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I have asked myself this question too many times this week. Have questioned if he ever had intentions of returning. Even if I ask Gavin, would he tell me the truth? Or only what I want to hear? Would he sugarcoat the reason it took him more than a decade to come back here? To me. If he is doing so well in his career, if he still loves me the way he claims, why didn’t he return sooner? This whole situation frustrates me on so many levels. I don’t know which way is up anymore.
God, it feels as if I’m in the middle of an epic battle. The battle for my affection. And somehow, I became the prize. Against my own volition. What if I want things to stay how they are? What if I don’t want a relationship—other than friendship—with either one of them? Do I get a say in the matter? Of all the people in this situation, I should get the biggest say in the outcome. My heart is the one on the line, after all.
“I’m not nervous to be around you,” I say after a long stretch of silence. “More worried, I guess.”
“Worried?” He is quick to ask.
“Yes. I don’t want things to change. And whether intentional or not, relationships change the dynamic between people and friendships. This” —I point between the two of us— “is perfect right now. What if us being more than what we are changes that? I can’t lose you as a friend, Jonas. It would crush me.”
Jonas’s fingers trace small circles above my knee, the gentle motion is soothing and worrisome. I have always enjoyed Jonas’s company. Always smiled and laughed and had a good time when we were together. A time here and there, I thought maybe he wanted more than friendship, but he never made a move or asked me on a date. So I brushed it off and assumed I read him wrong.
Ninety-nine percent of our outings include Shelly and/or Erin. It isn’t me not wanting to spend individual time with him. More like the thought never occurred to me for us to hang out alone. Jonas is my friend, and I usually do friend stuff in group settings. Things hav
e always been that way. And only occasionally veer off.
“Believe me, I know exactly where you’re coming from. That’s the reason I’ve never said anything. Never put myself out there to you. Because I’d be broken without you,” he confesses then pauses, taking a breath before locking eyes with me. “But now… it seems like if I wait to tell you how I feel, I’ll miss the opportunity. Or I could lose you. He’s had your heart once before. If he’s lucky enough to have it again, I…”
He doesn’t finish his thought as he drops his chin, but I know what he would have said. I wouldn’t stand a chance. Is he right? If Gavin somehow won my heart again, would I cave and be with him? Part of me instantly says yes—the part that has longed for him for years. Another part of me says no—that being the logical, rational side. The side that reminds me of the painful days, the loneliness and the heartache from before. All the tears and cold nights and nightmares.
I lay my hand over Jonas’s and his eyes jerk up to meet mine. “I know,” I tell him. “But no matter what, you’ll always be a part of me.”
Seconds later, Shelly and Erin plop back on their stools and look over at the woman singing karaoke. My thoughts run on high speed, and I have no clue what song is playing, nor do I care. All I know is, below the wooden grain of this tall tabletop, Jonas hasn’t removed his hand, and neither have I.
Chapter Twenty
Gavin
Fifteen years ago
One more hour and Thanksgiving break starts. Nine glorious days of not getting up before the sun. Of sleeping in and zero required reading or assignments. But those aren’t the best parts of time off school. Not by a long shot.
What I’m really over the moon about is having uninterrupted time with Cora.
Sure, I see her throughout the week at school. And sporadically we see each other on the weekend to “study.” But we are never really alone. When we are “studying,” it is in her living room or mine, our parents not far away. One of us on the couch, the other between their legs on the floor.
On occasion, I catch myself playing with a strand of her hair while she sits in front of me, arms warm against the inside of my calves. Or I lean into her legs when I’m cross-legged on the floor. She never brushes me off or acts as if the gesture makes her uncomfortable. And every once in a while, the light brushing of her fingertips draws on the skin of my neck. When she does this, I have to remember how to breathe. How to think.
We have preplanned a couple days of Thanksgiving break. Meeting with friends, hanging out and playing Putt-Putt or bowling. But I hope she will want to spend more time together, just the pair of us. Within a week of school starting, she easily slipped into friend—if not best friend—territory. A week after that, I craved to see her as much as possible and had an inkling she would always be more. At least to me. And I hope she reciprocates.
The bell rings and cheers can be heard throughout the school. Cheers of a week of freedom and sleep and no schedule. Cheers to less supervision and good times with friends. Closing my textbook, I stuff it and my notebook into my backpack. I slide out of my seat with a smile plastered on my face and head out the door. This week will be perfect.
Through the dark lenses on my sunglasses, I stare out at the water and watch Cora as she splashes Shelly in the shallows. Although it is late November, the sun beats down mild temperatures ranging from the low eighties to the high seventies in this part of Florida. The Gulf is still warm, but will cool in the next couple of weeks.
Micah, Shelly’s older brother and my best friend for the last few years, sits next to me and doesn’t hide the fact he ogles women ten-plus years his senior. But I’m cool with him being distracted. It disguises the fact I can’t seem to remove my eyes from Cora’s creamy white skin. The pallor similar to the snow I saw last winter when my parents took us on a road trip during winter break.
Hair black as coal, skin white as cotton, lips red as fresh cherries. Her smile bright as the sun on a summer day and her laugh a sound that sings to my heartstrings the moment I hear it.
Everything about her stunning. Spellbinding. Hypnotizing.
It’s not until Micah backhands my bicep that I realize he has been talking to me and I have no clue what he said. “Sorry, man. What?” And I will my eyes to leave Cora to look over at Micah.
“I said we picked the perfect day to come out here. Lots of oil-slicked beauties out today,” he states, brows waggling. Today is one of those days when Micah behaves like the typical horny teenage boy. Both annoying and not. But he is my best friend and I tolerate his ways.
There is only one person I have an interest in looking at, but for the sake of not being razzed, I nod and add, “Definitely a perfect day.” I leave my response generic, hoping he won’t press further.
But Micah isn’t the type of guy to leave things unsaid. I have only known him a short time, but it hasn’t taken long to learn how outgoing he is. “Anyone catching your eye? You’ve been a little zoned out.”
Only one person has caught my eye, but I have no intention of divulging this tidbit. Not now. “No one in particular. You?”
