by Robin Huber
I exhale a quiet breath and another tear rolls down my cheek.
“I’m not telling you this to make you sad. Just make sure he knows that you don’t hate him. That’s not something either of you should be carrying around. Not after everything you’ve both been through.”
I nod in silent agreement.
“He lives in the apartment over that old garage on his parents’ property,” she adds, patting my leg. “I think Jackie had a hard time letting him go,” she muses. “And Lord knows Danny needs him nearby. Since his heart attack, he just can’t do the heavy lifting to keep that place up anymore. And Gabe uses the garage for his work.”
“His work?”
She raises her eyebrows over a small smile. “Maybe you should go over there and see it sometime.”
“Maybe,” I say uncertainly.
“Why don’t you get up and get dressed. I’ll make us some lunch.”
“Okay.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. “Ow.” My calves are on fire.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, my legs are just sore from running this morning.”
“Did you push yourself too hard?”
“Maybe a little.”
Maybe I pushed Gabe too hard. Just because I’m ready to talk about what happened, doesn’t mean he is.
“I thought we could do a little shopping this afternoon and maybe go to Sophie’s Place to get our nails done, if you’re up to it.” She smiles. “A pedicure might be nice.”
I smile and nod. “That would actually be great.”
* * *
The drive to Gabe’s parents’ house two days later is a familiar one. I’ve probably made it a hundred times, but I’m seeing everything with new eyes now. I notice everything and appreciate it all in a way that I couldn’t before—the worn fences, the flags on the wooden telephone poles, the yellow ribbons tied around the trunks of the weepy old oak trees that hang over the road, the purple and yellow flowers that grow wild alongside them.
When I see the gate to the Norths’ property, my skin pricks with anxiety. I’m not really sure if I’m ready to see Gabe again so soon, but my mother was right. He needs to know that I don’t hate him.
I’m definitely not ready to see his parents. The last time I saw his mother, Jackie, I was crying on her front porch, begging her to let me see Gabe. After he ended things, I left on my own accord, overcome with hurt and shock. But when he wouldn’t answer my calls or respond to any of my texts, the separation anxiety quickly consumed me. I just wanted to see him, to talk to him, to try to change his mind somehow, convince him that he still loved me. But I couldn’t even convince Jackie to let me inside. She sent me away. Twice. I shake my head and sigh. All I did was embarrass myself.
I pull onto the property and hear the familiar sound of the gravel crunching under my tires as I drive through the open gate. The modest ranch style house sits on several acres of land covered in century-old oaks and giant magnolia trees with blossoms as big as my hand. There’s an old barn in the back and they used to have a chicken coop beyond that.
I make my way down the long, sandy road, watching the little house disappear from view as I follow it to the two-story garage on the opposite side of the property. I park my car next to an old white Ford F-150—the same one I saw in the parking lot at the beach. It must be Gabe’s. He drives a truck. I shake my head at the foreign thought and climb out of my car.
When I reach the stairs to the apartment, I hear a loud banging noise coming from the garage...and music. Both of the giant doors are raised up, so I go inside.
Wow. The garage is filled with furniture. Beautiful furniture. Giant wooden farmhouse tables, tall chestnut-colored armoires, driftwood coffee tables and benches that are stacked high.
I weave through the rows of furniture, touching each piece that I pass, taking in the scent of fresh lumber and sawdust. The craftsmanship is amazing. I make my way to the back of the garage and find Gabe hammering a nail into a very large piece of wood. I clear my throat and call his name, “Gabe.”
He reaches for a nearby speaker and turns the music down. “Hey,” he says, looking surprised to see me.
“Hi.” I chew my bottom lip nervously, second-guessing my decision to come see him. But it’s too late to turn around. “I’m sorry to stop by without calling. I didn’t have your number so...” It’s a lame excuse. He knows I could have gotten his number if I really wanted it. Deep down, I hoped that by stopping over unannounced, he might not be here. “I just, um, I wanted to come by and tell you that I’m sorry,” I say, getting it out quickly. “I didn’t mean what I said. I don’t hate you.”
He pulls off his leather work gloves and tosses them on a nearby workbench. He leans back against it and crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest, pulling his shirt tight. “Well, you should,” he says, gazing at me with his honey brown eyes, mesmerizing me every time he blinks.
“Well, I don’t.”
He stands up straight and walks over to me. “Why?” he asks, closing the space between us and towering over me.
“What do you mean?” I ask warily.
“Why?” he asks again, and I can see the pain in his eyes now. “Why don’t you hate me?”
I shake my head incredulously. “Do you want me to?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it would be so much easier if you did.”
I attempt to swallow down the hurt that’s lodged in the middle of my throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that I was making things so difficult for you.”
“Why did you come back here, Liv?”
My stomach clenches tight as I try to hold in a pained breath. “Would you rather I stayed away?”
He stares at me blankly, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.
“Wow,” I whisper as the tears fill my eyes.
“Look, I know I fucked everything up, all right? You being here only reminds me of that.”
I swallow hard and square my shoulders as the hurt turns to anger. “Yeah, well...this is my home too, and I’m not going anywhere, so you’re just going to have to get over it.”
He lets out an ironic laugh and shakes his head. “Get over it?” He turns around and walks over to his workbench again, but I follow right behind him.
“Gabe.”
He ignores me.
“Gabe!”
He picks up his gloves, but I grab them out of his hand.
“Dammit, Gabe, look at me!” I reach for his arm, but when he turns around, I see a familiar look in his eyes that tugs hard at old strings still tied to my heart—reminding me of when I used to tell him that everything would be okay, that I still loved him, that he wasn’t the failure he thought he was. But, like then, he can’t see me through his own demons, even after all this time. God, what I wouldn’t give for him to look at me the way he did before the accident, just once more. Still, as his empty eyes gaze into mine, I’m reminded of who he was before, and I put my hand on his flushed cheek. “It’s okay, Gabe.”
I watch the storm inside him settle, feeling like it moved from him to me, because an electric current is suddenly buzzing through me, making my palm tingle where it’s pressed to his warm cheek. He closes his eyes and I wonder if he feels it too, but when he opens them again, I see the dark clouds return.
He wraps his long fingers around my wrist, pulls my hand away, and says, “Please go.”
* * *
I lie on my parents’ couch, listening to the storm outside, mindlessly flipping through the channels on the TV, which keep getting stuck each time the satellite goes out.
“Liv, dinner,” my mother calls from the kitchen. When I don’t answer, she walks into the living room and repeats, “Liv...dinner.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” I say, keeping my eyes on the pixelated TV screen.
“Honey, you haven’t eaten all day.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Barely. Now come
on, come have dinner with me and Daddy. Please?”
She’s right, I haven’t eaten much in the last twenty-four hours, not since before Gabe asked me to leave. It was far too reminiscent of when we broke up, and it hurt almost as much as it did back then. Before the accident, Gabe would have never ignored me or asked me to leave when things got heated. We could always talk through anything. I listened to him and he listened to me, and we always met somewhere in the middle, even if we agreed to disagree. But after his injury, he lost the ability to effectively argue. If I didn’t entertain his self-deprecation, or agree that I was better off without him, as he often tried to convince me, he simply shut down. There was no talking to him. There was no convincing him. We were on different pages, separated by our own truths, and drifting farther and farther apart. I had hoped time would have helped, but the truth is, his brain injury altered who he is. Time isn’t the problem.
The thought is almost unbearable.
“I really believed he would get better.”
She pulls me up into a hug. “Oh, honey.”
“Do you think he ever will? Eventually?” I ask, still clinging to a tiny morsel of hope.
She releases me and says carefully, “I think Gabe is better.” She looks at me and explains, “As far as what Jackie has told me, the doctors say he’s made a full recovery, aside from the seizures. But that’s typical after a brain injury. This is who Gabe is now. Who he’ll always be.”
She gives me a small, compassionate smile, but it does little to ease the pain in my heart.
“I know it hurts, honey, but maybe now you can finally move on. You said what you needed to say. He knows you don’t hate him. Let that give you peace and maybe some closure.”
“I’m trying.” I don’t think Gabe will ever talk to me about what happened. And I don’t think it matters anymore. There’s no rational explanation he could give me that would make me understand how he could stop loving me so suddenly. It wasn’t in his control any more than it was in mine. It was all out of our hands...the accident, Brandon, his injury. There’s no explanation for any of it. So, I’m just going to have to get over it on my own.
Get over it and move on. I close my eyes and let go of the hope I’ve been holding onto. I owe myself that much.
Chapter 8
Gabe
I pull into the Daltons’ driveway, wheels splashing through puddles, my windshield wipers struggling to keep up with the pounding rain. I put my truck in park and sit for a few minutes, waiting for the rain to lighten up, for my heart to stop hammering inside my chest.
She’s better off without you, I remind myself. But she still deserves an explanation for how I acted yesterday. I wasn’t lying when I said it would be easier if she hated me. It would be. If she did, I could go on with my life without worrying that I’m screwing up hers any more than I already have. But the truth is, the thought of Liv hating me tears me to shreds inside.
She was the only person who saw past my mistake after the accident. It’s something you can see in people’s eyes—even my own mother couldn’t hide the sadness behind hers. But when Liv looked at me, I only saw love. Even when I hated myself, she never did. It used to drive me crazy, because I really wanted her to hate me sometimes. I wanted her to scream at me for what I did. To tell me that I ruined everything. But it didn’t matter how hard I pushed her, she would just put her hand on my cheek, like she did yesterday, and tell me everything was okay.
When she did that yesterday, I wanted to pull her into my arms and cry like a baby. It had been so long since I felt her touch. And I know she meant what she said, that it would be okay, that we could be okay, if I’d allow it. But I can’t. As much as I want her—and I do still want her, I probably always will—I’m not the same person she remembers. The man she loved is gone. And I don’t think she’d like the one I’ve become.
I inhale a deep breath, reach for the door handle, and run through the relentless rain, through the soggy grass, and up the slippery steps to the front porch. I wipe my face and ring the doorbell, trying to control my breathing.
“Gabe,” Duke says, surprised, when he opens the front door.
“Hi, Duke.” Before I can explain why I’m standing on his front porch, soaking wet, Maggie peers over his shoulder.
“Gabe,” she says with equal surprise, but comprehension quickly settles on her face. “Now’s not a good time,” she says quietly, and I know Liv must be inside.
“It’s okay,” Liv says moments later, squeezing between her parents. She closes the door behind her, giving us privacy, and eyes my wet clothes. “Gabe, you’re drenched.”
She’s wearing sweats and an old T-shirt, her hair is pulled up, and she’s fresh-faced, blinking up at me. God, she hasn’t changed a bit. I stare at her for several quiet seconds as I’m swept back in time, reminded of how things used to be between us. Then I see the iridescent line that stretches across her cheek in the dim light of the porch and my chest rises and falls with labored breaths.
“Gabe, are you okay?” she asks, taking a step toward me, but she hesitates and falls back on her heels.
“I was really messed up after the accident,” I say urgently, unable to contain my thoughts any longer. “I still am.” I run my hands through my wet hair, tracing the scar over my ear. “I’m sorry, I don’t want it to be like this. But I can’t change what happened. I can’t take it back. And I can’t make it go away. I’ve tried. I swear to God, I’ve tried. But I don’t know how to fix it. I can’t fix it,” I admit, wishing like hell I could.
Liv’s eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t say anything.
“I was good, Liv. I was good before—”
“I know,” she says, taking a step toward me again. This time she reaches for my arm, touching it gently with her small hand. “I know you were.”
“I did everything I was supposed to do, you know? Made good grades, played sports, got a full ride to college. I even waited for...” I look away from her sympathetic eyes, full of compassion I don’t deserve. “For a while, I had it all. A best friend who was like a brother and a girlfriend who—” I pause when I see the way she’s looking at me now, desperate for every word, every admission I came here to make. And full of forgiveness, still, after all these years. “Who was a best friend,” I say honestly, wanting her to know. “Who was everything.”
Her green eyes shimmer behind her tears and my heart hammers inside my chest as fast and hard as the rain pounding on the sidewalk. I want to pull her into my arms and tell her that everything will be okay, but I don’t know if it will be. I don’t know how it could be.
I clear my throat and continue, “But I took it all for granted. And just like that, it was all gone.”
She reaches for me again, but hesitates, like before. “I’m messed up too. I think I probably always will be.” She presses her lips together into an unapologetic smile and shrugs. “But not just because of the accident. Because of everything that happened after it,” she says flatly, piercing my heart.
She’s messed up because of me. I already knew that she was, I could see that at the cemetery. But hearing her say it, hearing her admit that I’m the culprit of her pain, and probably always will be, nearly tears me in two.
I gaze at her through a sea of sadness I usually camouflage with silence. But I can’t be silent around her. I can’t pretend to be the person everyone thinks I’ve become, the person I often believe I’ve become, with her. She deserves more than that. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
The pained look on her face tells me I did, I hurt her deeply. And I meant to. As much as it killed me, as much as I didn’t want to hurt her, I meant to. But I don’t know how to make her understand that even though every bone in my body was telling me not to, I did it for her.
“You’ll never know how sorry I am,” I say, leaving it at that. I drop my head and shove my hands into my pockets. “I guess that’s what I really came here to say. That I’m sorry. For all of it...for the accident, for Brandon, and mo
st of all, for hurting you.”
She blinks back the tears that fill her eyes, but she doesn’t respond.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me, especially not for Brandon, but I just wanted you to know. I am sorry.” Having said what I needed to say, I duck my head, step off the porch, and jog through the rain toward my truck.
“It’s okay,” Liv calls urgently, and I pause.
I turn around and watch her jog down the steps on bare feet, and run through the grass, ignoring the pelting rain. She collides into me, wraps her arms around me, and presses her cheek to my chest. “I forgive you,” she says with a breath of relief, like she’s been holding it in all this time, and I feel a small weight slip off my shoulders, startling me, because I’d forgotten it was there. I’ve been carrying it so long.
I close my eyes and wrap my arms around her shoulders.
“I forgive you,” she says again, and I fight a tear that leaks onto my cheek and mixes with the rain on my face.
I tighten my arms around her and hold her until I feel the warmth of her skin against mine through our wet clothes. And for the first time in seven years, I feel relief.
“There’s no easy fix, Gabe, for any of it. But maybe...maybe we can just be messed up together.” My heart races, defiantly thrilled at the unlikely prospect, but it calms down when she adds, “As friends.”
Friends. I hadn’t considered this.
Could I be friends with Liv? My mind runs in circles around the idea, and I grasp at the possibility. We were friends long before we were together. And damn I miss her. She clings to me beneath a crack of lightning that lights up the sky, and I say into her wet hair, “Maybe.”
Chapter 9
Liv
“Ow!” I shake my hand and wipe off the hot oil that splattered it. I hold my finger to my mouth and continue dropping pieces of floured chicken into the popping skillet with a pair of tongs.