Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK (43 page)

Key clenched in my palm, I squealed and ran to the front door, nearly knocking my head against it as I struggled to get it open. I burst onto the front porch, and there in the driveway sat an older model, yet adorable, silver two-door car.

With a motorcycle parked directly behind it.

The next two minutes flew by in a blur. I stared at my car and then at Wes and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or both. Marta, bless her heart, had taken one look at Wes astride his idling bike and immediately ushered everyone back inside the house with bribes of cake and ice cream. I thanked Dad profusely for the car and promised I’d be inside soon.

I couldn’t imagine that anything Wes had to say at this point would take long.

“What are you doing here?” My breath puffed in the cold air, and I couldn’t keep the tension from my voice as I slowly made my way down the driveway.

He killed the engine and climbed off his bike, setting the kickstand and pocketing his keys before offering me a half smile. “Happy birthday.” I noticed a bulge in his leather jacket pocket. A birthday gift? Unlikely. He owed me nothing.

“Sweet ride.” Wes nodded toward my car, and I turned toward it with pride, grateful even more for the distraction.

“Yeah, Dad didn’t do too bad.” I ran my hand over the shiny, clean bumper, exhilaration at my newfound freedom threatening to burst through my skin.

“Have you sat in it yet?”

“No. What, you don’t have something manly to prove by looking under the hood first?”

Wes smirked. “Hardly. Come on. Get in.”

He actually opened the driver’s door for me before walking around to the other side, something he’d never done before. Probably all the birthday gift I’d get from him.

I nestled back against the seat—not leather, but at least they were clean—and rested my hands on the steering wheel. A slow smile seeped across my face. My car.
My
car. No more buses or worn-out shoes or carrying heavy book bags for a mile. No more walking everywhere under the sun.

Oops. Note to self—would
definitely
have to cut back on the mochas now.

Wes slid into the passenger seat, and my car-euphoria bubble popped. “How did you know about the party?”

He leaned his head against the seat, allowing me a full view of his profile, and my stomach fluttered. “Marta invited me.”

I didn’t know whether to kick her or hug her. “I’m surprised you came.”

“Why? Because I freaked out on you the other day, overreacted, and said things I shouldn’t have?”

I bit my lower lip. “Uh, yeah. Basically.”

“That was sarcasm.” He inhaled deeply and exhaled with a short puff of air. “Listen, PK. I’m sorry. When it comes to my dad, I have some hot buttons.” He finally looked over at me, and the sincerity in his eyes almost did me in. “You pushed them. But it’s just because I don’t want him to have anything to do with you. With us.”

“Is there an ‘us’?” The words slipped out before I could decide if they were worthy. I didn’t have anything to offer. I was still a mess myself—I had no business trying to help someone else. And a relationship with Wes—now, just as he was, with all his drama and pain and hurts—would be impossible if he didn’t allow God some kind of foothold first. But how could I say that without it sounding like an ultimatum again, without it coming across as if he wasn’t on my level?

A level that right about now felt like rock bottom.

“I hope so.” Wes took my hand, which I’d rested on the gearshift, and folded his fingers against mine. “But once again, that’s really up to you.”

I twisted in my seat to face him as the tears built, sensing this was about to become the worst birthday in the history of the world. How many more times could we hurt each other before this—this
thing
between us—would finally end?

Apparently one more time.

I shivered, a chill that had nothing to do with the low temps outside the car. “Wes, nothing has changed.”

He pressed one finger to my lips, drawing me to silence. “Do you want to know where I’ve been the past month?”

I tried to play it off, but in all honesty I was dying to know. “If you want to tell me.”

“At school.”

I stared at him, blinking, sure I’d missed a step. “Come again?”

“I enrolled at the local university outside of town. I started last week.” He brushed one hand in the air as if ridding the car of a pesky fly. “There was a bunch of paperwork and forms to fill out and some financial aid stuff to process, so I practically lived up there for a while. But I’m all set.”

“You’re going to college?” I stared at Wes, unsure if I should make a big deal out of this incredible news or not. “On a scholarship?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” He snorted. “It’s your fault. All that talk you gave me about wasting my talent.” He shrugged. “Thought I’d give it a try.”

“That’s … great.” I licked my lips, faltering for the right words. I wanted him to know how proud I was, but at the same time I had no claim on him to really express it. I settled for neutral. For safety. Careful to control the pitch of my voice, I nodded stiffly. “I’m happy for you.”

He squeezed my hand. “Addison, what I said on my porch is still true—I really did like your church. And I don’t really think you’re a hypocrite.” He winced. “I was just ticked.”

“No, it’s true. I am.” I wrestled my hand away, all thoughts of control and neutrality flying out the window. “Everyone is a hypocrite, in a sense, because no one is perfect. But being a Christian isn’t about being perfect. It’s not about the rules and black and white like I once thought. It’s just being real and honest before God. Letting Him take over and lead you. Prompt you toward good decisions. And—” I stopped short and groaned. “Oh gosh, I can’t even talk about it without preaching a sermon. You must think I’m awful.”

“No, PK.” Wes reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the back of his knuckles brushing gently across my cheek. “All those times you tried to talk to me before, it wasn’t authentic.” His hand slowly drew away from my face. “But this is real. This is you.”

“But I’m never going to be the girl who can ride on the back of your motorcycle or get matching tattoos.” I gestured around my car. “I’m cloth interior to your leather.” I let out a half chuckle. “I’m the girl who
wants
to be in the third row at church every week.”

Wes leaned in toward me, eyes dancing like he had a secret. “Sounds like my kind of girl.”

I reeled back. “So what are you saying? Are you ready to give church another try?” I swallowed hard. “And not just church, but God? Because the former really isn’t important when compared.”

Wes let out a sigh. “I’m not saying I’m ready to sing ‘Kumbaya’ and sway around a campfire. But I think I can handle sitting on a pew with you. And listen with an open mind.” A slow smile built across his features, one that coated my stomach with butterflies and dared to let me hope I might get my birthday wish after all.

And I don’t mean the Lamborghinis.

“Let’s just take it from there, okay?” Wes’s voice dropped, his husky whisper filling the space between us. “I’m trying, PK. And not
for
you, but because of you.”

“That’s all I can ask,” I whispered back, unable to stop the smile that surely matched his. He eased toward me, and my heart jump-started in anticipation of his kiss. I tilted my head, meeting him halfway, lips parted, ready for …

A chaste kiss across my cheek.

“I almost forgot your birthday present.” Wes reached into his jacket pocket, leaving me in the driver’s seat completely confused. “Here. Happy birthday.”

He handed me a box of movie-theater-sized candy, a big orange bow on top covering the letters.

I took it slowly, adrenaline still flooding my body from the kiss-that-wasn’t, and numbly pulled off the bow to reveal …

Gummi bears.

I snorted. Then snickered. Then tossed my head back and laughed so hard, tears filled my eyes.

“What’s so funny?” Wes took the box from me and studied it as if it held the answers to my hysteria. “Isn’t this your favorite candy? That day in the store—”

My guffaw broke him off, and his obvious confusion only made me laugh harder. I clutched my stomach as tears fell down my cheeks. If he only knew. Oh, if he only knew.

“Sorry.” I hiccuped, finally trying to get control of myself. “It’s just a long story.” To put it mildly. I knew better than to ask God for a sign, but this one seemed a little too coincidental to be a coincidence, if you know what I mean.

“Whatever. I’d rather make you laugh than cry.” He knuckled away a rogue tear still dotting my cheek.

I sobered. “You’ve done your share of both so far.”

“Today’s your birthday—a fresh start. How about as your real gift I promise to only do the former?”

His hand cradled my face, and I offered a tentative smile. “Deal.” Only time would tell if he could keep such a promise. But I was more than interested in waiting around and finding out.

He edged toward me, pressing his forehead against mine. Once again I eagerly awaited a kiss that didn’t come.

I pulled back slightly to see his eyes. “I promise I won’t get hysterical again. I’m done laughing.”

“No. It’s not that.” Wes reached up and tangled a strand of my hair around his finger, drawing me close but still not kissing me. He closed his eyes and gently pressed his cheek against mine as if I were breakable. “Things are going to be different this time.”

The disappointment over the lack of kiss faded as respect and a little bit of awe filled the gap. Wes wasn’t kidding. He really had changed. He really was trying. This wasn’t the same boy who’d tried to push me into something I wasn’t ready for that night at the impromptu picnic.

This was a man.

“We should get back inside to your party.” Wes finally pulled away, letting out a ragged breath that proved he wanted to kiss me as much as I’d wanted him to. My respect grew.

“There’s plenty of time for partying. I haven’t even opened my gifts yet.” I tore open the box of gummi bears and poured a few out. “Speaking of gifts, do you want one?”

“Sure.” He plucked a green and a yellow bear from my palm. “I never told you this, but they’re my favorite, too.”

The red gummi bear froze halfway to my mouth as I stared at Wes in surprise. His favorite. After all this time … I popped the candy in my mouth and chewed quickly to hide my smile.
Thanks, God
. There were signs, and then there were
signs
. Regardless, this was one PK who finally knew what she wanted and, most importantly, who she was.

And suddenly lemon drops didn’t hold nearly the appeal.

Betsy St. Amant lives and writes in Louisiana. This multi-published author is a wife, mother, former youth Sunday school teacher, and avid reader who has a heart for teenagers and enjoys sharing the wonders of God’s grace through her stories.