Say You Still Love Me: A Novel

by K. A. Tucker

  “A pen, actually,” I say with mock seriousness. It’s the first—lame—thing I could think of.

  “A pen,” he repeats, setting his book facedown. “That must be one hell of a pen.”

  “It’s one of those gel pens. You know, the ones that glide smoothly over paper.” Instead of stopping at the front of the security counter, I round the desk and settle into Gus’s chair, collecting my dress so it doesn’t get caught in the wheels. “Good book?” The cover depicts a blurred shadow of a person with a palm held out, as if pressed against a windowpane. A thriller, if I had to guess.

  “Good enough.” He sinks back into his chair, his legs splayed. “So your charity gala thing’s over?”

  “I went, I mingled, I drank, and then I bolted the second I thought no one would notice.”

  Kyle chuckles. “I don’t even know what a gala is, but you make it sound like pure hell.”

  “Honestly? It can be. If I could get away with never going to another one of these things, I’d be more than too happy.” I slip off my heels with a sigh, feeling Kyle’s eyes fall to the split in my dress that’s creeping up my thigh to a risqué level. Though I know I probably should, I don’t adjust it.

  “You know, I’m not supposed to let anyone back here.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He smirks. “I could get in a lot of trouble for it.”

  “Well . . .” I pull the lever on the underside of the chair and adjust it to sit higher, and then push off against the cold marble tile with my sore toes and let the chair spin once. “It’s a good thing I’m not just anyone.”

  “No, you definitely aren’t.” He smiles secretively as he reaches for a ballpoint pen. He always liked fumbling with things. Usually it was a cigarette.

  “Do you still smoke?” I haven’t smelled tobacco on him.

  “Nah. Well, maybe once in a while, if I’m at a party. But I don’t go to too many parties.”

  “I’m glad you quit. And speaking of parties, Ashley’s planning a housewarming at our place. You should come.”

  He nods slowly. “I’ll think about it.”

  Not exactly the answer I was expecting. I hesitate. “Do you mind that I’m here?”

  “No,” he answers without missing a beat, but says nothing else.

  Where did my easygoing, carefree boy go?

  “Is anyone else in the building?”

  “Just you and me. Well, this guy’s trying really hard.” He leans over and hits the cursor on the keyboard twice. One of the monitors flips to the back of the building, to where a black squirrel is perched. “He got in through a vent last week. Set off a bunch of alarms for the night guys.”

  Awkward silence falls over us, with nothing but the white noise and the sound of Kyle clicking his pen repeatedly to keep us company. And for a split second my insecurities soar, convincing me that I’ve misread everything about Kyle so far. Maybe he isn’t as perceptive as I give him credit for; maybe he’s only now cluing in to the fact that I’m not just here for a friendly chitchat.

  Maybe he’s wishing he hadn’t told me that he’s single.

  Maybe he’s wondering how he’s going to get himself off the hook.

  “God, this is so boring,” I finally blurt out.

  Kyle laughs. “It can be.” He glances at his watch. “Just under two hours left.”

  That’s two hours for me, with Kyle.

  To talk about nothing. And everything, if I can get him to open up. I plan on taking every second that I have to try.

  “I’m hungry. You hungry?”

  He frowns. “Didn’t you just come from dinner?”

  “A five-thousand-dollar-a-plate one.” I grab my phone. “I’m ordering us food.”

  “I can’t believe you have a burger joint in your favorites,” Kyle mutters, biting into a french fry.

  I hold my phone up so he can see the list, while leaning over the plastic container to take a sizeable bite out of my burger.

  He frowns at my screen. “Them and every other restaurant within a five-mile radius, apparently.”

  “Don’t judge!” I mutter, shielding my full mouth with a hand. “I work long hours, so I don’t have time to cook. I end up ordering in.”

  “But you know how to cook?”

  I consider a clever answer as I finish chewing and swallowing. “Does boiling eggs count?”

  Kyle shakes his head, laughing. “Boiling eggs does not count.”

  I shrug. “I usually grab a salad or something from Christa’s, but at least once a month I get a craving for Alejandro’s. And . . . hmmm.” I moan through another bite. “So worth it.”

  He watches me a moment, a pensive gleam in his eyes, as I suck a glob of ketchup from my thumb. I’m wearing a $3,000 dress and devouring a greasy fast-food meal.

  “I look absurd, don’t I?”

  “You’ve never looked absurd a day in your life, Piper. You’re incapable of it.”

  I roll my eyes. “Well, then why are you looking at me like that?”

  “It’s just . . . you realize how weird this is, right?”

  “What? You and me, sitting here together after all these years?” Because I think it’s amazing.

  He holds his burger up. “Naming a burger joint Alejandro’s.”

  Oh. “It is,” I agree. “But they have all these different toppings, like breaded poblano peppers, and pico de gallo, and chimichurri. Can’t remember what else.”

  “Peanut butter?”

  “What?” I cringe. “Nobody puts . . . Oh my God. That’s right!” I press my hand to my mouth as a wave of nostalgia hits me. “Eric does that!”

  “He swore it brought out the flavor of the bacon. He put it on his pancakes, too. That and mustard.” Kyle shakes his head. “Fucking guy. Used to love grossing me out.”

  “Does he still do it?”

  Kyle inspects his remaining fries. “I don’t know. I haven’t had a burger with him in years.”

  “You know, I caught Ashley doing that the other day. Mustard on her pancakes.”

  He cringes. “How is Ash, anyway?”

  “She’s good. She’s substitute teaching, and trying to get a full-time position. And she’s a wannabe event planner. She also sells hand-knit blankets, but it takes her months to finish one.”

  Kyle nods slowly. “She always was artsy.”

  “Still is.”

  “And kind of scatterbrained.”

  I laugh. “Still is. I like living with her, though. She brings a happy energy to our place.” I feel a nostalgic smile touch my lips. “You know, I always thought she and Eric would end up together. But he never responded to any of her emails.”

  “Yeah. He was never good for keeping in touch.”

  “It’s too bad. Maybe she would have ended up with him instead of this asshole named Chad.” I give Kyle the rundown.

  He’s chuckling by the end of the story. “Sounds like this psychic might have done everyone a favor by convincing her to buy that pee couch.”

  “I think you might be right.” I devour my last french fry as I consider this. “So, what about you?”

  “I don’t believe in psychics.”

  “No.” I chuckle, sensing his intentional diverting of topic. I avert my gaze to my dinner remnants, slowly packing them up. “Girlfriends? Wives?”

  “There’ve been a few.”

  “A few wives?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Girlfriends, yes. Wives . . . no. I was close once,” he admits.

  It feels like a punch to my stomach, hearing that Kyle actually considered marrying another woman. That I was engaged to David doesn’t temper my jealousy. And yet I also want the intimate details. I want to know everything there is to know about all the years of Kyle’s life that I missed—the good, the bad, the painful. “What happened?”

  “She wasn’t—” He cuts himself off abruptly, and then sighs. “She wasn’t what I was looking for. What about Christa? How’s she doing?”

  “Running a high-en
d steak house a few blocks from here. Single. Continuing to be right about everything.”

  He bursts out laughing and I grin. I forgot how much I like making Kyle laugh.

  “But she’s good. She’s my cynical voice of reason most days.”

  His lips twist in thought. “And what would that cynical voice say about you sitting here with me?”

  I bite my tongue, unsure whether I should just lay it all on the line right away. But this is Kyle, I remind myself. We were always honest with each other. “Basically, that we need to figure out what we mean to each other in today’s world because Wawa is in the past.”

  He nods slowly, as if considering that. I can’t read his thoughts, though, and I hate it.

  “You’re a lot more direct then I remember you being,” he finally says.

  “I’ve learned to be. I kind of have to be, in my world.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” His brow furrows.

  What’s he trying to say? “Is that a bad thing?”

  “No, not at all. It’s just different from how I remember you.” He leans back in his chair, his gaze drifting up to the grandiose arching design of the building’s lobby. “You know, it’s funny, I remember thinking how tough life was that summer. But some things were a lot easier back then.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like . . .” A slow, nostalgic smile curls his lips. “Finding the nerve to ask the hot girl at summer camp to jump off a cliff with me.”

  I feel my cheeks flush. “You definitely didn’t lack confidence back then.”

  “I thought I had the world figured out.” He begins fumbling absently with his leather wrist cuff, similar to the one from camp. The one he gave me, which has been tucked into the bottom drawer of my jewelry box for safekeeping all these years.

  “Are they still there?” I nod to his wrist. “The numbers.”

  He opens his mouth as if to answer, but pauses, his tongue sliding out to skate over the lip ring scar. And then he stretches his arm out to rest his hand on my knee—palm up—and quietly waits.

  Like he did so many years ago.

  As if offering me the excuse I need to touch him.

  I take it without hesitation, gingerly unfastening the leather cuff from his wrist, my cool fingers trembling slightly as they slide over his hot skin; over the two rows of numbers, with several decimal points following each.

  “Still your favorite place?” I ask softly, my thumb smoothing back and forth over it, reveling in the fact that I am touching Kyle Miller again.

  “It’s hard to say yes, after what happened to Eric.”

  “I know. I had nightmares about that day for months after. But he ended up fine.”

  Kyle bites his bottom lip, his gaze settling on the numbers. “I still feel guilty sometimes.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. He doesn’t blame you, does he? Because if that’s the case, it was just as much my fault. And Ashley’s fault.”

  He swallows, his gaze on the desk. “No. He’s never blamed anyone.”

  Kyle makes no move to remove his arm from its resting spot over my lap, and so I take the opportunity to study the inside of his sinewy forearm. “When did you get the rest of this done?” His skin has become a canvas of artwork since I last saw him, with shades of green and blue and charcoal gray.

  “Over the last couple years.”

  It takes me a moment to realize what I’m looking at.

  “Is this . . .” My fingers roam unabashed now, shifting his arm to get a better angle. On the meaty part of his forearm is a pool of water. Within it is a lone figure, bobbing, only the back of his head and arms showing as he looks upward. Waiting.

  I push Kyle’s shirtsleeve up, over his muscular bicep, revealing the rocky cliff and the girl who stands at the edge, her long, dark brown hair billowing around her as if caught in a gust of wind, the teal string bikini showing off cartoonish curves.

  My heart skips a beat and then begins racing.

  “Is that—?” I cut myself off, not wanting to presume too much. But when I meet Kyle’s eyes—the questioning gaze in them—and hear his sharp intake of breath, I know without a doubt the answer.

  His jaw tenses, but then he smiles. “Favorite place in the world. Favorite summer.” His eyes flash downward to my lips. “Favorite girl.”

  My heart is pounding, when a beep sounds and the exterior door opens. The night-shift security guard strolls in, throwing a hand up at Kyle.

  He removes his arm from my lap and glances at his watch, frowning. “That went fast.”

  “It did.” Too fast. My stomach clenches with disappointment. I could sit here talking to Kyle until the sun rises. I still have so many questions. Some, I think I’ve already found the answers to.

  He crumples our fast-food wrappers into a ball and, rolling backward in his chair, tosses everything into the trash can. “Thanks for dinner. And the company.”

  “My pleasure.” I tuck my feet into my heels and collect my purse.

  “Do you need a car?” He reaches for the phone.

  “I’ll walk. I’m only three blocks away.”

  He stands and stretches as he watches his replacement approach. “I’ll walk you, then. If you’re okay with that.” He peers down at me, and again I see glimmers of the boy I once knew in the man before me—the longing, the anticipation.

  “Yes.” A simple answer for so many questions he could ask me right now.

  Do you still want me?

  Do you still think about me?

  Are you willing to see if this can work?

  Yes.

  Yes.

  Yes.

  The arriving security guard eyes me curiously as he comes around the desk. “Good evening, Miss Calloway.”

  “Hello . . . Carl,” I read off his name tag. I’ve seen him here, the odd weekend that I’ve come in, but I’ve never exchanged anything beyond a smile and polite greeting. “Hope you have an uneventful night.”

  Kyle gives him a quick update and then, collecting his jacket and a navy backpack stowed in a deep drawer, he leads me out of the building and into the bustling night.

  The Calloway building is on the north side of King Street, a main artery for downtown Lennox. It’s busier during the week, but even now, there is a steady stream of headlights and frequent blasts of horns.

  “Which way?”

  I briefly consider leading us in the wrong direction just so we have to make a large loop around the block, to give me more time with him, but decide against it. My feet can’t handle that. “Right.” We fall into step side-by-side at a leisurely pace.

  The temperature has dropped, leaving a light chill in the air. I curl my arms around my body. Kyle notices and wordlessly drapes his jacket over my shoulders, his fingers skating over my bare skin, sending electric currents through me.

  “Thanks,” I murmur, pulling it close around me. I can smell his cologne lingering faintly on the material. “So, your brother Jeremy . . . I remember you being worried about him. He seems like he turned out okay.”

  Kyle kicks a loose stone with his boot, sending it skittering along the sidewalk. “I was on him a lot, especially when he got in with a shitty crowd, right when we got to San Diego. But he smartened up fast, graduated high school, and did almost five years apprenticing under an electrician until he could write his exams. Now he’s out on his own, makin’ way more money than me.”

  “That’s great. Well, not the money part.”

  “It’s okay. I make him pay more rent.”

  “You do not.”

  Kyle grins. “Nah. I don’t. I tried, but he’s too smart to fall for that.”

  “And you? Ever end up changing your mind about college?”

  He shrugs. “Never worked hard enough in high school to get the grades. Luckily I didn’t need college for this job. I started at Rikell as soon as I graduated. Been with them over twelve years now.”

  “Do you like it?”

  He pauses, as if to consider my question. “No stress. It
’s not hard and it pays the bills. I get to walk around and talk to people, keep things in order. Better than sitting at a desk all day. No offense,” he adds after a moment.

  I laugh. “None taken.” If there’s one thing I’ve never heard anyone describe my job as, it’s “sitting at a desk all day.” “Have you ever thought about joining the police force?”

  “Thought about it. Briefly.”

  “But . . .”

  “I guess I just figured they’d do a background check and decide I was too much of a risk.”

  “That’s not true. You should look into it.”

  “I’ve had more than my fill of the legal system, anyway.”

  “Fair enough.” I hesitate, my gaze cutting to his sleek form. “Though you’d look good in that uniform.”

  “Are you flirting with me?”

  “Just stating important facts.”

  I get a lopsided smile in return, his eyes lingering on me a moment. “What about you? Ever thought about doing anything besides working for your father?”

  “No. Well, that’s not true. I went to visit Rhett in Thailand the summer after I graduated high school and he almost had me convinced to defer college for a year and teach English. He had a house right on the beach. I woke up every morning to the sound of the ocean.” I groan at the memory. “It was incredible.”

  “Why didn’t you do it, then?”

  “Oh, my dad would have murdered me. Like legit flown out to Thailand and tied a noose around my neck. Then he would have killed Rhett.” I sigh. “But sometimes I wonder what would have happened had I done it.”

  Kyle doesn’t say anything for a moment. “You still need your father’s approval, don’t you?”

  I frown, his words coming off sounding like a slight. “I don’t need it. But I want it because . . . he’s my dad.”

  Kyle nods, his gaze on the sidewalk ahead. “I guess I don’t know what that feels like.”

  Silence hangs between us as we approach my street. “We turn right up here.”

  “Wow,” Kyle takes in the one-way cobblestoned street ahead, bordered by wide paved sidewalks and a canopy of oak trees—all part of the old-world design of Posey Park. The newly built four-story row houses with decorative detailing and steep stone stairways mirror one another on either side—a nod to the famous brownstones of Manhattan. Even with the busy street to the south of us, the tall buildings and narrow corridor provide quiet cover.