The Wrong Path - By Vivian Marie Aubin du Paris Page 0,69

Will began, his voice soft, “I hurt my arm pretty bad. They said I would never play baseball again. I was sitting in the front yard, angry at everything, when I saw you walk out of your house. You were wearing this light blue dress and you had your hair up in a ponytail, and you were wearing this big smile. You called back into the house that you would be back before dinner. Then you shut the door, walked to the tree between our houses, and sat down and started crying.” Will’s eyes focused on her. “Suddenly my hurt arm didn’t seem so bad. You looked so sad. I thought, if you would just stop crying, my arm could stay broken forever.” He held up his right arm and flexed his hand. “It didn’t, but the next year you transferred to our school.”

Annabelle felt hot tears slide down her cheeks as she looked up at him. He reached up and carefully wiped the tears away, his expression softer than she had ever seen it. “I don’t know how I would have gotten over what happened if I hadn’t seen you that day.”

“I wish,” she said softly, her voice thick with tears, “that you had come over to comfort me then.”

He offered a half-smile. “I have been wishing that for years.”

She smiled lightly. “I think you more than made up for it, though.”

He leaned down and kissed her lingeringly on the forehead. Her heart ached in a way she had never felt before, with so much happiness that it hurt. When he pulled back and looked down at her, his dark eyes loving and warm, she thought she would break.

And then, her emotions swirling around her, she reached up and kissed him.

Will’s lips were warm and soft against hers, smooth and gentle. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, drawing her impossibly closer, sealing the distance between them. She locked her fingers in the silky strands of his hair, holding him to her, refusing to let go.

A while later they were laying together on the couch, Annabelle lying contentedly against his chest. Will had one arm behind his head against the arm of the couch, the other lightly stroking her hair. She smiled into his neck, sighing deeply at the faded cologne scent that still lingered around him.

Will let out a sigh against her hair and shifted, slowly sitting up. Annabelle sat up as well, sitting beside him. She frowned at the almost reluctant look on his face, alarm speeding up her heart.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He looked over at her. “There’s something you should hear,” he told her. Her heart skipped as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a cell phone. “It’s how I knew you’d gotten into a fight with Trevor.”

Startled, she sat up straighter. “You knew?” she asked.

He looked down at the cell phone and then paused, frowning. She watched anxiously as he stared at the phone, practically hearing the wheels in his head turning.

And then Will’s eyes suddenly grew large and his head lifted, his face filled with disbelief and amazement. “That son of a bitch,” he breathed. Annabelle gaped at him, her heart hammering against her ribs as he quickly dialed a number, listening intently.

A machine’s voice filled the quiet room. “You have one saved message,” it announced.

“Hey… Will?” Annabelle heard Trevor’s voice say through the speaker. “You’re probably up at the barn, but can you send me a text when you get this to let me know you’re okay? Your friends haven’t heard from you all week. Mom’s funeral is tomorrow, too… It’s at eleven at the church. And, um…” Her heart skipped as she heard Trevor let out a deep breath. “Look, Will… I’m sorry about the other day. And… if you see Annabelle… will you tell her I’m sorry? I… I didn’t know. I guess I should have, but I… I just didn’t. Typical Trevor, right Will? Anyway… I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Will. Alright, well… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The machine’s voice took over. “To delete this message, press seven. To save it—“

Will ended the call.

Annabelle’s mind spun. She felt rooted to the couch, stunned. Trevor had known where Will was the entire time? That was why he hadn’t been worried. And he had asked Will to tell Annabelle he was sorry. As if he knew Annabelle would find him. And speaking about something he should have known, as if he should have known all along, but hadn’t…? Saying he was sorry?

Saying he