Page 56 of When You Wish Upon a Wideout

Fuck it. Beau hardly finished the thought before he pulled Sienna in, sealing the gap between their bodies. Their mouths moved against each other as if they were battling all that was between them—love, happiness, and disappointment.Fight for it, Sienna,Beau thought as she fed a delicious groan into his mouth.Fight for this with me.

His thoughts silenced, every sense focusing in on Sienna, overwhelmed that they kissed and moved together as if they had never been apart. She nipped at his bottom lip in the way that drove him crazy, and Beau kissed her fiercely, deeply as she kept up until he cupped her chin to slow it down, to drown in her sweetness.

Beau could have sworn that they were teenagers, that the stars glowing above them didn’t come from a professional installation, but from a night-light he had purchased at Walmart for five bucks just to see her smile.

But they were no longer teenagers who had to keep quiet behind a locked door as they explored each other’s bodies, searching for the smallest spot that brought the most gratifying kind of noise. Sienna’s hands clutched and clawed at his shirt, pressing harder against him. Beau’s hands glided to her lower back, to the perfect swell he gripped headily. But when Sienna’s mouth found his neck, the intensity and desperation with which she nipped and kissed his skin struck Beau with a heavy dose of gravity, bringing him out of the sky and onto the ground of the auditorium. Sienna was kissing him like time was running out on the clock.

It was as if with each press of her mouth, with the fierce flexing and gripping of her hands, Sienna was trying to steal pieces of him, savor them, like they would soon be a memory she might need to revisit one day.

I’ll be here,he promised.For good this time.

Beau’s hand went to her cheek, directing her mouth back to his and pressed his lips to hers, holding the kiss steady before he pulled away. Sienna’s eyes were still shut as her face fell forward in search of his. His hand held her in place with only a breath between.

“I was wrong before.”

Sienna’s lids fluttered from their half-mast position in a daze. Her chest heaved, and Beau couldn’t stop himself from letting his hand leave her face to run down her neck and chest, over the swell of her breast before resting on her heart.

Shivering beneath his touch, Sienna asked, “About what?”

“About the gouda.”

She leaned into his palm when he returned a hand back to her face. Beau pressed a small, confident kiss to her mouth.

“The best taste in the world is you after eating a Chipwich.” When a small smile crept across her mouth, Beau traced it with his tongue. “Back then and now.”

And because Beau knew in his bones that second and third chances didn’t happen every day, for good measure, he silently addedand always.

i wish it will always be this way

Dear Mom,

For the second time in my life, my breath was taken away from me.

You were around for the first. It was that time Beau and I jumped out of the tree, and when he did, landing on his ankle funny. We were little, so you might think I was afraid we would get in trouble. But really, I didn’t care about that at all. I was afraid because he was hurt.

The second time was at this week’s game.

I was on the end zone sideline when it happened—the moment Beau caught the ball—when he fumbled it after a defensive back hit him so hard, I could hear the breath sucked out of him too. They went helmet to helmet. What an awful sound. Just writing it makes me shiver.

Beau didn’t move for two minutes and eight seconds. I know, Mom, because I counted. It took seven seconds of him lying there for the refs to blow the whistle, another eleven for the trainer and Dad to jog out to him. And then it took 110 seconds for him to sit and be helped off the field.

I swear I couldn’t breathe the entire 128 seconds.

I gave everyone space but hung close by as Beau sat in front of the trainer asking him questions.

Do you know where you are?

What day is it?

What’s eight plus eight?

Beau answered slowly, his voice dragging a bit. I knew, even without seeing his eyes, he had a concussion.

And I knew he was terrified.

During halftime, I found Henry in the stands and shoved my camera at him. “Hold this.”

I wandered nervously to the locker room, waiting. It took another eight minutes, nearly all the break, but Dad and the trainers came out, and then some players.

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