When We Kissed

by Kim Roshell

  I’ve fantasized for years about hearing those words, in that voice, coming from that mouth, directed at me. It’s what happens when you want someone who’s unattainable. You wish. You crave.

  Does he have any idea the agony of hearing those words from him bring me now? I’m sure he sees the tension in my shoulders, heard the tiny whimper I couldn’t repress. My heart is a bomb expanding inside my chest, detonation more imminent with each inhalation. Tears threaten. My throat draws tight, making it hard to swallow.

  No. I can’t let this boy break me over and over again. I have to be stronger. Fall apart now, I won’t recover.

  I turn off the tap, take a fortifying breath in an effort to slow my galloping heart rate.

  “Don’t expect you to say it back, but I do. Love you. Want you to know how I feel.”

  “Yeah?” I almost laugh because it sounds like a pretty good joke. He feels like he loves me. Whit Devereaux feels like He. Loves. Me.

  I just can’t.

  I face him, wary of moving too fast while the earth is teetering on its axis. “They do say love hurts. There’s one more thing you excel at, yeah?”

  Ninety-nine emotions flicker across his face, but I’ll be darn if I can decipher even one of them.

  He nods once. “I deserve that.”

  “I’m thinking you deserve way worse.” I toss back, embracing my burgeoning inner Iron Lady. Sure, my head and heart are at war, the latter thumping away, reneging on its promise to eradicate any good feelings involving this boy. But the former? My head is on straight. “I can’t think of anything to say that equates to you having sex with your so-called ex-girlfriend two seconds after begging me to take her place. Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t say yes.”

  This time, it’s him who looks away. A muscle in his jaw tics furiously as he studies a spot on the floor.

  “I know you read my texts, even if you didn’t respond, Simone. I didn’t have sex with her.”

  “I only know what I saw, and I have to tell you nothing about it suggested you’re over the ex, which is fine. I got lost in the game, I got played. Again, it happens.”

  One side of his mouth curves, the saddest smile I’ve ever witnessed. Without warning, he pins me with a look so heartbreaking, my heart flutters. I put a hand over my chest to keep it from flying away.

  “You’re angry,” he near whispers. “I get it. Still, don’t say we were a game, Simone. No matter how we started, how I feel about you is completely real. After the accident,” he pauses on a huff, rubs his brow. “I lost my head. I fucked up.”

  “More like you fucked Ashley,” I mumble under my breath, but apparently loud enough for Whit to hear. I almost apologize when he flinches.

  “Thought I liked hearin’ you say that word, but I don’t.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I don’t particularly like it either, especially in the sequence of words with which I used it, but like that apology, I tamp down my concurrence, leaving silence as my response.

  “What I texted was the truth, Simone. Ashley and I didn’t. Don’t know what I can do to make you believe me, and honestly, I didn’t come here to plead my case. Fact is, I never should’ve let you take all the crap these past months. I should’ve set the record straight from the start, then maybe none of this would’ve ever happened.”

  I face the sink again. Looking at him? It’s too much. The swallow’s worth of water in the bottom of the glass isn’t nearly enough for extinguishing the burning hurt engulfing my throat. I flip the tap for a refill, only to set the glass down. “I was the one who wanted secrecy. That was my bad. Anyway,” I use the last of my fortitude, glance over my shoulder “Ashley forgave you, so it all worked out.”

  An angry, frustrated growl emanates from him.

  Can’t say I care.

  No, that’s not true. I do care. A whole freaking lot. My heart aches so badly, I’m unsure I’ll ever feel good again. Every day begins with the feeling like I’m underwater, no surface in sight. There’s no off button for the memories that play through my mind of him walking right into Ashley’s arms after the night we spent together. Seeing his arm around her waist was a thousand deaths by drowning, him being passed out or not. We weren’t officially together, I get that. But I let myself go with him, farther than I ever have with any other guy. He touched me. I let him into my heart. Deep. No matter how I feel, or how I wish things had worked out differently, I can’t let him get that close to me again. I can’t.

  “How about, the rest we’ll chalk up to collateral damage?”

  His eyes bore into mine. “My best friend lyin’ in a grave, you wanna call that collateral damage? You think I wanted that?”

  “No!” I face him again, my heart pulsing in my throat. Crap. Don’t cry, Simone. Do. Not. Cry. “I would never. When everyone else treated me like an outcast, Ryan was the only one, the only one, who still treated me the same. I don’t dare claim us best buds, but I do believe we were friends.”

  “Ryan likes—” Whit drops his head, exhales. Mutters an expletive, followed by an apology. “Liked you. He knew how I feel about you. Knew you make me happy.”

  Nothing about Whit looks happy right now. Neither of us are, so in some weird, cruel way, we’re even.

  He looks at nothing in particular, his eyes sparkling with grief. “I meant it when I told you Ashley and I are done, Simone. After the funeral, I was so messed up inside. You weren’t there, and before you twist my words, I ain’t sayin’ what I did was your fault. Jus’ sayin’ nothing made sense, no matter how hard I tried. I felt like dyin’ myself.”

  “Stop it! Don’t tell me anymore. Please.”

  “I have to. I need you to understand that I betrayed my own integrity and did somethin’ unforgiveable against the only girl I may ever truly love. I know my actions might make that impossible to believe, but trust, I’ll regret that day, long as I live ‘cause of it.”

  This is ridiculous. Surely, he realizes that. “You can’t possibly feel that way about me, Whit.”

  “Yeah, I can, Simone.”

  “You love Ashley.”

  “Askin’ or tellin’? ‘Cause part of that answer is, yes. The rest, and more importantly, is not the same as I love you. I’m in love with you. Have been for a while. Maybe since the first time we really talked. Maybe sooner. Maybe from the very first time we kissed. Whenever, it happened.”

  He’s . . . in . . .

  Too much. I can’t listen to this anymore. “Why are you doing this, Whit?”

  “Need you to know my whole truth.”

  “Your whole—you know what? Fine, so that’s all you came to say? That you, you . . . ?”

  “That I love you? You can say it, Simone.”

  “Okay,” I say in deference to his permissive tone. “You . . .” Nope. Not going there. “Done?”

  “No.”

  I raise a brow.

  “I’m so sorry for hurtin’ you. I know I messed everything up.”

  “Agreed. Now?”

  “Hope, if nothin’ else, you’ll let me be your friend again someday.”

  Not happening. “Not today.”

  “You deserved so much better.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “I turned down Yale.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said tell you somethin’ you didn’t know.”

  “You turned down Yale?”

  He nods.

  “I mean, you like, called them and said you don’t want your spot?”

  Another nod.

  “Are you insane?”

  His brows dip in contemplation. He shrugs. “Hard to know anymore.”

  “Why in the world would you do that?”

  This isn’t the same guy who left this house over a month ago, hell bent on destroying my heart. He’s not the conflicted boy who stood out on our doorstep, debating if he should knock on the door, either.

  The guy standing in front of me right now is the guy who looked me in
the eye and told me I’m his heart. The sight rattles me more than I care to admit.

  Another sad, very un-Whit-like grin plays with the corners of his mouth. Complements the unusual sheen glossing his eyes. I stare into them, helpless against the visible pain trying to pull me beneath the surface.

  “S’pose I have other dreams I want more,” he murmurs.

  My scalp tingles from the implication. Quitting Yale, so he can what? Stay here in Parkland? Go to community college? All so he can be closer to me? Who in their right mind would do that?

  I plunge my fingers in my hair, desperate to ease the mounting tension crushing my brain. My throat tightens, cluttered by the words I can’t say. “I can’t do this with you. I really can’t. You should go now.”

  His shoulders droop. “Baby—”

  “You need to leave, Whit.”

  The last trace of hopefulness leaches from his face. Frustration takes its place, creasing his forehead as he searches my face for any sign for cracks, hoping I’ll break.

  I won’t.

  With a broken, weary sigh, he nods. “Ain’t gonna push for more. You have every right to be handin’ me my ass, ‘specially after how I accused you of lettin’ fear dictate your life. Know what’s funny? I finally get it. How it feels to be scared. Feelin’ that way right now, not knowin’ if you’ll ever give me another chance. Prayin’ one day you will. Don’t feel good.”

  “I know.”

  He nods. “Whether in a day, or a month, or a year—ten years, I’ll be waitin’. Wherever I am, no matter what. Okay?”

  “Don’t waste your time, Whit.”

  This time, I’m walking away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  People say Job was patient. Truth is he just wanted the right answer.

  —Dev

  Whit

  “I’ll go talk to her for you.”

  “No.”

  “You’re leavin’ tomorrow, dummy. Don’t ya’ think you should try one more time?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Language, Coop.”

  “Gotta be kiddin’ me. I thought you loved her.”

  “I do.”

  “You ain’t even gonna try?”

  “She needs space.”

  “She’s had space all summer.”

  ‘We’re both still breathing. There’s time. I’ll wait.”

  “Dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I hurt her, Coop. Broke her heart. Treat Marnie better.”

  “You honestly think I’ll take your advice anymore after this?”

  “Get outta my room, Coop.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Simone

  “Hope my stopping by unannounced is okay.”

  “Of course.”

  Of all the people that could’ve knocked on our door, Ashley’s the last person I expected. Dressed in a soft yellow sleeveless button down and beige capris that would look more like mom-wear than New York College Girl, she looks good. Matured, yet ready to step out of the shadow of her expectations and take on the world.

  “I’m not staying,” she declares, tucking her asymmetrically trimmed locks behind her ear. The ends fan past her shoulders again—in model-worthy perfection, of course. “I didn’t wanna leave without, you know, saying bye or something, which is weird, since we’re . . . whatever.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.” Nostalgia overcomes me like that first unexpected gust of wind in autumn. “You’re still more than whatever to me. Always will be. I miss you.”

  Her eyes mist, and for the first time in way too long, I see a glimpse of the girl who held my hand during car rides for a solid year after I started therapy. The girl who taught me the proper way to apply eyeshadow. The girl who hunkered down in a sleeping bag alongside me right in this foyer when missing my family crushed my soul, just so I’d have one more time of seeing their faces when I awoke, first in the morning.

  “Ever think there’d be a time when we’d be like this?”

  I shake my head, unable to speak.

  “Yeah, me neither. I mean, I knew something about us was changing. We weren’t hanging out as much or I’d be out with . . . well, you know.”

  “I do.”

  She’s right. We were sort of drifting. Same waters, different boats, like Aunt Katie said. She believes Ashley and I spent too much time depending on one another, and not enough on figuring out who we are as individuals. Now we’ve arrived at this juncture, I have to admit there’s some truth to that.

  “But, I miss you too, Simone. I mean that. It’s just, after everything with Whit—”

  “You don’t have to explain, Ashley. I understand. Doesn’t mean I don’t wish, anyway.”

  “Katie home?”

  “Later. Tonight.”

  “Darn. Wanted to tell her bye. She still seeing Mark?”

  “Yeah. He’ll be here, too.”

  “Go, Katie. Good to know she’s found someone.” She bows her head, clears her throat. “Anyway, for what it’s worth, what I did, saying what I said? That was low.”

  “Maybe. I deserved it, though.”

  “Maybe. I regret it, anyway.”

  “Me, too.” And I mean it. Sure, I didn’t purposely set out to come between Ashley and Whit, and God knows I didn’t plan on fostering my own heartbreak, but I’ll never feel good about betraying my friend.

  “Yeah, well, I should probably go. I still have a crap-ton left to pack. I’ll need sleep if I’m gonna survive the ride to New York with both my parents in the car. Never thought I’d say this, but I’ll be glad when the divorce is final.”

  “I hate they couldn’t work things out, but maybe they’ll both be happier.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know, if you ever wanna talk, you have my number. Or, we could email, maybe text once in a while.”

  “Maybe,” she repeats, softly. I won’t hold my breath, waiting on a call from her anytime too soon, but this is a start. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you should call him. We talked some this summer. He loves you, you know? The real deal, like, what I hoped—” she chokes. “You’re stupid if you don’t give him a chance.”

  “Ash—”

  “I mean it, Simone. He’s a good guy, and you deserve some good. Maybe I’m wrong,” her tear-logged eyes penetrate the hardened mask I slip on anytime someone mentions The Cowboy, “but I think you’ve had feelings for him for a long time.”

  “I swear I didn’t go after him, Ashley. He loves you. ”There’s far too much carnage for me to insult her with a denial, so I won’t.

  “No, Simone. He loves you, and I’ve accepted that. Mostly. I know in here,” she taps her temple, then moves her hand over her heart, “and here, you weren’t trying to make him feel that way. Still hurts, though.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Then don’t let it fear be the only winner.”

  Without another word, I watch as my best friend slips back out of my life.

  Hey Honey Bee—

  I should be asleep right now. We leave for Connecticut soon. The drive should take a little over eight hours, not including breaks, which I’m sure we’ll take since Chirp can’t go too long without a pit stop. Did I tell you that already? Not sure if I had. Anyway, Dev wants to beat the sunrise so we can see without headlights once we make it into town.

  I’m glad you’ve been driving. I worried about you walking to work every day. Truth, when I think of what you’ve been through and what happened to your family, I’m a little surprised you did it for so long. That took guts. Same with driving. But you’ve taken to it like a duck to water.

  Please don’t be mad with Dina for sharing your schedule so I’d know which days to look out for you. Like me, she cares about your safety. She told me earlier what you do for her, taking shifts when she needs to be home, filling her tip jar. I’m not surprised to hear what you’ve been doing. You have what Dev calls a giving spirit. Willing to let others have before seeing
to yourself. Made me think about something you said, about having a tough time choosing a major. You probably don’t want my opinion, but I think you should consider Business. That way you’ll have the know-how to run your own nonprofit, hire Dina to work for you. I bet she would. She told me it took a while to figure out who’s been doing padding her wallet, but once she knew, she’s looked for ways to pay it forward.

  You’re probably a bit tired of reading these letters, if you read them at all. I’d understand if years from now, should our paths cross, you tell me you didn’t. I pray one day you’ll tell me anything again, truthfully. I can live another hundred years and know that hurting you the way I did is the worst thing I’ll ever do. I’ve thought about it a lot and I realize with absolute certainty, your forgiveness isn’t something I deserve. After everything my actions cost you, I’m having a hard time forgiving myself. Regardless, I hope for the impossible. Maybe one day you’ll

  I can’t finish that sentence. Not because I don’t want you. Believe me, I do with everything inside of me. I want you in my life, Simone. In whatever way you’ll allow. I love you. That will never change. Ever. I respect you, though. You want space, and I’ll continue to honor your request outside of these letters. I won’t pressure you. I only hope you read them. This won’t be my last. I just won’t be leaving any on your windshield while you work. This will be the first you find in your mailbox. I’ll keep writing. Maybe you’ll write back? Or, email. Crazy we’d never exchanged one, but my email address is wd4thy@mail4me.com. Or, you can text. Or call. I’d love to hear from you.

  I’d better bring this to a close or else Coop’s prayer life will get a tremendous boost. He’s riding shotgun. But I don’t want to leave without telling you a few things, all equally important:

  You deserve to have someone put you first.

  You are altogether beautiful to me.

  Every moment I spent with you left me looking down at Cloud 9.