Robin Constantine - The Promise of Amazing

She stood out against the colorless day, improbable and beautiful. A wildflower in winter sprung up from a crack in the concrete. I inched my way closer and kept my eyes on hers, as if one wrong move or thought would make her evaporate. She lowered her gaze and bit her lip. So many feelings rushed through me . . . relief, fear, love . . . Wren being there meant something. Good or bad, I wasn’t sure.

“I almost gave up,” she said. “I walked through the parking lot twice, looking for your car, and figured maybe I missed you, so I walked up this block to head to the bus, and I found it, and . . .”

“Here you are.”

“Grayson, I still don’t know how I feel about the other day. It’s just what you told me? The whole morning . . . the fight? It was a lot to take in.”

“A complete mindfuck,” I said.

She laughed. “I guess you could call it that.”

I leaned next to her on the bumper, dropping my backpack at my feet.

“I never meant for you to find out like that.”

“You never meant for me to find out.”

What could I say?

“Grayson, I get it. There never would have been a good time. . . . But I guess I’m glad I know.”

“Really?”

“Not sure,” she said, chuckling. Adjusting her position she faced me, hip against the bumper, and tucked some hair behind her ear. The blue hair suited her. I had to stop myself from touching it. The first move needed to be hers. She dug into her coat pocket.

“Here—I’ve been carrying this around since the weekend,” she said, the necklace dangling from her fingers. “I can’t keep it. Obviously.”

I grabbed the physical reminder of just how royally I messed up and shoved it into my own pocket to deal with later. “Giving you that necklace was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Nah . . . taking me skating was a pretty bad move, considering how terrible you are on the ice,” she said, tugging the open collar of my jacket. I turned toward her.

“Wren . . . the only thing I could think about all weekend was that look on your face when you left . . . how much I hurt you. I’m so sorry. I know what I did was wrong, all of it, and I wish I could change everything. You deserve better than this. I don’t expect you to just . . . trust me . . . but that’s not me anymore. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“I know that,” she said, moving closer to me.

“Being with you is all I want,” I whispered. “Forgive me, please.” My forehead grazed the top of her head. I took in the summery scent of her hair and allowed myself to feel the barest hint of a hope.

“I do,” she whispered, bringing her face up to mine.

Our lips touched, lightly at first. When I was sure she wasn’t going to pull away, I wrapped my arms around her, felt her arms snake around me.

“Sacred Heart girls—easy access!” someone yelled.

Wren laughed into my mouth and stepped back to take in the mob scene herding up the street.

“I’m not a very good Sacred Heart rep.”

“Yeah, you are,” I said, running my fingers through the blue part of her hair.

Wren folded her arms across her chest and winced.

“Grayson, I never told you my side of Saturday.”

“You have a side?”

“Why don’t we go somewhere warmer to talk?”

Somewhere warmer was a booth in the back of our diner. Coffee for me, cocoa for Wren, and a huge slab of the World’s Best Boston Cream Pie to share.

We sat side by side, shoulders touching. She hadn’t said a word on the ride over. The miracle of her being there with me, of even talking to me, still hadn’t worn itself out, and I didn’t want to jeopardize it. I took a forkful of pie and held it up for her. She opened her mouth, sliding her lips across the fork and grinning as she tasted it—an unintentionally sexy move that left me wishing we were somewhere more private.

“So, Saturday . . . what happened?” I asked, digging the fork into the pie for a bite of my own.

Wren dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin. She folded a knee up onto the bench of the booth so that she faced me. Finishing my bite of pie, I gave her my full attention.

She fumbled with her coat, reached into the pocket, and pulled out her phone.

“I had a fight with Ava today.”

“About what?” I asked, alarmed. Was Ava in on this too?

“Well . . . she told Mrs. Fiore I hooked up with a guy from Saint Gabe’s during our service project. Even had people back up her story.”

“That’s a crock, right?”

She leaned on her elbow and rested her forehead into her open palm. The pie felt heavy in my gut. Her hand slid down her face before she looked at me between her fingers.

“Luke kissed me.”

“Excuse me?”

“It happened really fast. He kind of cornered me before I could stop him. . . . I wanted you to hear it from me.”

It surprised me that Luke hadn’t offered up that information himself. It would be just like him to prod me with some random text like, Wren’s lips taste like candy, bro .

“And Ava told me today that the whole thing—me being there to help out—was all just so Luke could, I don’t know, piss you off or keep tabs on you or something.”

“Classic friggin’ Dobson,” I said, mashing the edge of the pie with each word.

“Why would he do this?”

“He wants me to be, ah, active again.”

“Active? You mean . . .”

“Find hits.”

“Oh. Like Allegra,” she said into her cocoa mug, before taking a sip.

“Wren, stop.”

I reached for her hand as she put down the mug. There was a moment of hesitation on her part, her hand unyielding. Then she softened. I entwined my fingers with hers, finally relaxing, when she gave my hand a squeeze.

“Luke isn’t going to drop this, is he?” she asked.

“Probably not,” I said.

She pushed her phone toward me, showing me her message history.

You closed your eyes

.

He texted her? My throat tightened. “What does that mean?”

“It’s what he said to me after . . . he, you know . . . kissed me.”

“You closed your eyes?” I asked. It wasn’t fair of me to be angry. I knew it, but I couldn’t help it.

“Don’t even go there, Grayson. It lasted, like, a second, if that, and I shoved him away.”

“Wren . . . I didn’t mean . . .” I said, not wanting to lose her again. “It just makes me . . . want to hurt him. That’s all.”

She growled, buried her face in my shoulder. “Me too. Ava . . . ugh . . . it was like she got off on telling me how they tricked me. We have to do something.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Grayson, I’m sick of people . . . underestimating me. Thinking they can walk all over me because I’m not some loudmouth bitch.”

“Luke likes to mess with people. It will drive him nuts if we ignore him. Trust me.”

“He said to keep him in mind if I wanted a revenge hookup.”

I laughed. “Yeah, right. Want me to drive you to his place?”

“I’m serious. Why don’t we just . . . I don’t know, set him up somehow. . . .”

“Wren, he would see it from a mile away.”

“So that’s it, you’re just going to let him get away with it.”

“No, I don’t want you involved.”

“I already am. They used me to get to you. Luke wanted us to break up, and . . . well, we almost did, didn’t we?”

“Wren.”

She grabbed her phone, typed a message, and hit Send.

“Well, better think of something . . . fast,” she said, pushing the phone back to me, that devious smile from the ice rink crossing her lips.

Luke–Still have your property . . . want it? Wren

The die had been cast.