JACKSON

When I saw April again after all those years, I felt the same way I did when I saw her for the last time.

I couldn't have known it was the last time - I didn't. But those same feelings of affection, adoration, and deep love all rose to the surface, just like any other time we spent together before she left.

When I laid eyes on her for the first time in years, she'd been asleep. I had on my work persona, dressed sharply, smile painted, ready to make another sick kid's day.

But this sick kid sat up in bed, eyes wide as saucers, and stared at me like I had three heads. There was a redhead next to him, and in that split second I had no idea it was my redhead.

Then he said the word - that word, the one still sticking in my brain now.

Daddy?

And my world caved in on itself. April opened her eyes and I knew it was her, there was no questioning. And there was no questioning the fact that our son was sitting next to her - his eyes said it all. They were mine, with the kindness from hers layered in. He was soft, it barely took any time to see that.

He was hers, ours.

MOLINE, OHIO, 7 YEARS AGO

It's the middle of summer. I invited April to come swimming at the local pool because it's one of her favorite things to do when it's hot, but she turned me down. Lately, she keeps turning down the chance to spend time together. I don't understand why she's pushing me away when all I want to do is soak up every minute with her.

On the phone, she told me she was sick. It's in my nature to take care of her, but I know it won't be easy with that her family doesn't know we're dating, let alone allow boys in the house.

"Do you want to come over?" I ask, lingering on my front porch. It's the first free day I've had in a while, and I want to spend it with her. I miss her. She's changed; become more withdrawn and sullen. I barely recognize her anymore. And every time I ask what's wrong, she brushes me off and seemingly gets sadder, so I've stopped asking.

But today, she agreed to come see me. I get my bedroom ready with her favorite movies, blankets and soft pillows, and her favorite hoodie of mine. She keeps it at my house because her parents do regular room checks at hers, and if they found it, it'd be the end of us.

When I open the door, I see tear-stains on her cheeks. It's obvious she's been crying.

"Hi, baby," I say, ushering her inside. My house is cool from the air conditioning, which I'm thankful for because she has sweat beads on her temples and forehead. I lean forward and kiss them away, pressing my lips softly to her skin.

"I'm sweaty," she says, turning away.

I notice the outfit she's wearing - shorts and flip-flops, but with a long-sleeved, billowy shirt on top. I don't say anything in regards to it - she's been touchy about her outfit choices lately - I've learned that the hard way.

"I don't care," I say. "I like your sweat."

She sniffles. "Makes one of us."

I smile, wrapping my arms around her shoulders in a big hug. She tenses under my touch, which bothers me. She always used to be so comfortable in my arms, and now it seems she's anything but. I used to love the way she'd relax against me, giving herself up entirely, but she doesn't do that anymore.

I can't help but wonder if it's something I did. If it is, I'm glad to fix it. She just has to tell me, but she won't.

"Wanna go upstairs?" I ask.

"Jackson, I'm not in the mood," she says. "I didn't come here to-"

"To watch movies," I say, eyes defensively wide. "I set up the DVD player with snacks and blankets. What is up with you, Peach?"

Her face flames. "Nothing," she says. "Sorry."

I lead the way up the stairs and she takes her time behind me. I shut the door to my room after we're inside, and she sits on the edge of the bed, as far away from me as possible.

I put a movie in - Stepmom, which she loves - and sit down, too.

"Do I smell bad, or something?" I ask, trying to keep the mood light.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I'm… I… just, I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd…"

"I always wanna be close to you," I say, scooting to meet her in the middle. "You're my girl."

She makes a small sound in her throat, then rests her head on my shoulder. When she does that, I feel more at ease. This feels normal, more like us. I hold her and keep her there, pressing kisses to the top of her head intermittently throughout the movie. She smells like roses and honey.

"Peachy," I say, after we haven't spoken for a while. "I love you. Are you okay?"

She nods slowly, tracing the creases of the fabric on my thigh. "I love you, too," she whispers.

Little did I know that would be the last time I'd see her, hold her, hear her voice, for almost a decade.

CHICAGO, TWO DAYS AGO

When I hear that little boy say 'Daddy,' everything else fades away. Loses importance. My career, my relationship, my malice and confusion towards his mother. All that matters to me in this moment is that there is a beautiful child looking at me, calling me daddy.

I am his father.

April asks me to leave, and I understand why. I waited six years, so I tell myself I can wait a few hours. But that proves harder than anticipated - when I go back to my hotel, everything is too quiet. I stare at her contact in my phone and wait for her to call.

I assume she won't until the sun goes down and that little boy goes to sleep. I still don't know his name. I don't know his name, but I saw myself in him. I saw her in him. He is us, combined. He is the purest stage of our love, embodied. We created him.

I can barely sift through that thought. I created life with her. The love of my life, the girl who had once meant everything, put a new piece of my heart on this earth.

She did it on her own, too. I never knew she was pregnant. I sit on a plush chair in my immaculate hotel room and feel confusion and frustration boil through me - I hadn't known. She didn't tell me. I wouldn't have missed so many years of my son's life had she just told me and accepted the help I would've undoubtedly given her.

I grit my teeth. I feel sick to my stomach; my world was just turned on its head. I never thought I would see her again, let alone be met with such a shake-up like this. She kept him from me. She ran away without a word. When I add up the timeline in my head, she must have gotten pregnant months before the summer she left. How had I not noticed? How had she hidden it so well? Why didn't she let me in?

Through my irritation and anger, though, there's a sort of reverence. April had a baby on her own and raised him as a single mom - or so I assume. There was no male figure in the hospital room and no ring on her finger, so that's where my mind jumped. She saw this little boy through all his stages, provided for the two of them, by herself. There's a certain strength in that, a kind I will never amount to.

I saw it in her eyes. She now has the ferocity of a mother.

As I sit there, staring out the window, fear ripples through me. I never had a father figure growing up and I still don't. What do I know about being a parent to a little boy? Next to nothing. I don't spend much time around kids, only if they want me to sign a football or something like that. My life is full of adults at my beck and call. I never thought I'd be at the mercy of a child - not at this stage of my life, at least.

I don't know the first thing about them, and April is, without a doubt, an expert on her son. Our son. It'll take some getting used to, calling him 'our son.'

I have a son. I have a beautiful son, with mahogany skin and light eyes, wild curls and his mother's perfect bow-shaped lips. He is a gift. I've been given a gift.

My phone rings, and I jump at the sound. I hurry over to where I left it, expecting April's name on the screen. But instead, it reads: Steph Edwards.

I let it ring a few more times, debating whether or not to pick up, but end up swiping along the bottom of the screen to answer.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey, babe," she replies, sounding cheery. "How's the Windy City?"

I look out the window. I can see the lake not far into the distance, the sky cloudy and gray above it. It's winter in the midwest - not exactly pleasant or pretty.

"Fine," I say. "It's nice. I like it here."

There's no way I'm going to open my mouth about what happened earlier, not over the phone. That's a much deeper, more involved conversation that we'll inevitably have, but not now. Steph doesn't even know April once existed. She is a part of my life and heart that I kept completely to myself, almost to preserve the memory. I had to preserve it, because I never thought I'd get her back.

"That's good," Steph says. "I miss you."

"Miss you, too," I mumble, standing in front of the window while still staring out.

"You okay?" she asks. "You sound distracted."

"I… am," I say, and that's not a lie. "A lot on my mind. Been traveling for a long time. It puts me in a funk."

In all honesty, I don't mind traveling all that much. It isn't a big deal, and I like meeting fans and getting to talk with them. But now, Chicago feels like much more than a travel destination. It feels like I'll be here for a good amount of time.

"I'm sorry, baby," she says. "Anything I can do? I wish you were home. It's been so long."

"I know," I say. "Soon."

There's a long, strained pause between us where the only sound is the phone crackling. Then, Steph clears her throat uncomfortably and speaks again.

"Do you wanna Skype?" she asks. "I could do that thing you like."

I wait too long to answer. My mind is elsewhere. "No," I finally say. "That's… that's okay. Thank you though. Listen, I gotta go. My… Reggie is calling me. I gotta be somewhere for dinner, or something. I'll talk to you soon."

"Okay," she says, sounding dejected. "I love you, Jackson."

"Love you, too," I say, then hang up.

I sit back down in the chair and my chest feels heavy. That was wrong, all wrong. I shouldn't have even picked up, because now she can tell something is off and will be on me about it for days.

Steph and I started dating a year ago. I gave her a promise ring, wearing one myself, about two months ago. Our lives are too busy to get engaged right now, but it's basically a promise that we will get engaged in the future. I stare at the ring now and my heart feels heavy.

This is a lot to take in.

MOLINE, OHIO, 7 YEARS AGO

I wake up around 10am with the sun streaming in through my slatted blinds. I squint against it, rolling onto my other side to face the wall, and sigh deeply. I technically don't have to be up at any specific time, so I stay where I am and reach with my eyes closed for something I know is nearby.

When my hand finds the soft fabric, I lift it to my face and breathe in. It smells just like her, this little pink hoodie, which is why I keep it in my bed. She can't keep my clothes at her house, but I can keep hers at mine. And since we've been spending such little time around one another this summer, I've started to use this Abercrombie zip-up as a crutch of some sort.

It's a little pathetic. But I have no one to impress at the moment, so I let myself smell it and get lost in my girlfriend.

I roll over onto my back, the sweatshirt balled up by my shoulder, and think about her. I picture her face, her flowing red hair, that 100-watt smile, and miss the hell out of her. I want to see her today, that's for sure. I'll make it happen.

I haven't touched her, like really touched her, in what seems like forever. I squint and try to remember the last time we had sex. It was before it got hot, I know that. Which was a damn long time ago - we're overdue. I'll take her to her favorite spot today, down by the private lake, and make her feel good. She's been in such a weird mood lately, maybe it'll put her back to center.

I think about the smooth dip from her ribcage to her hips, the swell of the undersides of her breasts, the poke of her ribs through her skin. I picture her pink lips, the freckles on the bridge of her nose, her dimples when I make her laugh. I can always make her laugh, no matter what. At least, I used to be able to. Lately, she hasn't even been cracking a smile at my stupid jokes.

I think about her legs, tiny and lithe. I remember the way her thighs feel locked around my head, my tongue lapping at the most intimate part of her. I can practically hear all the sounds she makes, she's so damn vocal, and I need her in this bed next to me.

I reach for my lotion and slip my hand inside the front of my shorts. Unabashedly, I stroke myself to thoughts of my girlfriend and come with a muffled grunt, my face pressed into her sweatshirt.

God, I'm sad. I miss her like hell, and we don't even live a mile apart.

I get out of bed and into the shower, washing off what I just did, then get dressed to head outside. I don't have a specific destination in mind, but I know where I'll end up. Around the side of April's house, tapping on her window. And, following my earlier idea, I'll take her to the lake.

But something stops me as I walk out the front door. A piece of paper, on the porch below my feet, right on the welcome mat. I frown, kneel to pick it up, and have to lean back against the house so I don't collapse.

Dear Jackson,

I'm sorry for leaving you, but I had go. I've made a lot of mistakes, and none of them should involve you. You're meant for great things. I never wanted to keep you from those things. I hope you understand that's why I have to go. I love you more than I've ever loved anything. And I'll never stop. But I don't want you to come looking for me. This is what I want. I need to get away from here and start fresh. I can't tell you why. I just need you to forget about me. Just know that I loved you enough to let you go. I need you to do the same.

You'll always be in my heart.

-Peach

I read it again. And again, and again, and again. The words stop making sense, running together in a language I don't speak. She left me? She's gone? I flip the letter over, hoping for something that tells me this is all a cruel joke. But there's nothing.

One paragraph to sum up four years of friendship, four years of devotion - two years I spent knowing she was the big love of my life. A half sheet of paper, ripped carefully at the top. I hold it tight between my hands and realize I'm shaking, unable to move from where I stand on the porch.

How can this be happening? What did I do wrong? Where did she go?

I rush back inside and dial her number, hoping to catch her before she does anything rash. It goes straight to voicemail, so I leave her one.

"April, what are you doing?" I say. "Come back. I don't know what's wrong, but whatever it is, we can fix it. I can fix it. Baby, please… please, listen to me. Come back. I don't… I don't know what to do, please come back."

I hang up the phone and stare at the screen. I call 13 more times, getting the same result with each dial. Her phone is shut off.

I leave my house, then, and go to the Kepners'. I knock on the front door with purpose, something I've never done, and her mother answers with red, bloodshot eyes.

"Can I help you?" she says. Over her shoulder, I see April's sisters gathered around a big wooden table with their father, sniffling too.

"Did you get a letter?" I ask, the words tumbling from my mouth.

"What?" Karen whimpers. "Who are you?"

"I'm Jackson," I say. I debate on telling them the whole truth, because I'm not sure what more there is to lose at this point. But because of my solidarity with their daughter, I say, "I'm April's best friend. I got a letter, too."

I don't let them see it, but they trust me. We search for her together, we call her phone, we do everything in our power. But she's of legal age, so that's not much. We know she's okay - she said so herself. That isn't much of a comfort, but I'm powerless. We all are.

It infuriates me how easily they give up. They send me away on the fifth day I show up, saying that if she was meant to be found, the Lord would have shown the way by now. She's strayed. Permanently.

I'm forced to leave my hometown without the person that made it home. On the plane to Alabama, I stare out the window at the shrinking landscape and wonder where she could be. She's out there somewhere, I know it.

But the world is wide. And she's lost.

…

While at college, I retreat into my head. This was supposed to be a fun and liberating time in my life, not one where I sink into a depression not two days after it starts. April is supposed to be here, too. We were supposed to take this next step in growing up together, but I'm alone. Alone, with hundreds of people surrounding me.

My roommate invites me to a party and I get blackout drunk. I can't remember a single thing that happens that night, but I miss football practice the next morning. I call April's phone, but it doesn't even ring this time. It says the number has been disconnected.

"Fuck you!" I shout, coming to grips with the fact that I'm probably still drunk, not hungover at all. "Fuck you for disappearing!"

I lay there and stare at the ceiling as it spins. In that moment, I hate her for everything she's done. I hate her for disappearing, I hate her for leaving me with just a stupid fucking note, and most of all I hate that I still love her.

"Selfish," I mutter, rolling over. "Fucking selfish. I thought you loved me!"

I know I'm being ridiculous, but I can't stop. I punch my mattress over and over, baring my teeth at the thought of her alone somewhere, thinking she can just up and leave her life and everyone in it.

"Who does that?!" I shout, then jump at the sound of my dorm room door coming open.

"Uh… everything okay, dude?" my roommate asks.

"M'fine," I grunt, and try to go back to sleep.

It works. I sleep for days on end, barely getting out of bed. Just when I have to go to the bathroom. I hardly eat, I don't shower, I don't attend practices, and I definitely don't pick up the phone.

April has a special ringtone. If she calls, I'll know. Everyone else can fuck off.

She can fuck off, too. But that's not to say I wouldn't answer her call.

Time stops existing. Classes might have started, but they might not have. I lose track of what day it is and how many pass. I can barely judge how fast the hours go because I keep our blinds drawn - my roommate doesn't object. He doesn't spend much time in the room. I think he's a little scared of me.

But I don't care. I don't care about anything. I feel like my heart was ripped out and stomped on, left to fester on the ground. When I close my eyes, I can't fall asleep anymore. All I do is lie there, thinking. Thinking about her, worrying about her, hating her, loving her.

Missing her.

Because of my escape into my own head, I don't know how long it takes for my mother to show up. But she does, and she shows up loud.

"Jackson Michael Avery!" I hear, along with manic banging on the door. "Let me in right now, or I will knock this door down."

I open my eyes slowly, wondering if I could be hallucinating.

"I said, I'm going to knock it down!"

"I'm coming," I gripe, crawling out of bed and smelling myself as I walk to let her in.

When I open the door, her face pinches in disgust. "Dear Lord in heaven, you are not my son." She looks me up and down. "My son would never… who are you? What are you doing, Jackson? What has gotten into you? Do I need to call a damn priest?"

"Mom, why are you here?"

"I am here," she says. "Because I got a call from your coach. You're 18 years old, Jackson, and I got a call from your coach. Because you haven't been showing up to practices. You haven't been answering your phone. In fact, you haven't shown your face in a single class yet, and it is week 3, young man."

Damn, three weeks have passed. I had no idea.

"And I don't know what's going on with you, but you better get to talkin' quick. Because I'm not here to hold your hand. I'm here to smack you silly if you think you're going to lie around and cry over a girl instead of use your scholarship."

I blink hard. A girl. She knows.

"That's right," she says. "You must think I'm blind, son. You thought you could hide your relationship with April from me for two years? Open your eyes, Jackson. Because mine were wide open. I saw it all. I know you were in love with her. I'm fully aware of that. And she left you."

"How do you know that?"

"The whole town knows, honey," she says. The term of endearment isn't soft, it's more condescending than anything. She's not here to coddle me. "But it's time you let her go. If she let you go like that, there's no use holding onto her. She's not coming back."

I'm quiet, eyes directed towards the floor.

"I'm sorry she broke your heart, I truly am. You don't deserve to feel like that. But I'll only allow so much wallowing, and you've hit your limit. If you don't get your ass out of this bed and get to the next practice, I'm shipping you back home and you can go to community college while still living under my roof. Paying rent. I won't see you like this. If I have to beat this out of you, I will."

"Yes, ma'am," I say, nodding slightly.

"Thank you," she says. "And you'll thank me later. Trust me on that."

MOLINE, OHIO, 8.5 YEARS AGO

It's my birthday, but the day has long since ended. I'm sitting on my bed, rifling through the cards I got, when I hear a small tap on my windowpane.

I don't pay it any mind, only glancing up for a second before going back to reading. But then, I hear it again. And again.

I get up, setting the cards on my desk, and open it. It's a warm August night, and the air is thick. But not thick enough to where I can't hear her voice.

"Down here," April whispers.

I follow the sound. She's standing by the trellis, wearing a pair of teal athletic shorts and a gray t-shirt. Her hair is up in a bun and she's holding something in her hands I can't quite make out.

My heart beats faster at just the sight of her. I can't help the smile that grows on my face, either. We started dating six months ago, in February. Now, we're exclusive, but barely anyone knows. So, maybe not exclusive publicly. But we are to each other.

"What are you doing?" I call.

"Can I come up?" she asks, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"Sure," I say. "I can come and open the-"

But before I finish my sentence, she starts scaling the trellis and makes it to my window in seconds flat. And that's climbing one-handed, too, because when she gets closer I see what she's holding in her hand is a single chocolate cupcake.

"Happy birthday," she says, half her body hanging inside my window as she gives me a chaste kiss.

"Get in here," I say, steadying her.

She giggles as she tumbles in, pulling her shoes off as she goes to sit on my bed. She hands me the cupcake and I join her as she adjusts to lie with her head on my thigh, knees bent towards the ceiling.

"Thank you for this," I say. "You didn't have to."

"I didn't want you to think I forgot," she says. "It's my boyfriend's birthday. What kind of horrible girlfriend would I be if I didn't bake him something?"

"You already got me that framed picture," I say.

"I know," she says, smiling up at me. "But I like to spoil you."

"Good thing I like it when you spoil me, too," I say, swiping some of the frosting off with my pointer finger before dipping it between her lips.

Her tongue swirls around the tip, getting every last bit, and she closes her eyes.

"Mm," she says. "Gotta say, I'm an expert baker."

I twitch in my pants, but I don't do anything to stop it. "Here," I say. "Have some more."

I take another bit of frosting off and offer it to her, and she does the same thing. She lets her eyes flutter closed again as she grips my wrist with one hand, then I substitute my finger with my lips and give her a long, slow kiss.

"Happy birthday," she says again, then grabs at my face to bring me down for a second kiss.

I set the half-eaten cupcake to the side and smile against her mouth and the weird angle we're at. She notices, too, so she sits up and repositions so her head is on my pillow and her body is open and waiting for me to cover it.

And when I do, it's heavenly. I feel her every curve, every muscle, every breath. We've made out before, but it doesn't get old. I love feeling her body under me, feeling what I can do to her.

We've gotten to second base before, but that's it. I want to know how far we'll get tonight - judging by the look in her eyes, all bets are off.

She wraps her arms around me as we kiss, one leg threading through both of mine. Her tongue darts from between her lips and traces the seam of mine, and I welcome it hungrily. She massages my tongue with hers, letting out little breathy moans as she does, and I'm definitely on my way to being completely hard.

I trail one hand up her side, my thumb at the underwire of her bra as I open my mouth wide and kiss her greedily. She lets her arms rest behind my neck, pushing weight forward, and I subtly rub myself against her thigh.

"Oh…" she whimpers softly, gasping when I move my hand to cup her breast.

"Yeah?" I ask, making sure.

"Yeah," she says, glancing down at where I'm grabbing her.

April is my first serious girlfriend. I've had frivolous 'relationships' before, in middle school and early high school, but I've never touched another girl like this. We're each other's firsts for everything. And I think there's something extra special about that.

When her shirt comes off, I can see her peach fuzz standing on end. I kiss the open plane of her chest, dragging my lips over the cups of her bra as she trembles below me, thighs clenched tight.

"Do you know how to take it off?" she asks, voice wavering.

"I can figure it out," I say. "Do you want me to?"

"Do you want to see them?"

I haven't yet. I've gotten handsy with her plenty of times over her shirt, over her bra, but I've never seen her bare breasts. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about it. All the time.

"Yes," I answer.

She sits up and I wind my hands behind her back. I fiddle with the tiny clasp, my fingers fumbling and unused to the action. She looks up at me after a few awkward, too-long beats have gone by, and smirks.

"Stop laughing," I say. "I've never done one before."

"Then let me," she says, and reaches around to undo it herself. When it's done, she shakes it off and holds up the strap to show me where the clasps are. "See the tiny hooks? You just have to undo them from each other. And it comes apart."

I nod, but I'm not at all listening to her lesson. Instead, my eyes are on her small, pert breasts, her light pink nipples. I notice a freckle on the right one and know that I need, more than anything else, to get my mouth on it.

I lick my lips involuntarily, and she stares at me stare at her.

"Can I…" I stutter, barely able to form words.

I'm hard as hell in my pants right now. I've never seen breasts in real life before. I've seen plenty in porn, but those are all fake and too-big, too perfectly shaped so they look unnatural. April's aren't like that. They're not very big at all, a bit triangular in shape, with a light blue vein running through the middle of her chest. They're unique. They're all her. And she's showing them to me, with purpose.

"I wanna suck on them really bad," I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I have much of a say in the matter.

She covers her face with one hand, most likely to hide her blush. When she comes back, she's giggling with a red tint to her skin. "You can," she says. "That's why I…" She nods, looking down at them, too. "You can."

"Thank god," I say, cupping one in my hand before covering with my mouth. She tastes so sweet and her skin is so smooth, that is until I reach the pebbled part of her areola. I run my tongue over the bumps and she inhales shakily, then holds her breath when I circle her hard nipple with the tip.

"Oh, gosh," she moans, and I feel one of her palms on the back of my head. "Oh, my…"

With my mouth still on her, I sneak one hand down her torso and sandwich it between her legs. Over the material of her teal running shorts, I start rubbing the heel of my palm against her. Her hips lift to meet me, stroke for stroke.

I don't mean to make her come. But, not long after I start, her breath catches in her throat and her body shudders with my mouth on her breast and my hand between her thighs.

When she starts breathing again, a long moan comes out of her and she whispers, "Oh, my god."

She pulls my face up from her chest and holds it between her hands as she kisses me hungrily, dragging my bottom lip between her teeth to worry it with her own.

"I wanna have sex with you," she says, voice strong and sure, yet quiet. "Can we?"

I'm taken aback. I widen my eyes, pausing for a moment to make sure I heard her right. "You wanna sleep with me?" I ask.

"Yes," she says, tracing the shape of my lower lip with her finger. "Do you want to?"

"Of course I do," I say. "I just… you're a virgin, I wanna make sure you're ready."

She snorts. "You're a virgin, too," she says.

"Yeah," I say, called out. "But you… you know, God and everything."

"He has bigger things to worry about," she whispers, lifting my shirt over my head as I sit up.

When I sink inside of her, all my worries and cares drift away like I never had any to begin with. She's warm and tight, wet and welcoming, as my hips snap once and I bury myself all the way in.

I can barely handle the feeling. I always knew sex would feel amazing, but I didn't know it would be like this. This feels like I'm on another planet, in another universe. I don't even think my brain is in my head right now, she feels so damn good.

"Are you - okay," I manage to say, knowing it probably doesn't feel as euphoric to her. I get to be inside her, but she has to get used to a foreign object in there. It has to be weird, at least at first.

But she nods, biting her lower lip and holding on tight to my biceps. "Keep going," she says.

I come way too fast. Embarrassingly fast. And she doesn't come at all. I feel a little humiliated once I pull out and she's left lying there unsatisfied, so as I tie the condom off I try to think of what to do. In some of the porn I watch, I see guys going down on girls and they seem to really like that. But I'd have no idea where to start. What if I'm bad, and she has to pretend, or something? That'd be mortifying.

"You didn't…" I say.

"Yeah," she says. "But I don't mind. I did once, so we're kinda even."

My eyes dart between her legs, where I didn't get much of a chance to look before. Her knees are pressed together now, but I can still see a small thatch of hair there. I want to make her feel good, but I don't want to make her uncomfortable or look like an idiot. I don't want her to remember her first time being shit. And I feel like I control that.

"Do you… uh…" I say, rubbing the back of my neck. "Do you want me to try uh, going down on you?"

She looks confused. "What?"

My eyes flit to her vagina, still hidden. "Like… head," I say.

"What about…?" she asks. "I don't really know what you're saying, Jackson."

I sigh, long but quiet. "Oral, Peach," I say. "My mouth on you… I kinda wanna try."

Her eyes widen. "You know how to do that? Isn't it gross?"

I shake my head. "No, I don't know how, really…" I say. "But I see it in the…" I clear my throat. "Videos I've… watched, and it looks like girls really like it." I can't seem to look her in the face. "And no, it's not gross. It's you." I look up finally and meet her eyes. "I wanna taste you."

"Are you sure?" she asks, elbows bent so her arms fold in the middle of her chest.

I nod, gently prying her knees apart so I can settle between them. I'm just as nervous as she is, but for totally different reasons. I really don't want to mess this up and look like an ass in front of her. I want to seem like I know what I'm doing, at least a little bit. If I make a fool out of myself, I don't know if I'll be able to look her in the eyes ever again.

I tell myself to just go for it. If she doesn't like it, she'll tell me. And we can pretend this never happened.

I run my fingers through the patch of hair and she twitches, craning her neck to see what I'm doing. We make eye contact and I stroke her outer lips with my fingers, coaxing one thigh out further with the other hand. While still touching her, I press my lips to her leg and move inwards, boosting myself with confidence once I get to the apex.

When I cover her with my mouth, I'm surprised by the taste. It's not bad at all, but it's not a taste I'm familiar with. It's not sweet, definitely not sour, and for some reason it's turning me on. A lot. I spend a lot of time running my tongue between her folds slowly, languidly, listening to the sounds she makes because of it.

I'm so hard again, I have to reach down and start beating my dick to her reaction. I know I'm looking for her clit, and I don't think I can find it with my tongue, so I use my free, unworking hand to dip a finger inside her and curve it upwards. I spend a moment or two clunkily searching, probably confusing her, but when she whines and gasps I know I've found it.

I replace my fingers with my mouth, spreading her apart while stimulating those nerves with a flat tongue. It doesn't take her long after that, and I pump extremely quickly so I can come at the same time she does.

When it's over, we're both spent. I rest the side of my head against her inner thigh and look up at her, most likely wearing the same cloudy expression.

"Not virgins," she breathes, giggling at the end.

I press a punctuating kiss to the inside of her knee. "Nope."

She grabs my head and pulls me up, my torso resting overtop her throbbing center. "I love you," she whispers.

"I love you."

DOWNTOWN CHICAGO, PRESENT

"Look at this, mommy. Look what I spelled."

"I - love - you. teddy bear! That's so good. I love you, too."

I hear the two before I catch sight of them, but when I do I can't help but smile. They're sitting on a bench, waiting for me outside Grant Park, bundled in winter gear. Theo is holding up April's phone, proudly displaying what he'd evidently just typed.

I was supposed to leave Chicago yesterday. But I pulled some strings and will be staying for a little longer. As I look at the two of them, I know I couldn't have left.

But I won't tell April that. She'll be none the wiser. If I tell April I extended my trip because of her, she'll insist I get back to my normal life. And that's something I don't think I want to do. At least, not yet.

Theo whispers something in April's ear, and she makes eye contact with me and smiles. "Hey," she says, standing. "You made it."

It's frigid outside, the first snow threatening to fall any day now, but April invited me to join one of she and Theo's winter traditions. Riding a horse-drawn carriage around downtown. On the phone, she didn't mention it being Theo's idea to ask me along, but I still wonder if it was. The last time I saw her, I'd mentioned the promise ring but didn't go into much detail. That was about two days ago, then I get a call out of the blue to come down to Michigan Avenue today.

I know April better than anyone, though. And I know she wants to talk.

"Of course I did," I say. "Hey, little man."

"Hi," Theo says, leaning against April's legs and looking up at me with wide eyes and a small smile.

"Ready to go find a carriage?" April asks, touching the side of our son's winter hat. "They usually gather around Water Tower."

It's not hard to find one that's available. When we get situated, I inconspicuously pull out a 50-dollar bill and hand it to the driver, but April pipes up before he can take it.

"No," she says. "You don't have to do that. I can pay."

"I got it, don't worry," I say.

"You're our guest," she says. "I have the money."

I smile. "April, I want to. Please let me."

Her eyebrows lower and her expression changes. "I have my own money, Jackson," she says. "You don't have to throw yours around. I can- I can take care of it. I've got it."

I sit back, taking the bill with me. Her defensive tone surprises me - if she thinks I was trying to prove something by paying the driver, she's way off. I was just trying to make a kind gesture. But apparently, she didn't see it that way.

"Okay," I say. "By all means."

"Thank you," she says, and hands a bill that I can't see to the man. She keeps it hidden, wrapped in her palm.

When we sit back, a silence sits over the three of us until Theo speaks. "Do the horsies get tired, mommy?" he asks.

"They like doing it, I think," she says, wrapping an arm around his waist where he sits on her lap. "If they get tired, they can rest."

"Do they get cold?"

"No," she says. "They have a lot of muscle and fat to keep them warm."

"Like Daddy?"

Her face turns beet red. "I…" she says, but doesn't finish before plunking her forehead down on the back of Theo's shoulder. When she picks her head up, she's laughing as she looks at me. "To be clear, I said you keep warm out there on the field when it's cold because you have a lot of muscle. Not fat."

I pretend to be hurt. "Nah, you called me fat," I say. "The truth comes out." I look at Theo. "Mommy thinks I'm fat. Dang… my heart! That gets me right in my heart."

Theo giggles and when he does, he looks just like April. Their dimples pop in the exact same way.

"I did not!" she says, laughing too. "I swear I didn't. He just wondered, in just your football uniform, how-"

"No, it's okay, I get it," I say, still going along with it. "I'm fat. It's fine, just say it. I'm fat."

April dissolves into laughter and Theo stands up in the middle of the carriage. "Don't worry, daddy," he says. "You're not fat."

"Aw, thanks, little man," I say. "At least one of you is on my team."

"I'm on your team!" Theo says, stutter-stepping a bit as the carriage rattles along the busy streets of downtown. "I have a jersey. And it's even your number. And it has your last name."

I look over Theo's shoulder at April, who's nodding.

"That's awesome," I say. "I definitely need to see that on you here pretty soon."

"Okay!" Theo says. "I can show you when we get home!"

I love the way he says that. Like we're all going home to the same place. I smile to myself picturing it, what our domestic life could've looked like had things gone differently, but then I force myself to stop. I am in a relationship. I can't be thinking like that.

"Mama," Theo all-but-whispers. "Can I sit on his lap?"

April meets my eyes, silently asking for permission. Of course, I nod. "Come on up, buddy," I say, patting my thighs.

The weight of my son resting on me is something I never knew I needed. I never knew how comforting is it to have a child, no less a child that's a part of you, safe in your arms.

I'm not sure where to put my hands, especially with April's eyes boring into us, so I set them on my legs. But, unsatisfied with that, Theo reaches behind and grabs my wrists to make them act as a seatbelt around his waist.

"You're way bigger than Mommy," he says, giggling softly as he leans against me, resting the back of his head on the front of my shoulder. "You're warm, too."

"All that muscle and fat," I say, jiggling him a little.

He laughs again. Suddenly, my only goal in life is to continue to make my son laugh.

We continue our ride through the city without talking much, at first. After a while, I feel Theo relax, and April catches my eye.

"He's asleep," she says, smiling. "Can I get a picture?"

I nod, and she pulls out her phone. I notice it's banged up, not the latest model, and keep it in mind to buy her a new one. Then, I take that thought back. She won't want it.

"Cute," she says. "I'll send it to you."

We're quiet for a few more moments until I speak up this time. "I know we need to talk about… what I said," I say, touching the ring with my thumb. "This."

She looks down at my hand, then back to my face. "Yes," she says. "That."

"You deserve the story," I say. "So, I'll tell you. Um… her name is Steph. We met at a bar, back in Seattle. At first, it was just a… um, a one-night-stand sort of deal." I whisper that part, just in case Theo is anywhere close to consciousness. "But then, I don't know. It turned into something else, I guess."

She makes a sound. "You guess?"

"Right," I say, sighing. "We're good together. She… um, she doesn't know about you."

"I never figured you'd tell people about me," April says. "You don't have to sound so guilty."

I frown a bit. "Well, I do feel that way," I say.

"Why?" she asks.

"Because I stopped looking for you," I say.

"Jackson," she says, tone even. "I never meant for you to find me. When someone doesn't want to be found…" Her voice dies off. "It's not your fault. I did this. Okay? So, don't feel guilty."

She can say that all she wants, but it doesn't make the sick feeling in my gut go away. The one I get whenever I look at she and Theo smiling together, sitting close, or when I watch her act as a parent. It's a mixture of jealousy, resentment, and guilt. But what's even more confusing, is that there's a layer of warmth beneath those emotions. Warmth that tells me I could watch the two of them act as mother and son all day. For the rest of my life.

I shake my head to clear it. "So, the ring is Steph's. Well, mine. But she has one, too. Like I said, it's not an engagement ring. I couldn't correct you that first night because, well, my mind was going crazy. This ring was my last thought."

Her face transforms into something I can't read, but it looks like some form of surprise and realization.

"Jackson," she says, voice unassuming, just like I've heard Theo's sound.

I look up and meet her eyes. We make lasting, meaningful contact for what feels like the first time since we've met again.

"Do you still love me?"

I should be shocked by her question. I should be bumbling, not knowing what to say, tripping over my words. Maybe, I should even be angry with her for assuming that I would. But, after all these years, April still knows me best.

"Yes," I answer, holding Theo a little tighter. "In a way I don't understand."

She takes pause for only a moment, eyes never drifting away. Then, she says, very quietly, "Me, too."

The ride goes on for a long time. April scoots a little closer to me, touching our son's arm and holding his slack hand.

"We should be friends," she says, looking from him to me. "We shouldn't… you're taken."

"I'm taken," I say, nodding.

"And it'll only confuse him," she says, stroking Theo's beautiful skin. "If we tried anything more. And, you're taken."

"I am taken."

"For him, let's be friends."

I search her face. It's still so much the same as it was when she left me. The same blush, same freckles, same dimples. It's like she's been locked in a time capsule all these years.

"For us, too," I say.

…

I drop the two of them off at their apartment. Theo is still groggy, so April carries him out of the car and he's lax on her chest as I walk her to the front door.

We stand at the entrance, my hands shoved into my pockets, her eyes wandering my features. A small smile appears on her lips, though I don't ask why.

"Today was great," she says. "Thanks for coming."

"No," I say. "Thank you."

I lean forward and give her a kiss on the cheek, long and lasting. I don't pull away immediately, I let myself rest there, where I was once so comfortable, until I'm ready to let go.