Endlessly

2000

I gripped Jordan's hand so tight I was surprised he hadn't lost all blood flow yet. Well, he might have, but knowing Jordan, he would never admit it. We sat side-by-side, squished onto one bean bag chair in Mathew Maiers basement, watching the Blair Witch Project . It was my first boy-girl party, and I was beyond thrilled that Jordan had been invited too. Rumor had it that Mathew had a huge crush on me, and the feelings were definitely not reciprocated.

My eyes went wide as the people on screen began dropping the F-bomb left and right, a word I'd only heard Eric, Jordan's older brother, use once or twice when he got hurt. Jordan snickered at my expression, which got me to smile as well. The sooner the movie was over, the better. I hated horror movies.

I jumped a little when someone tapped me on my shoulder, and I was surprised when Mathew asked me to come help him make more popcorn. I willingly agreed, looking for any reason to get out of that basement. So, I followed him upstairs, and followed his instructions to make the microwave stuff.

After I started it, I turned around, and jumped again when I found Mathew standing right behind me. He moved closer, and I moved backward, until I bumped into the counter. He smiled at me, then looked at my lips, and leaned it. Desperately wanting to get away, I reacted on instinct, and socked him across the face, forming a fist the way Jordan taught me to.

He cried out, and I bolted away to the other side of the kitchen. Footsteps thundered up the basement steps, and Jordan burst into the kitchen, a wild, but determined look in his eyes. When he saw me huddled in the corner, he made his way over. "What did he do? I knew something was up. God, I swear I'll-"

I cut him off, and said through fresh tears, "He tried to kiss me. So, I punched him."

He whipped around, taking in the sight of Mathew clutching his face, while a few of the boys huddled around, eager to see the gore. Then, he did the weirdest thing. He burst out laughing. He pulled me into a hug, his ever-growing frame shielding me from the others. "That was quite a punch," he whispered into my hair, chuckling. And soon I was giggling along with him, happy as could be.

Present

This was such a bad idea, I thought to myself, as I took in the scenery of my hometown.

It looked essentially the same, except for a few minor details. It held the memories of the best years of my life, along with the day that poisoned them all. But I had to admit, it was way better than the States.

I pulled into a familiar dirt driveway, gravel crunching under my tires. I took in the 'For Rent' sign, sighing yet again at my not-so-brilliant idea.

The current owners of my childhood home had remodeled the barn on the property and renovated the loft into a apartment. An old friend had told me about it, and I got the genius idea to rent it for the summer and get some space from my family, who was now living on a secluded lake in Maine.

I walked up porch steps that I had tripped up half a million times, where I had been kissed for the first time by a boy that isn't worth mentioning, and where he kissed me for the last time. I rapped my knuckles against a door I had never knocked against before. Instead, I would've just busted through. And when the door open, I was surprised to see a young girl looking back at me.

"Are you here for David? Because all these girls keep coming over, and its getting annoying. I don't know why he hasn't just moved out yet," she said, and when I shook my she looked relieved. "Thank God. I'm Chelsea. I'm assuming your the chick that wanted to rent the barn?"

"Yes," I replied with a chuckle, "I'm that chick."

"Okay, let me just go find my dad. You can wait in the kitchen."

I followed her through the front foyer, noticing the fresh coat of paint, the different furniture; the house even smelled different now. When we reached the kitchen, I was surprised to find they hadn't changed it. The back splash was the same, with the tiles with mine and my brother's hand prints, a birthday gift to my my mom ages ago.

"Feel free to take a seat," Chelsea said, as she disappeared into the back room.

Pulling out one of the wooden chairs, I plopped down and closed my eyes. If I tried hard enough, I could pretend that everything was the same. This was a normal morning, one where my mom had made her special pancakes, and he would be over in a minute to pick me up. Back when we were teenagers, I would've probably spent the day at his house, or maybe gone and watched one of his hockey practices.

"Who are you?"

My eyes snapped open, searching for the owner of the voice that shattered my daydream. I was surprised to find a man standing in the entryway to the kitchen. An attractive man, at that. "Uh, I'm here for the, uh, apartment. The one for rent," I sputtered.

He smirked slightly, and I found myself narrowing my eyes at him. "What?" I asked angrily.

"Nothing," he said innocently. "I'm just glad you're hot. Because public speaking, not working out too well for you." A full-fledged grin now lit up his face, like he found me hilarious.

Just as I was about to spit something back, another man lumbered into the kitchen, this one in his late 40s, early 50s. He had salt and pepper hair, with brilliant green eyes, and looked like he'd been to hell and back, but would never tell the tale.

"Ms., um, Ms. Kealy, is it?" he questioned, before awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

"Yes, sir," I responded, trying to make him slightly more comfortable by standing.

"Irish, are ya?" I nod in reply, and felt relieved when he seemed satisfied. "Good, good. If ya follow me, and ignore my son, I'll give ya a tour of the loft."

As he lead the way, I didn't mention I could've walked it blindfolded. I just smiled to myself, content to be back in the land of my native accent.

***

"So, everything's in place then, I think. You can move in as soon as you'd please," he gripped the papers I just signed in one hand, while he offered me his other.

I shook it and smiled, happy to have not chickened out of my plan. "Alrighty then. I guess we'll be seeing you around," and with that, he walked back into the safety of my, no, his, house.

Sighing, I headed back to my car, but stopped when I heard someone shout, "Rae! Wait up!"

I paused, half turning, and was surprised to find David jogging down the front steps, racing towards me. When he reached me, I noticed he was barefoot, and out of breath. I giggled at the latter observation considering it had been maybe fifty feet, at best.

"I'll be polite, and not bother asking what you're laughing about," he paused, his silence asking the question he was too 'polite' to ask. I waiting, allowing the silence to draw itself out. "Alright, I can take a hint. Anyways, I was wondering if you needed any help moving, or maybe you're a little lonely and could use a date?" he looked at me steadily with hope filled eyes.

"If this your way of asking me on a date, definitely not. But I could use some help with the move. All my stuff is in a storage unit."

He nodded enthusiastically, and was about to say something, when there was a sudden squeal of brakes from the street. Both of our heads snapped up.

A black pick-up truck sat in the middle of the street, and a very blonde, very familiar man gaped from the driver's seat. "Do you know-" David started, but I didn't hear the rest, because Marc Staal leaped from the truck, leaving it in the middle of the road.

"Ho-ly shit," he said as he approached, smiling from ear-to-ear. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I-uh-I" I stuttered, unable to complete a thought.

David stepped in helpfully by finishing for me. "She lives here now. And you're Marc-fricking-Staal."

"Yeah, yeah. Big deal. And FYI, big guy, she lived here for a lot longer than just now."

I noticed David gaping at me from my peripheral vision, finally putting two-and-two together, realizing the 'Rae' painted on the tiles in his kitchen was the same 'Rae' standing in front of him. Before he got a chance to pipe in, Marc continued. "Jordan is going to flip shit. You have no idea. The guy's been barely a ghost of himself since you two broke it off a while back."

I didn't get a second to process this information before David said, "You dated Jordan Staal? You dated the Jordan Staal?"

"No, dipshit, she dated the fake one," Marc snapped, clearly annoyed by David's presence during our reunion. "Rae? Are you okay?" Marc asked, suddenly concerned.

No, no I wasn't. I felt like I was going to throw up. But I couldn't let Marc know that. So I lied through gritted teeth, "Yeah. I'm fine. I just ate some bad salad last night."

Marc peered at me curiously, and I swear he knew I was lying. But I needed him to leave. Because the sooner he left, the sooner I could stop thinking about Jordan.

As soon as that thought went through my head however, someone laid on the horn, causing David, Marc, and me to all turn. Behind Marc's truck was a SUV, with another grinning blonde man. This one way more familiar than Marc. This one shared nearly every childhood memory with me.

And this one stopped smiling as soon as we made eye contact. And the look on his face mirrored what I imagined mine to be. One of utter shock and surprise.

"Holy fuck," David muttered, "Two hockey players are sitting in my driveway."

"Well," Marc stated, "I guess that solves the problem of when you two will meet up."

Jordan opened the door, and slowly removed himself from the seat, and walked up the driveway in slow motion. I felt like I was in one of those chick flicks. I could see how Jordan still had feelings for me, just from his heavy gaze. And the way my heart raced and my stomach contained an entire swarm of butterflies, I knew that I had been kidding myself when I told myself I didn't care about him.

He stopped abruptly, about five feet away. My heart screamed for him to come closer, while my brain was blaring sirens to get the hell out of there. He narrowed his eyes slightly, and at first I thought he was glaring at me. But then I realized it was a little to the right, and directed at David. "Who the fuck are you?" Jordan growled.

Marc immediately stepped in front of Jordan, blocking his path to David, who suddenly looked terrified. And I didn't blame him. I'd be scared too if a six-foot-four, 220 pound hockey player all of a sudden looked like he was out to kill me.

Part of me was celebrating, because Jordan was clearly still possessive of me. Another, much bigger part, was pissed of that he thought he still had rights to me. So I took David's hand, intertwining our fingers, and leaned into his side. "This is your audition. Do well, and I'll go on a date with you," I whispered in his ear. It took him a second, but he removed his hand from mine, and wrapped it around my waist, pulling me tight against him.

The look on Jordan's face broke my heart, but at the same time satisfied me. Now he knew how it felt. "Wha- wha- what?" he stammered, furious. "I'm going to fucking kill-"

He never got to finish because Marc slapped a hand over Jordan's mouth, and began shoving him away. "Don't fuck this up twice, man," Marc warned, but Jordan seemed oblivious.

Jordan's eyes bore into mine as he said, "How could you?"

I untangled myself from David and stalked over to Jordan, jabbing a finger at him. "Do I really need to remind you? You fucking left me," I spat. "Now leave, before you really do something you'll regret."

A vein pulsed in Jordan's neck, and the muscle in his jaw jumped he was gritting his teeth so hard, but he obliged, slowly backing away. As he reached his truck, he turned around, giving me a long look, before saying, "I never stopped loving you, and I can see in your eyes that the feeling is mutual. If you want me to leave, I'll go. I was an idiot to let you walk out of my life, and I'm not making the same mistake twice."

He let the words hang in the air as he drove away, Marc following suit. As I watched their trucks disappear down the road, David walked up behind me and said, "Holy shit."

I simply nodded in agreement. Jordan was back in my life, and was on a mission to win me back. And one thing I learned growing up with him was that once he has his mind made up about something, he'll make it happen.

I was in for one hell of a summer.