pulls away from me, his eyes searching mine again, as if he doesn't  understand how anyone could think otherwise. He's home. He's come back  to me. And I fall into him, his hands gripping my hair and caressing my  face while his mouth covers mine with a possessive kiss. His tongue  moves along my own as his lips tug on my lips, his teeth grazing along  my tender skin with each parting pass until he comes back hungrier for  more.

We kiss until our bodies are tired and our mouths have memorized every  breath and move the other half has made. And then Wes helps me finish my  duties, making an hour's worth of work take less than half the time it  should. When we leave, he grabs my hand firmly in his own, threading our  fingers together as he walks me from the backdoor to the front of the  building and his truck. He doesn't let go until I'm home and he's seen  me to my front door, satisfied that my father stayed home tonight-even  if he's asleep in the chair with a drink in his hand.

I kiss Wes goodnight, then lock up and shut the lights off in the house.  I tug the quilt from my father's bed and lay it over him in his chair,  kissing his head once while he sleeps, and I pull his drink away.         

     



 

"I hope your dreams are good, Daddy. And I hope you come back from them  soon," I say, for the first time in years, believing he might.





Eleven





Wes showed up Sunday, just the same, telling my coworker-who I know now  is named Jamie-that he was my ride. I didn't even have to ask him to  scrape the gum away. He simply grabbed the putty knife from my hand and  went to work.

We didn't leave immediately. We spent an hour after my work was done  sitting in the tree house talking. I told him everything I knew-reliving  what happened the day of the last race, when my father confronted my  mom and how he left in a rage. I also told him how my mom left without  ever saying goodbye. As crappy as my father is, at least he stayed.

When Wes brought me home, I was in such a state of peace that, for the  first time in months, I didn't feel my chest seize up with worry over  what state I would find my father in. I didn't search for his car the  moment I turned down my street; I didn't scan the lawn for his body, and  I didn't dread unlocking the door. All of which made the surprise of  opening the door and finding him sitting in his chair-alert and awake, a  soda in his hand and the evening news on-that much more startling.

I said goodnight to Wes and acted as if he weren't there at all. We  didn't speak, but we also didn't argue or tussle while I tried to wake  him and carry him to bed. It was quiet and fast, and the weight of it  hit my chest the moment I shut my bedroom door. The heaviness was still  there this morning, and I feel it now as I pull up to the front of the  school with Taryn, her car slowing at the top of the hill where I  usually exit and head straight for the library.

"I think maybe I'll come with you today. To the gym?" I glance at her  from my periphery and look away quickly when I catch enough of the  shocked expression on her face. I bend forward and zip the side pocket  of my bag open. I have no reason to. I have nothing I need, nothing to  search for. I just don't want to look at her.

"Oooookayyyy," she finally says, moving her gear to drive and continuing down the hill.

We park near the back of the gym and walk to the side door where the  weight room is. I can hear the clanking from the other side of the door  before we even open it, and my insides are swarming with a sense of  familiar. My hands quake, and I look at them to make sure they're still  my own-still the same hands I have now. They are, but everything about  me feels like the little girl who used to stop by in the morning with  her mom to bring her daddy coffee.

Taryn pulls the door open then glares at me, watching as I stand frozen  and look inside. She shakes her head with a sigh, stepping into the  room. I grab the door just before it closes and follow her.

"I usually just hang out over here until he's done," she says, moving to  the padded training tables near the wall. I set my bag next to her as  she pulls herself up and sits with her back against the wall. But rather  than joining her, I turn around and let my legs amble on rote memories  to the other end of the gym where the jump ropes hang.

"Hey," I hear Wes's voice over my shoulder.

"Hey," I hum, not turning around. My fingers run down the plastic beads  of the blue-and-white rope. A few seconds later, Wes's fingers come into  view, grabbing the blue-and-red one next to it-his knuckles grazing my  own in a purposeful touch that wakes me from my trance.

"Wanna jump?" he says, his right cheek dimpled with a smile. I take it  in for a breath, then glance beyond him to my father's desk. He's  watching me, and though I expect him to be scowling, he isn't. He's  looking at me with no expression at all.

"Yeah," I say, my eyes moving to Wes's. "I do," I grin.

I pull the rope into my hands and move a few steps away to give us both  room, then begin to swing. The silent competition sparks quickly, and I  do my best to keep up with him, but after a full minute of skipping, my  feet finally run out of speed, and the beads tangle with my shoes.

"Yeah, I'm still working on my cardio," I huff, wrapping the rope around my hand.

"That was pretty good," he says. I roll my eyes at him. "No, seriously.  I've been doing this every day for weeks, so it was good. You did good."

"Whatever," I say, smiling to myself when I turn away to hang my rope on  the hook. When I turn back, I glance at where my father was sitting to  find him no longer there. I sigh, my mind instantly replaying his voice,  his warning to leave Wes alone. I'm a distraction.

I leave Wes on his own, and head to the free weights, loading some  weights and working out on my own. He never lets me wander far, but he  gives me my independence. After twenty minutes, though, my muscles  fatigue, and I slide my feet over to Taryn, collapsing on the bench next  to her.         

     



 

"I'm proud of you," she says through the side of her mouth, not pulling  her eyes away from some video she's watching on her phone. "I know how  hard it was for you to come in here."

I exhale and lean into the wall behind us, rolling my head to the side.  "Thanks," I sigh, landing my fist softly on her shoulder.

After a few minutes, the bell sounds, giving us ten minutes to get to  our first period. I pull myself up and lean forward to grab my heavy  backpack, but my father's feet are on either side. I look up at him,  squinting, my eyes still sleepy. He's holding a folded piece of paper,  which I stare at for a few seconds before his hand shakes it once,  encouraging me to take it.