Someone to Love(78)

“Oh, um…” Forget about me. I need to warn Molly before she becomes infected with all sorts of warts and blisters no thanks to Brayden I-Sleep-With-Sluts Holmes. “Actually no, I wasn’t thinking about STDs.” Because apparently, I’m an idiot.

Turns out, I was more worried about babies than I was rabies.

“You went on the pill just for me?” He looks humbled by the idea.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I press his hand against my lips.

“And you thought, we were going to have a baby.” He reaches over and covers me with his arms, tightening his grip around me as if I might drift away. “Kenny”—he bounces a kiss off my temple—“if something like that happened, you don’t have to hide it from me or think I’m going to hate you. I swear, I’m not going anywhere. I’m in this for the long haul. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me.” I take him in against the backdrop of a deep navy night.

“And I guess you’re stuck with me.” He cradles my face in his hands and examines me as if he’s peeled back all the layers and is seeing something new, something far more defined than before. “I love you, Kendall Jordan.” He offers the softest kiss under a bed of burgeoning stars that peer in through the windshield.

I pull back and soak in all of his perfection both inside and out.

“I love you, too, Cruise Elton.”





Cruise



In the next few weeks, the north winds scour the sky clean. They scrub the details out of the fir-lined hillsides and draw the oils from the eucalyptus like perfume straight from the throne of God.

Kenny and I file through the syllabus of my own making as if it were some sexual bucket list that begged to race to completion.

On a Tuesday, at five-thirty in the morning, I convince Kenny to join me in watching the sunrise from Barrels’ cliff side. Barrels, lies tucked at the distal end of a thicket, a good thirty-minutes away. Juniper and myrtles gnarl their branches together, locked in a perennial swordfight as I drive the truck down the congested dirt road.

I happen to know firsthand, Barrels affords the best damn view of the sunrise.

“My dad took me here once.” I confess. “We went camping when I was a kid.”

I may only have a handful of memories when it comes to my father, but that camping trip we took when I was seven burns in my mind, alive and fluid. For some unknowable reason, I’m able to crawl back into the moment and live it over and over again. It was the last time I did anything of quality with the man who would grow to be Pennington’s father, not mine. Maybe that’s why I held on so strong. It was the eulogy of the father-son relationship that would never progress beyond that point.

“Really? Did Pen go with you? I bet you beat him up a lot.” She bites the air, teasing.

Kenny rolls her head back, slow and easy. Her neck peaks as if calling my lips to bless it. Her sleepy eyes send a silent invitation to drown in her kisses. Kenny is the heroin and the wine—the choice opiate of the gods, and I want nothing more than to lap her up by the bowlful.

“Nope, not Pen—just my dad and me. It was the last time he ever made the effort. I keep thinking about how beautiful this place is. In my mind, it’s become this living postcard.”

“Is that why you wanted me to see it?” She says it soft, uncertain of what my real intentions might be.

“No.” I park as deep inside the overgrowth as possible before killing the engine. “I was sort of hoping to stomp out all those old memories and make some new ones today—with you.” I reach back and grab the fleece-lined sleeping bag I keep for emergencies. It weighs ten pounds, but you can survive a subarctic winter nestled inside it if you had to.

We get out and make our way to the edge. The cliff is blocked off by wood fencing that’s cracked in two places like a car might have tried to plow through, and I know for a fact a couple of them did.

A tangerine glow surprises the darkness far in the east and sprays the new day with promise.

“Come here.” Kenny pulls me in and lays her cushioned lips over mine. “Let’s hop in the back of the truck and start building that memory.” She dips her iced hand into my sweats, and I take a quick breath.

“Sounds like you mean business. Let’s give the sun another thirty seconds to show.” I help her to the hood of the truck then spread the sleeping bag over the roof.

“Have I mentioned I’m afraid of heights?” she asks as we climb to the roof. “You make me feel safe.”

“You make me feel safe.” I echo the sentiment.