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“What? Why?”
“Because sixty people live here year round.”
“And I thought Harborview was a small town,” she snorts. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about work, though. They’re relying on me and when I don’t show up tomorrow, absolutely no one will be there to cover for me.” She looks genuinely worried now. “Oh God, Carter, what if I get fired?”
“If they fire you over missing a day of work because you’re stranded on an island, they aren’t an employer worth working for. And someone else will have to pick up the slack for once.”
“But I don’t like not even being able to let them know,” she says. “I’m not like that. I stick to my commitments.” She says that last part fiercely, almost like it’s pointed right at me, and I wince internally.
Because she’s not wrong. I didn’t keep my commitments to her. Maybe we never made any out loud, but we both felt whatwas between us, and I threw it all away, acting like it meant nothing to me.
“Angel,” I start to say. “I know I fucked up and I?—
“What did you just call me?”
“Angel. Because you hate when I call you Ange,” I say, even though that’s not it at all.
The fierceness from a few moments ago disappears and her face becomes inscrutable once more. I’m left guessing, filling in the blanks, trying to figure her out. Is she upset about the nickname Angel? Is she mad I mentioned how much she dislikes the nickname Ange? Is she unhappy I brought up our past so boldly?
And I know, IknowI can’t meet her impassive expression with one of my own. I need to be open—one of us has to. But I’m not used to it—to sharing myself with others.
“I want to apologize,” I finally say. “For how I acted years ago.”
“It’s fine,” she says firmly, getting up off of the bed. She walks over towards the window and looks out of it, her back to me.
“No, it’s not. I didn’t keep my commitments to you. I didn’t—I wasn’t honorable,” I admit.
“You never made any commitments to me, though,” she says. She turns around, a smile on her face. And I can’t tell if it’s real or not.
“Maybe not in name, but we,” I pause, searching for the right words. “We were…we were…”
“What, Carter?” She takes a step towards me and I zero in on her face. Her brows are arched just a bit, like she’s genuinely wondering what I’m going to say.
I imagine saying exactly how I feel for once.
We were in love.
But was she?
We had sex a few times over the course of a week. In between, we spent every waking moment together. Until I got an internship and left Harborview for the summer. She tried to keep in touch, but I was too caught up in my job and my future plans for school and my career. And I didn’t feel ready: for it, for her, for love. I promised myself I’d finish school and fix things. That we’d get our chance when I was ready.
It took me a while, but about five years ago, right as I started my PhD, I felt ready. But Angela…Angela didn’t seem to feel that way about me anymore.
“We were something. We were friends, at least,” I answer lamely.
“Right,” she says. “Friends. And what are we now?”
“You tell me, Angel.”
She laughs at that, but it’s a hard and brittle sound. “You have a lot of nerve, Carter. Asking that question when you’ve hardly ever given me an indication of how you feel. Ever. Getting emotion out of you is like squeezing water from a stone.”
“As if you’re any better,” I bite back. Because we’re two sides of the same damaged coin, tarnished from years of locking things up.
“At least I tried,” she hisses. “I tried to keep in touch. I made it damn clear how I felt, with my actions. But you? I got nothing from you.” She snorts. “Carter Steel can’t be caught dead feeling.”
“I swear it wasn’t like that. I promise.”
“How was it, then?”
