Page 113 of People Like Us

Color flooded his cheeks instantly, that coral a shade duller than it had been in my memories. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

My heart stumbled, then sprinted. August started walking toward me, slowly. I stepped forward, neither of us rushed. There was no dramatic collision. No movie reunion. Just two people crossing a gym floor while a decade of regret sat between them like a funeral procession.

When he finally stopped in front of me, neither of us spoke.

I became aware of everything at once. The weight of my wedding ring. The ache in my chest. The pulse hammering in my throat. The tiny scar beneath his right eye I’d forgotten until that moment.

The way he still twisted rings when he was nervous.

God. He was still real. A long silence stretched between us before I laughed softly. The sound of glass trying not to crack.

“I’ve thought about this moment a thousand times,” I admitted. My voice felt strangely far away. “I kept wondering what I’d say to you. Now I’ve forgotten every line I’ve practiced.”

His smile widened slightly. “How about something honest?”

His voice had aged into something overused and the thought of anyone else hearing it sent a pang of jealousy through me.

I laughed again, this time it sounded dangerously close to relief. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It didn’t seem like I had any other choice.”

The answer made something hopeful unfurl inside me. A stupid, dangerous thing.

I bit back a smile before it could fully form. Then my gaze dropped to his hands, where a single thin silver band sat on his left ring finger, worn and smooth. My stomach tightened.

“You got married.”

August followed my gaze, before flashing deliberately at my own left hand. The diamond there glistened beneath the gym lights. “You got married.” He echoed the words back to me like a private joke I couldn’t remember the story behind.

“Yeah. I guess I did.” I flexed my fingers unconsciously.

August nodded. “I told you, you’d find somebody who would make you happy.”

I willed my hands to remain put at my sides, but I ached to raise them to my chest. My voice came out hoarse as I said, “Yeah, you did.”

August studied me like he could see the machinery turning beneath the skin. Then quietly asked, “Are you not happy?”

“Yes. Of course, I’m happy.” I said with practiced ease. It wasn’t a lie. I loved my husband and our son. I was grateful for them, and wouldn’t give them up for anything. But there was always a part of me that wondered if I could have them both—I stopped the thought immediately.

August tilted his head with that same skeptical look he had worn so often when we were just eighteen. The same look that had always made me feel transparent.

“Then what’s wrong?” The gym seemed impossibly quiet. I could hear my own breathing. Could feel my pulse in my fingertips. When I finally answered, my voice barely existed.

“You haunt me still.” I admitted. Something flickered across his face. I pressed forward before I lost my nerve. “I pray for your ghost nightly.”

August barked out a laugh. Loud enough to startle people around us. The sound echoed through the gym. Several people turned. His face bloomed coral with an almost tired kind of amusement.

“I know,” he laughed.

I stared at him. “What?”

“I know.” His smile widened—sad and knowing and strangely affectionate. “You keep me here in these damn pages like it’ll make a difference.”

My blood turned cold. Around us, conversations seemed to stop. The gym lights felt too bright. The floor shifted beneath me.

“What are you talking about?” I asked with a shaky voice.

August laughed again, softer. “It’s been ten years, Lola. And you still can’t be honest.”