by Jamie Howard
Brian snags his foot through the rung of a stool, and sits down at the counter so he’s facing me. “So, what? That’s it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Kyle, Kyle, Kyle.” He taps a finger against the counter. “I never knew you were such a quitter, man.”
I force my lips into a grin and give him the finger.
“Do you love her?”
That’s it, I’m done. I don’t need to listen to this. “There’s the door. Show yourself out.” Striding out of the kitchen, I make a beeline for my bedroom, fully intending to slam the door behind me.
“Do. You. Love. Her?”
I spin around, and am a little surprised to find he’s still sitting exactly where he was, his arms spread out and resting on the counter, a smile glued to his face.
“Of course I love her! But it doesn’t matter. Haven’t you been listening?”
“Oh, I’ve been listening. But, unlike you, I’ve also been using my brain.” He taps his forehead. “You know, that really big thing inside your skull?”
I swear to God, if he doesn’t get to the point or get the hell out in the next thirty seconds I’m going to beat the crap out of him. Or, I’m going to try. It probably won’t go well and I’ll end up with my body feeling as bruised and battered as my heart, but even if I can get in one solid punch it will be so satisfying.
As if sensing my impending blowout, he shifts off the stool and heads in my direction. “What did she say, when she broke things off?”
“She wanted me to leave and she asked me to never come back.” I can still hear her voice, the way she said it—all broken and defeated like I’d completely crushed her. It makes my heart cringe and hang its head in shame.
“Okay, and what about the texting really bothered her the most? What was her biggest gripe?”
“What does it even matter?”
“Humor me.”
I scrub my hands across my face. “She said she couldn’t be with someone she couldn’t trust. And she was embarrassed that I had all these private insights into her thoughts and feelings.”
“Huh.” He runs his thumb over his lower lip.
“Are we done playing twenty questions now?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you want to try and win her back.” He lifts an eyebrow at me. “I think I’ve got a plan.”
Chapter 41
Haley
“C’mon, Hales. I made your favorite.” Tara looks meaningfully at the untouched plate of banana nut pancakes.
I run my fingernail along the edge of the plate, and then push it away. “I’m not hungry.”
She purses her lips and her nostrils give a brief flare. I know she wants to say something. Probably wants to yell at me for not eating enough, or for moping, or some other thing that I’ve been doing.
After breakup number two, I’ve found that I tend to deal with my heartache in particular stages. The first stage involves a lot of crying, holing up in my bedroom, barely changing out of my sweatpants, and never feeling hungry. The second stage involves binge-eating ice cream, marathoning romantic movies that make me cry, and progressing back into real pants. There are two more stages after that, but since I’ve been stuck in stage one for the past three weeks, I can’t really remember what they are and I’m not sure I’ll ever get to them.
From its spot in the middle of the table, my phone vibrates. Tara’s gaze drifts down to it and then back up to me. “Kyle again?”
I shrug, trying to remind myself that I don’t care. My heart doesn’t get the message, though. I’ll never admit it out loud, but deep down I look forward to his texts every day.
“Think he’s ever going to give up?”
“I dunno.”
“Do you want him to?” Tara narrows her eyes at me, no doubt deciphering every subtle shift in my facial expression.
I give her another shrug.
She flutters her fingers at the phone. “Go ahead. Read it. I’m officially suspending my no-phone-at-the-table rule.”
I lean across the table to snag my phone, then settle back into my chair. It started two weeks ago—his messages. He hasn’t apologized again or said anything to try and make me change my mind about us breaking up. He actually hasn’t mentioned getting back together at all. But every day, I get one message with a personal factoid about Kyle. And not just any facts, but embarrassing ones. Secret ones.
I know what he’s doing, and I’d be a liar if I said it wasn’t working.
Pulling open my messages, I check out his newest text, along with the last few that crowd the screen.
Kyle: Embarrassing Fact #11: I cried like a baby the first time I watched The Notebook.
Kyle: Embarrassing Fact #12: I was eighteen the first time I kissed a girl.
Kyle: Embarrassing Fact #13: In high school, I used to get changed in the locker room showers because I was so self-conscious about my body.
Kyle: Embarrassing Fact #14: That night you slept over at my mom’s, I was so turned on sharing a bed with you that I woke up with the biggest boner. I was terrified you’d freak if you found out, so I crawled out of bed at five o’clock in the morning and took a ridiculously cold shower.
As always, reading it fills me with an odd combination of wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. I should ask him to stop and cut this last tie with him. I’ve tried. I’ve actually typed out the message only to delete it.
This is probably the reason I’m stuck in stage one.
I sigh and set my phone on the table, facedown.
“Sweetie.” Tara cocks her head at me. “I say this because I love you.” She takes a deep breath. “You really need to figure out what you want. What you’re doing right now is cruel. Not just to him, but to yourself, too. If you’re never going to be able to forgive him, if you can’t get past what he did, then you need to tell him so and cut him loose. But if you can, then you need to figure out what it’s going to take to make things right between you. It’s the only way either of you are ever going to move on, because you know as well as I do that that boy is so crazy about you that he’d hang around as long as you’d let him.”
I drop my head into my hands and stare down at the table. The swirly wood grain is a perfect reflection for my thoughts. I can’t seem to focus on anything, to make any decisions. The hurt is too fresh, the betrayal too recent to move past it. How can I ever trust him again? But on the other hand, was what he did really all that bad?
Since we broke up, I’ve read through my messages with Clark at least a hundred times, looking for the one text I can point to and say, “There! That’s where you used Clark to manipulate me into falling for you.” But there isn’t one. Not once did he ever cross that line. He barely even came close to it. The only thing he did was listen.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper. My gaze searches around the apartment, but everywhere I look there’s something to remind me of Kyle. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. It feels like I’m suffocating on memories. I push back my chair, the legs scraping against the floor. “I have to get out of here for a while.”
Tara lifts one dark eyebrow at me. “Does that mean you’re putting real pants on?”
I try to fight it, but slowly, one corner of my mouth tilts up. “I guess it does.”
* * *
I don’t know where I’m going until I get there. Honestly, since buckling my seat belt, the rest is just a blur. My body must have been working on autopilot and it brought me to the one place I’ve always done my best thinking, the place I admitted to Clark was my go-to spot—the beach. It’s helped me through some of my toughest decisions; I hope it’s up to the task this time, too.
Closing the door closed behind me, I walk until my shoes meet the sand. I slip them off, hooking my fingers in the heels and letting them dangle. The beach grass brushes against my jeans, and thick grains of sand work their way between my toes. I walk until I’m almost at the edge of the soft, powdery sand, and then I sit down, dro
pping my shoes next to me.
Leaning back on my hands, I take in a deep lungful of salty, humid air, closing my eyes to savor the feeling of the heavy breeze ruffling through my hair. The sun beats down on me and the crash of the waves against the shore is like the most soothing of lullabies.
For the first time since I found Clark’s messages on Kyle’s phone, my brain stops whirring. It’s like all of my questions and thoughts and worries that were swarming and colliding together in my mind have fallen asleep. Maybe it’s the rush and release of the waves that have lulled them into submission. Whatever it is, it feels amazing.
Someone clears their throat, and I snap my eyes open.
Then I laugh. Because of course, of course she would be here.
“Hey, Haley,” Sloane says, her fingers fiddling with the camera strap that’s looped around her neck. “What’re you doing here?”
“What, you own the beach now, too?”
“No,” she says, patiently. “I was just trying to be friendly.”
I squint up at her. “Seriously? You are pretty much the least friendly person on the planet.”
She shrugs and then drops down onto the sand next to me. “I’m working on it.”
“Why are you sitting down?”
She snorts. “Aren’t you supposed to be the nice one? I’m not feeling very welcome at the moment.”
What have I ever done to deserve this? All I wanted was a few hours to myself to figure out what I was feeling and what I wanted and whether I loved Kyle more than I hated him for what he did. And now I have to deal with Sloane. The sight of her makes my skin crawl, and rage sizzle through my veins.
“Sorry,” I say, though it’s clear I’m not sorry at all. “I guess I must be channeling my inner Sloane.”
“Why the hell would you ever want to channel me?” She rests her chin on her shoulder so she can look at me, her eyes widening.
“Oh I don’t know, Sloane. Maybe it’s because you seem to be a man magnet. Or maybe it’s because things always seem to go your way. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because all you needed to do was walk into a room, and not even a year later you’re getting married to the guy I was in love with.” I shake my head. “Clearly being myself wasn’t enough to hang on to him.”
“Wow.” Her eyes zero in on my face. “Is that what you really think?”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”
She laughs. Actually bends in half and laughs so loud that it echoes around the empty stretch of beach. “That is the biggest load of bullshit I have ever heard. It’s so far from the truth that I can’t believe that’s what you actually think.”
I glare at her, too tired from everything with Kyle to deal with another load of lies.
Catching sight of my expression, she rolls her eyes. “Alright, sure. Men are interested in me. Sue me, I’m good-looking. But part of that, part of what you saw back then, was just me being willing to fuck guys with no strings attached. That doesn’t mean they were interested in me, or cared about me, they were just excited they could get in my pants. Plain and simple. As for things going my way?” She digs her feet in the sand and glances away. “I’m not even going to get into that. We don’t have time to shovel through all that shit. But Luke? That’s where you’ve really got it wrong.” Her eyes move back to mine, and she pins me down with her gaze. “Haley, I’ve been in love with Luke since I was eighteen. And to be perfectly honest with you, us getting back together had absolutely nothing to do with you. It wouldn’t have mattered if you were more like me, if you were less boring, or if you were willing to bang him in the middle of The Edge while everyone watched. In the end, you weren’t me. I get that’s probably hard to hear, but it’s the truth.”
I dig my fingernails into my palms. Is she right? Was there really nothing I could have done to have held on to Luke? I shake my head. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about it, why I care. It may have taken leaving town and finding Kyle for me to realize it, but Luke wasn’t the guy for me. There’s a tiny part of me that’s almost glad Sloane came back and broke us up. It’s completely insane, but the really logical part of me realizes that without her doing that, I never would have met Kyle. I never would have figured out just what I was missing.
“So, why are you really here?” she asks. “I’m pretty sure it’s not to reminisce.”
“Do you honestly think I want to talk about it with you?”
“Well, I don’t see anyone else around. Besides, I’m probably one of the few people who’d actually give you an honest opinion. It’s not like I’m all that worried about hurting your feelings.”
I snort. That’s the truth.
“Why do you even care?”
“I don’t.” She saws at her lip with her teeth, then blows out a breath. “But, I do feel a little bad about everything that happened between us, so consider it me trying to make up for being such a bitch to you.”
When I don’t say anything, she adds on, “It’s about the guy you brought to the wedding, right?”
I shift a little so I can face her. “Why would you think that?”
“You guys had the look.” She flutters her eyelashes at me. “You were making goo-goo eyes at each other during the entire reception.”
“Are those the same eyes you make at Luke?”
“I do not make goo-goo eyes.” She narrows her eyes at me, and unless the sun’s playing tricks with me, her lips twitch like she’s trying not to smile. “So, what’s the deal?”
Against my better instincts, I lay it out for her—every excruciating detail. I don’t know why I think it’s a good idea. I’m actually pretty sure it’s the worst idea I’ve had since taking off my sweatpants this morning. But I figure that since we’re not friends, I really don’t have anything to lose.
After I finish spilling my guts to her, she takes a minute to process everything.
“So, you broke up because he was texting you as this Clark guy and never told you?”
“Right.”
“But he never took advantage of the situation?”
“No.”
She runs a hand through her hair, then quirks her head as she stares at me. “You said you love him, but are you sure about that?”
I grind my teeth together and force myself not to snap at her. It’s really, really tempting, but she actually sat and listened to the whole story without comment, so I’m trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. “I’m positive.”
“No offense intended.” She holds up her hands, palms out. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around the fact that you’re in love with this guy and you’re letting something this stupid break you up.”
“He lied to me.”
Sloane laughs again, and I’m this close to standing up and walking away. I don’t need her crap on top of everything else I’m dealing with.
“You know what Luke did to me. So forgive me if this all seems a little ridiculous.”
Alright, well from that perspective, I guess I see her point. But still. “He should have told me.”
“When?” The smirk falls off her face, so I know she’s serious. “Seriously, when should he have told you? At what point could he have told you and not damaged your relationship?”
I open my mouth and immediately shut it. I thought the answer would spring to my tongue, but instead my mind fails to supply any words at all. My brain turns itself inside out trying to figure out the correct answer, but I’m not sure there is one. The truth is, if Kyle told me he was Clark, I’m not sure we’d have ever ended up where we were.
It really chafes to admit that Sloane is right. “I don’t know. I think I just need time to … process everything. To get over it.”
“That’s bullshit.” Leaning over, she picks up a seashell and chucks it into the waves. “It’s such a cop-out, ‘taking time.’ You know what you want. Deep down you know how you really feel, you’re just too afraid to admit it to yourself. Too scared to put yourself out there and risk getting hurt again.”
“You know that from personal experience?”
“Yeah, actually, I do.” Her eyes drift shut, and the muscles in her neck flex as she swallows. “Luke and I wasted five years trying to get our shit together. That’s five years of memories we’re never going to get back. Five years of love, and laughter, and happiness that we missed out on. There are so many things I’d go back and change if I had the chance. But I don’t. I can never fix it. So take my advice, Haley. If you love him like you say you do, don’t waste it.”
Shoving up to her feet, Sloane brushes the sand from her bare legs and readjusts her camera around her neck. She glances down at me, and she actually smiles. “You know, guys do really stupid things when they’re in love. Their brains don’t know how to handle it.”
The urge to laugh surprises me, but I go with it. And when she offers me a hand, I actually take it. I’m not ready to sweep the past under the rug or call her my friend or anything, but at least the desire to rip out her hair every time I see her face has vanished.
“Sloane!”
We both glance up the beach, toward the shout. A middle-aged man stands some ways away, waving his hand.
“Coming, Dad!” Sloane groans, her mouth twisting into a grimace. “Any chance you’d like to save me from what should be a truly uncomfortable encounter with my parent?”
I grin at her. “Not a chance.”
“That’s the spirit.” She bumps me with her shoulder. “I’d say that it was nice to see you, but I think we both know it’d be a lie.” She says it with a smile, so I know she’s at least half kidding.
“Ditto.”
She takes three steps forward and then spins back around. “Before I forget, please call Blaire. If I have to hear one more time about should she call you, should she not call you, should she have pushed you to be in the wedding, blah, blah, blah, I’m going to blow my brains out. She’s sorry and she feels like shit about what happened. So if you’re feeling the spirit of forgiveness, it would be nice if you added her to the list.”
I shake my head. “You know, if you’re not careful, people might actually start thinking you care.”