Take Chances Page 5

  I quickly get to my feet and hurry after her. “Where are you going?”

  She glances over her shoulder at me, heading toward the trees at the bottom of the hill. “I want you to show me what you wrote last night.”

  My expression falls. “Why?”

  She turns around, walking backward with a grin on her face. “I want to see how you really feel—I want to make sure that you’re not just doing this for me because I’ve been pressuring you. That you really want this as much as I do. And if it does seem that you want to make that sort of leap with me, then I’ll totally do it, but if not, then…” She turns around as she reaches a steep spot on the hill where the ground gets a little loose.

  “And if you don’t think I want this, then what?” I ask, catching up with her and placing my hand on her back to help her down the steep slope.

  “Then we won’t get the tattoos right now,” she says, stumbling a little, and my fingers enfold her waist to catch her from falling.

  “But I thought you wanted a commitment?” I ask, taking her hand as we reach the flat section at the bottom of the hill.

  “I do,” she says as we duck to enter the trees. “But I also want to know for sure that you want it. And if you do, then great, and if you’re not ready for it, then you’re not ready for it.”

  I grow a little nervous. “But what if what I wrote freaks you out?”

  She aims a disbelieving look at me. “Are you kidding me? After all the stuff I put you through, you think that something you wrote in your journal is going to freak me out?” She pauses as we reach the open section of the trail where the trees are sparse. “You helped me through addiction, family problems, and helped me find myself. I don’t think anything you wrote could be more intense than that.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” I say, unsure if I want her to read anything in my journal. It’s like giving her insight straight into my head.

  “If you don’t want me to, then that’s fine,” she says. “But I’m not going to get matching tattoos until I know for sure that you want this and aren’t just saying so because I’ve been weird about commitment lately.”

  “I never say anything but the truth,” I remind her. “Even if it’s harsh.” I pause, tugging my free hand through my hair, thinking about what I want and what I don’t want and which one is more important. But in the end only one thing matters—what she wants. “I’ll let you read it… but just prepare yourself… I always write what I say and sometimes… well, I’m not sure how you’re going to interpret it… whether you’re going to see it as me wanting a future with you.”

  She swallows hard and then lets out a loud exhale, looking nervous. “Well, I guess we’re about to find out.”

  Chapter 5

  Lila

  I don’t want to get too happy just yet. I need to make sure that he wants something linked to me branded on his gorgeous body forever. I don’t think that Ethan would ever lie to me, especially with something this big. He’s always been really truthful in the past, but the only way I’ll be able to truly know is if I read his words.

  He looks nervous as we sit in his truck, the sun glaring in through the windows. He’s flipping through the pages of his journal, searching for the right page, and I try to stay calm in the passenger’s seat, hoping there’s nothing in there that’s going to upset me.

  He finally stops flipping through the pages and takes a deep breath before he looks up at me. “Just make sure you read the whole thing. It starts off kind of”—he struggles for the right words—“unsure in the beginning, but it gets better.”

  I nod and then reach across the seat toward the journal. He glances at it one more time, seeming torn, before he reluctantly hands it over. I take it and put it on my lap, feeling a little uneasy as I read the first word on the page: confusion.

  “Just start right here?” I ask, tapping the top of the page with my finger.

  He nods and then turns toward the window, staring at the vacant motel parking lot to the side of us. I swallow hard, tell myself to go into this with an open mind, and then with caution, I start to read.

  Confusion. That’s what I feel every time I think about the future. I hate thinking about where I’m going to be in a few years—where I’m supposed to be. If I had my way, I’d take things day by day. Never think about the next day or about the past. I’d live life in the moment. Breathe it. Live freely. It’s so much less stressful than worrying all the time about where I’m going to be down the road or who I’m going to be with. I already lost someone once that I cared for. And the idea of losing Lila is like a hundred times worse than that. I’m not even sure if I could get over her if I tried. And what if I didn’t lose her, but we just ended up despising each other like my parents and her parents do. That would be equally as hard. It seems so much easier just to stay away from that deep of a commitment and avoid all the “what ifs.”

  The problem is it’s sort of selfish to think this way about life, especially when I’m not the only one in my life. Lila is such a huge part of me. She’s more than that. Over these last couple of years, she’s become my best friend and not opening up to her completely because of my fears is wrong. She’s the person I love more than anyone else in this world and if I have to open my eyes for a moment, and look forward, all I see is her. God, it’s the truth… She’s all I want. That much I know. I never want anyone else to go through all this shit with me—to go through life with me. And if I have to decide one thing right now about my future, it’s that I want to be with her. I want her with me. Even five or ten years down the road. Even when we’re thirty or forty. Even if it means we could possibly turn out like our parents, I want to try. I want to try to have a future with her. What the hell happens between now and then I’m not so sure. But do I even need to be sure about that yet? Maybe I only need to be sure about one thing. And that’s her and I always being together. Even through the shitty times. I’d never go back and change a damn thing. Every single thing that we’ve been through has gotten us to this moment where she’s lying in the bed beside me and just her being here makes me so content. I breathe easier. I don’t even want to think about being on this trip alone. Yeah, I love the quiet, but it could never compare to all the moments we’ve shared together. Fireworks. Arguments. Ponds. Kisses. Sex… God the sex is great. Every conversation with her, good and bad. Every moment, light and dark. I want to relive it over and over again. I want so many more moments and conversations.

  I want this to be permanent. I want Lila and I to be permanent.

  Forever and Always.

  I try not to cry. I really do. But I’m an emotional person and this… well, I never ever thought anyone would ever feel this way about me.

  As my tears start to stain his beautiful words, I quickly shut the journal so the ink stays intact. I quickly wipe my tears with my hand, look up at him, and before he can speak, I say, “So where are we going to get the tattoos?”

  * * *

  Ethan

  I wasn’t sure how she’d take what I wrote. Yeah, the ending was good, but the beginning… well it was full of my fears. And then she starts to cry and I’m a little worried she’s maybe misunderstood what I was trying to convey in my journal. I’m about to ask her what’s wrong, but then she says she wants to go get the tattoos. I’ll admit I’m a little scared, but in a terrifyingly good way. I want this. I knew it the moment I wrote the word permanent.

  After we decide to get the tattoos, I drive us over to a tattoo shop on the main section of town between a row of shops. We go inside and start looking through the examples on the wall, but Lila keeps frowning at them.

  “I want something that we come up with,” she says, resting her arms on top of the glass countertop. “Something that’s just yours and mine.”

  “A symbol?” I ask. “Or words?”

  “Words,” she says, smiling. “I think you should come up with words that connect us.”

  I point at myself. “Why does it have to be me?”


  “Because.” She walks up to me and hooks her arms around my neck. “You put words together beautifully. I seriously think you should consider the whole writer thing.”

  I press back a smile, feeling my heart speed up with panic and fear and excitement. “One future move at a time, please,” I say, and she laughs. I let a slow breath ease past my lips as I try to think of something to put on our fingers. There’s not a lot of room and I know the artist is probably going to tell us that more than one word is too much. I think about the last words I wrote in my journal and how they were so huge because they made me realize that moving forward with Lila was something I wanted.

  “How about forever and always?” I say, taking her hand in mine and tracing my finger around her ring finger.

  She glances down at her hand, puzzled. “What, you take forever and I take always? But then who would take the word and?”

  I shrug. “How about both of us.”

  She glances up at me with her brows knit. “You want to split up and? Like you take the a and half the n and then I take the other half and the d?” she asks, and I nod. “Wouldn’t that look a little weird?”

  “Does it really matter if it looks weird?” I ask. “It’d mean something to us and that’s all that matters, right?”

  She considers what I said and then a smile breaks through. “I really love that idea.” She pulls me in toward her and we kiss until a very bulky dude with tattoos covering his arms comes into the waiting room to see what we want. When I explain it to him, he looks at me like I’m some sort of punk kid who’s stupidly in love. I don’t really give a shit what he thinks, though, and feel perfectly content with his disgusted look as he draws up the designs.

  When he’s finished, I decide to go first since Lila seems nervous, like she was when she got her first and only tattoo. I take a seat and the guy puts the drawing on me, making sure it’s where I want it. When we get it in the correct place, he gets the needle ready and I shut my eyes, feeling myself change the moment the ink touches my skin. I can feel myself moving forward with each stroke. Feel myself connecting to Lila. Feel that I’m exactly where I want to be. Right in this moment with her.

  * * *

  Lila

  I get so nervous around needles. It took a lot just to get me in the chair for the first and only tattoo I’ve ever gotten. Then I damn near fainted the first minute into it. But Ethan stood by my side and reminded me why I decided to do it. Because I want to be free and wanted to have something that would forever represent my journey toward freedom.

  But watching Ethan mark his finger with something that would always connect him to me is different. It makes me feel even more free and alive. Excited. Overwhelmed. Loved. It’s the perfect moment that ends too quickly because suddenly he’s finished and it’s my turn.

  “You sure you want to do this?” he teases, stretching out his fingers as we trade places.

  I eagerly and very anxiously nod as I plop down in the leather chair. The large guy with a lot of colorful tattoos on his arms who did Ethan’s tattoo tells me to put my hand up on the armrest. He seems sort of cranky, but I don’t care. Nothing could ever ruin this moment, not even a cranky guy who smells like he’s in dire need of some deodorant.

  I stay quiet as he positions the drawing on my finger until he gets it in the right place. Ethan holds my hand the entire time, while staring down at his free hand. The skin around the tattoo is a little red, but other than that it looks perfect.

  He’s perfect.

  He’s the only person who’s every fully understood me. The only person I’ve ever trusted. The only person who saw who I really am and the potential of what I could become. He loved me in a way that I thought wasn’t possible and that’s what I keep telling myself over and over again as the tattoo artist presses the tip of the needle to my finger.

  I’ve gone through a lot over the last eight months or so. I’ve changed for the better. I’ve had a lot of moving, life-changing moments. But this one is different. This one is epic. I can feel it through the blissful pain that makes me hyperaware of what I’m doing. And when I’m finished, I feel genuinely happy even though my finger aches.

  “So?” Ethan says as I get up from the chair. He watches me, like he’s waiting for me to say I regret it.

  I stare down at my ring finger with a big grin on my face. I’ve always pictured myself with a huge diamond on my ring finger, a carat at least, but now… well, this feels so much better. So much more personal and intimate. Nothing could mark our relationship better than this.

  I glance up at him, looking him straight in the eye. “I think it’s perfect.”

  He smiles back at me and then slips his fingers through mine. It makes the area of the tattoo sting a little, but there’s no way I’m going to pull back. We pay for the tattoos and walk hand in hand outside to his truck.

  “You ready to start our journey back home?” he asks, opening the truck door for me.

  I nod as I climb in. “I’m ready for anything.”

  There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he leans in, pausing when our lips are only inches apart. “Me too.”

  He kisses me passionately before pulling away, blinking his eyes with a dazed look on his face. “We’ll have to go on one of these trips every year,” he says as he starts to shut the door. “Just you and me and the road. Living in a tent and eating camp food again. Taking baths in the pond.” He grins. “Having sex on the shore of a lake, hiding under a blanket.”

  I smile, feeling happier than I’ve ever been because I know Ethan will be in my future and that’s all I ever wanted, and as long as I have him, nothing else matters. “Sounds perfect.”

  Delilah: The Making of Red

  Prologue

  If you think this is some kind of love story, you’re wrong. It’s not at all. Does it contain hearts, kisses, and passionate moments between a boy and a girl? Yeah, maybe, but maybe not. It all depends on how you interpret lovey-dovey stuff. If you’d asked me five years ago, when I was a naïve sixteen-year-old, I would have told you this story was leading to all of that. That by the end of my journey I’d be happy and riding off into the sunset with Prince Charming at my side, the love of my life, who always whispered sweet nothings in my ear and told me how wonderful I was.

  Because that’s how things are supposed to go when you meet that one guy who looks at you like you mean everything to him. Who looks at you like you mean something. Who makes you feel like you’re the sunshine in his darkness. Who notices you and makes you feel like the center of the world.

  Five years ago, I truly believed that’s where my life was going. There were so many possibilities blossoming in the beginning stages of becoming a woman. But I was clueless about love, happiness, life. I was clueless about who I was.

  And now I’m lying half-dead on the riverbank, barely able to breathe, unable to move, knowing that if someone doesn’t find me soon, I’m going to die here with my soul sucked away, a skeleton of myself. Left for dead at twenty-one years old, a shell of who I used to be five years ago, when I was sixteen, when this all started.

  Looking back, I can see the exact moment my life headed in this direction. The one where I was no longer Delilah, but Red.

  It was a hot, record-breaking summer, full of possibilities—full of promise. The moment I put the red dress on, I could feel something was about to happen, felt myself transforming into someone else. The dress matched my fiery red hair, high heels, and a string of pearls. I had a gorgeous tan and my breasts had finally grown big enough that I had cleavage. I felt on fire when I looked at my reflection. Beautiful. Different. There was so much hope. Possibilities. I could actually spread my wings and fly.

  But eventually I would crash and burn. Because after I got what I wanted, I lost it all and started my slow descent. And at the end of my journey, I’d go down in flames and pay the ultimate price for my choices.

  Chapter 1

  Poison Ivy

  Delilah, sixteen years old…

 
Delilah. Seductress. Temptress. A treacherous woman. These are just some of the meanings linked to my name. But am I any of them? No, not even close. In fact, I might be the exact opposite.

  My mother, on the other hand, is a prime example of these meanings.

  She’s a complicated woman, who has a lot of ups and downs. She likes to look sexy and young just as much as she likes to yell when she’s stressed. Whether it’s over bills, her job, or the simple fact that she can’t find the right pair of socks, it seems like hollering is her way of letting all the anger out. But the one thing she never refuses to yell about is men. It’s her cardinal rule: Never let men own you—own them.

  It’s not like she’s a terrible mother. She puts a roof over my head. Feeds me. Gives me clothes and spare money when she has it. She pays for me to take ballet lessons, even though I know she can’t afford it. We used to do things together too, but then my father divorced her after twenty-one years of marriage because he didn’t love her anymore. Those were his exact words.

  She was forty-one. After three months of being divorced, my father remarried a twenty-six-year-old. Then began my mother’s desperate search for her fountain of youth. Metaphorically speaking.

  She discovered it in bars, cheap dates, and one-night stands with men half her age. I honestly have no idea how she does it—how she manages to wrangle some of the guys home that she does—other than maybe she’s living a double life as Poison Ivy, a seductress with a potent kiss that stuns men into a delusional state so she can lure them into her bed.

  My mother’s not bad looking at all. In fact, she’s sort of mesmerizing to look at, although I’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly what it is about her that’s so striking. Her hair is still its original honey blond, her skin has minimal wrinkles, and her boobs don’t sag. But she doesn’t look twenty-five either, which is around the age of a lot of guys that she brings home. Like the one she brought home last night. He’s young, maybe not even twenty-five, with shaggy brown hair, baby blue eyes, and a decent-looking face. He’s wearing a button-down shirt, slacks, and a red tie, but the fabric is wrinkly and the clothes are too big, like he’s playing dress up in his dad’s clothes.