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“Okay?” I said, studying him.
“You can relax, you know? I’m not going to do anything,” he said, reaching toward me. Maybe he was just going to give me a pat on the shoulder, but I flinched, and he froze before dropping his hand. “Yeah, I guess I haven’t been so kind to you the last couple of times.” He nodded.
Waiting, I watched his hand, wondering if it would fly up out of nowhere and knock my teeth out. For a split second, I got the image of one of my mom’s boyfriends punching me in the face as a teen. The memory made me shiver; it caught me off guard. I’d chosen to block out many of my childhood memories just so that I wouldn’t walk around like a raving lunatic.
Young Anthony didn’t deserve it then, especially from men who weren’t my father and with whom I never shared a bond. But perhaps, grown Anthony deserved it from Chris because I was an asshole to him.
Though my insides felt like they were being churned, I shrugged in return. “I get it. I understand.”
He looked at me for a few seconds in silence before nodding and taking a sip of his beer.
Regardless of the amount of beer in my system, which should’ve been acting as opium at this moment, my body still buzzed. I couldn’t relax. Not yet. Though my heart opened wide like a hungry hippopotamus being fed lunch at the hope of us squashing this once and for all and putting it behind us, my nerves had it closing up like a mimosa plant in response to the thought of trusting him again.
A light switch flipped on in the corners of my mind and like a church bell ringing in an ancient, small town, there was a resounding recognition that perhaps that was the exact way he felt about trusting me.
Chapter 33
Chris
Thiswasn’taseasyas one would think. I wanted to apologize to him and needed him to apologize to me. Well all right, he already did and maybe I was just being a hardass. He’d settled onto his seat more comfortably and we had been sitting in silence for the past few minutes as I knocked back some beers.
The nosy bartender eventually got bored of us and found a new crowd to entertain and be entertained by, only topping up my drinks as I asked for them. By now, I should’ve ordered regular beers since my body had already consumed three mugs of light beers. But in my head, three light beers only equated to one regular beer.
Anthony still refused to get a drink, but he didn’t look half as jumpy as he did when he first sat down. He was watching the muted television when he and I both knew we had no flipping clue what was happening on that screen. It just gave us an excuse not to speak to each other and when I tried to speak after taking a swig from my mug, the liquid went down the wrong pipe, almost choking me. Spinning around to face him, my body sounded like a sputtering engine. He looked at me wide-eyed.
“So, uh. Why weren’t you at court today?” I asked, trying to suppress the cough building up inside my chest like too much air in a balloon.
That suppressed cough screamed at my throat, and my eyes watered in response to me still trying to hold it. Anthony shook his head and rose from the seat, raising both hands at first to show me that he meant no harm. He beat my back as if it were a conga drum. It certainly made that cough fly from my mouth as if he’d just given me the Heimlich.
“Thanks,” I said, rubbing my throat.
He nodded and proceeded to pretend as if he didn’t hear my question before. “Didn’t see you at court today,” I repeated.
He shifted in his seat, frowning in discomfort as he swiped his hand over his beard. “Yeah,” he said.
“How come?” I pushed.
He turned to look at me as if he weren’t sure he heard me correctly. I kept his gaze. He sighed and eyed the door again.
“What is this, Chris?” he asked. “I was minding my own business, and you stopped me. What do you want? To hit me again?” he asked.
My brows dropped, and I waved my hands in the air as if they’d suddenly manifested, and my dumbass wasn’t sure how they worked. “No, no, no. That’s not it. Look, I’m trying to come to you in peace here, man.” I shook my head and ran my hand through my hair.
“So, that was a genuine question? No trick?” he asked, lifting one brow at me as he was halfway off his seat.
“No trick this time,” I said with a head tilt.
He eased back onto the stool and dropped his gaze from mine. After taking a deep breath, he responded, “I couldn’t show my face there,” he said.
“How come?” I asked, taking another sip of beer out of the need to do something as discomfort raced through me like different waves of current crashing into each other.
He tapped his fingers against the wooden bar counter in what seemed like anxiety. “I was ashamed,” he said under his breath.
Shock had me almost spitting my beer out in his direction and holding it back made it come through my nose instead.
“Ah, for fuck sake!” I groaned, and he got me a napkin. “Thanks,” I responded, cleaning myself up.
“You all right there?” he asked, looking as if he was trying his best not to show how amused he was, and I wasn’t ready for him to laugh at me right now. Sitting here with him and trying to do this was still sensitive. I appreciated that he hadn’t, though he obviously wanted to.
