Chapter 7
THEO
After weeks of thinking about the moment I would finally talk to Becca, it’s surreal to be sitting across from her, watching her sip at her latte like we aren’t about to have a monumentally important conversation.
At least, important to me.
For all I know, she’s just hoping to get it over with.
She’s right about the inside of the coffee shop. It’s full of comfortable couches and cozy seating areas. We’re at a table in the corner, next to a window with a view of the grassy courtyard outside the hospital.
I can tell Becca’s nervous. She’s picking at the cardboard sleeve on her cup, and she’s not making a lot of eye contact.
I wish she wanted this as much as I did, but after her earlier confession that she probably wouldn’t have texted if not for Garrison, I’m lucky to be here at all, so I’ll take whatever I can get.
I can’t stop hoping that this won’t be the last time I see her, but it might be, which means I have to get this right. Even if nothing else comes out of this, I want to give her the apology she deserves.
“So, my mom called this week and said she ran into your mom?” I say, and Becca’s eyes lift to mine.
“She did?”
“Weirdly enough, they’re in the same pickleball league.”
“Ahh,” Becca says with a nod. “So that’s why my mother has called me so many times this week.”
“You too? I thought it was just me.”
She laughs, and the tightness in my chest loosens. “You get the bonus points for being the one who answered,” she says.
“I’m glad your mom’s health is good enough for her to play,” I say. “Though it is weird to think about the two of them hanging out.”
“Yeah, that is strange,” she says. “Maybe it shouldn’t be? They both still live in Frisco, on the same side of town. It’s maybe more strange they haven’t run into each other before now.”
“True,” I say. “I hadn’t thought about it like that. Just because we grew up and moved away doesn’t mean they did.” I pause for a beat before asking, “How’s your dad?”
“He’s great,” she says. “The same, really. Still a pharmacist at the Walgreens on Harris Ave. Still taking care of Mom when she needs it.”
I never spent much time with Becca’s dad. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist and let his wife do most of the talking whenever I was over at their house. But it was obvious he was wholly dedicated to his family. He reminded me of my dad in that sense. He knew how to show up.
A familiar twinge of sadness shoots through me at the thought of my dad, but this time, there’s something else with it. A sense of gratitude that for seventeen years, I got to learn from the best possible father a kid could have. That’s more than a lot of people can say.
That’s new—finding the gratitude inside the sadness.
I guess my stupid brother was right about therapy.
“And your sisters?” I ask Becca. “What are they up to?”
She grins. “Gigi just graduated from high school. And Alyssa is a sophomore at UT - Austin.”
“It does not make sense that they are so old.”
“Tell me about it,” Becca says. “It’s still hard for me to believe.”
We spend the next few minutes talking about her family, her work as a travel nurse, her cousin Indigo, whom I remember meeting one summer when we were still in high school.
She tells me all about her life in California and why it’s such a great place for travel nursing.
She talks about her best friend, Mia, and her home up in North Carolina, just over the Georgia border.
Mia’s mom owns a bakery, and when the two of them have a few days off at the same time, they love to drive up for a weekend in the mountains and an endless supply of blueberry muffins.
It’s nice hearing about her life—I could honestly talk to her all day—but the longer we sit, the more I feel like time is slipping away, like I might miss my opportunity to say what I came here to say. I can only delay the inevitable for so long.
“So you’ll go back to California when you’re finished here?” I ask, mentally kicking myself for stalling again. Her latte is already gone. What am I even doing?
“That’s always been the plan,” she says. “My boyfriend lives there, but … I don’t know. Things are a little complicated right now.”
Boyfriend. The word lands in my gut like a fifty-pound kettlebell.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, look at her.
Of course she has a boyfriend. But hearing her say it still sparks a sense of disappointment, a shallow ache right behind my ribs that makes me put down my coffee cup and press my palms against my legs.
I knew it was a possibility, and it doesn’t change the importance of being here.
My desire to apologize doesn’t have anything to do with her relationship status.
But I still hoped. And it sucks to have those hopes so thoroughly dashed.
She did say it was complicated, but that probably has everything to do with the fact that they’re currently living on opposite sides of the country.
I want to ask, dig for more info, look for any sign of weakness that might keep my hope alive, but I won’t do it.
Becca’s perceptive enough to see through me, and I don’t want her to think the only reason I’m apologizing is that I’m hoping for something more.
So I swallow my disappointment and cross my fingers, hoping my voice doesn’t come out as strangled as I feel. “Yeah, that’s really long distance,” I manage to say. “That must be hard.”
Her eyes drop to the table for a long moment. “Yeah, it hasn’t been awesome. Though you probably know what it’s like, with all the traveling you do.”
“Yeah, I…” I hesitate, unsure how to finish the sentence. “Not so much, really.”
“Oh, come on,” Becca teases, but there’s a depth to her gaze that makes me think she’s more serious than she’s letting on. “I’ve seen the pictures. You appear to be quite the ladies’ man.”
Heat climbs up the back of my neck. I love the idea of Becca looking me up, but I hate the idea of what all those photos might make her assume when it’s the opposite of what’s real.
“Well, if it’s on the internet, it must be true,” I say. A deflection, but it makes her grin.
“Right. Absolutely. A solid assumption,” she says.
Silence settles again, and I shift in my seat. If I’m going to do this, I have to do it now.
“So, I read that the hockey team is partnering with the hospital for a twenty-four-hour MS Walk next weekend,” Becca says, and I breathe out a sigh of relief, immediately latching on to the subject.
“We totally are. We do it every August. Our GM’s wife has MS, so he does a lot of connected advocacy work.”
Her expression softens. “I love that. I’m signed up too, actually. A bunch of nurses are doing it together. But this one feels different than the one we did in high school. I won’t have to walk the entire twenty-four hours, right?”
“Definitely not. There has to be someone from each team walking at all times, but you take turns. It’s a lot of fun.
They have food and raffles and this whole big auction thing.
For the Jaguars, people from the community sign up to walk with whatever team member they want, and whatever they donate, we match, then double. ”
“Sounds amazing. Except for the August in Atlanta part. I’m not excited about that.”
“Yeah, the heat is pretty brutal. But the firefighters come and hose everyone down, so that helps.”
“Sounds like a party.” She glances down at her watch, then looks back at me, and I know we’ve exhausted every possible ounce of small talk.
I take a deep breath, letting the silence stretch, the tension ratcheting higher and higher. “Becca, I…” I pause, nerves making my gut tighten. “I know it was a long time ago, and this probably feels like too little, too late. But I still want you to know how sorry I am.”
Her eyes drop to the table.
“I don’t have any excuse for what I did—”
“You do, though,” she says, cutting me off. She looks up to meet my gaze. “Your dad died, Theo. That’s a good excuse.”
“But it isn’t.” I resist the urge to reach out and take her hands. “You wanted to be there for me, and I wouldn’t let you. I think I convinced myself I didn’t deserve to have anyone love me.” My voice cracks as I add, “Especially someone like you.”
Her brown eyes are wide as she asks, “Like me?”
I’m not sure how to answer her question. How do I tell her how impossibly perfect I thought she was? How desperately I wanted to give her everything?
I spin my empty cup, turning it around and around and around. “Becca, even at my best, you still deserved better. After what happened…”
She reaches over and stills my fidgeting hands, tugging the coffee cup away and setting it next to hers. Then she wraps her fingers around mine. “What happened wasn’t your fault,” she says, her expression earnest.
I close my eyes, and for a split second, I see the headlights flying toward me, my hands squeezing Becca’s like they’re still squeezing the steering wheel.
I know it wasn’t my fault. The other driver was drunk. He was the one who blew through an intersection. But it took me a long time to stop asking the what-if questions.
What if I hadn’t begged Dad to take me to get food? What if I hadn’t asked to drive? What if we’d just stayed at the iceplex while Carter finished his sprints? What if we’d taken a different route?
“I know that now,” I say, “but back then, I wanted the hurt. I wanted to suffer because Dad was gone. Mom lost him, my brother lost him, because I couldn’t wait fifteen minutes to get a burger.
” I give my head a little shake, pushing the feelings aside and forcing myself to look at Becca, to stay anchored in this moment, right here, with her.
There are tears in her eyes, her hands still gripping mine.
“You would have said all the right things,” I say, my voice low. “And I didn’t think I deserved any of them.”
She nods and sniffs, tugging her hands back to wipe away her tears. “I get it,” she says. “I hated it. But even then, I understood it wasn’t really about me.”
I hate that she’s crying. That all these years later, she still feels enough to trigger tears. “I’m sorry I pushed you away, Bec.”
She closes her eyes for a brief moment, then opens them again, her lips lifting into a small smile. “Sorry you had your brother break up with me after your dad’s funeral?”
I wince. “Definitely sorry about that. You deserved so much more.”
She presses her palms flat against the table, then takes a deep breath. “Thank you for apologizing,” she says. “I think I thought I was over it, but clearly”—she motions to her tear-stained face—“I still have some lingering feelings.”
“Rightly so,” I say. “I know it was just high school, but we…” I don’t finish because I’m not sure I should. She has a boyfriend. I don’t want to make things weird by talking about a relationship that ended years ago.
“We felt like more than that,” she finishes for me.
Warmth spreads through my chest at her words. I’ve always believed it was real love for both of us. But it feels good to hear her acknowledge it too. “Yeah, we did.”
She studies me for a long moment. “I should go,” she finally says, then she slips out of her chair.
I quickly stand, panic rising in my chest. “Right. I … should we…?” My words trail off, but I have no idea what I was even going to say.
I can’t ask to see her again. She’s seeing someone else, and I’m never going to be that guy.
I could ask to be her friend, but even that feels questionable because I’m not sure I trust my motives.
I don’t think I could ever look at Becca and be content in the friend zone.
Even all these years later, the feelings I used to have are so close to the surface.
She meant too much to me for my heart to ever see her any other way.
She holds out her hand. “Friends?”
My heart squeezes inside my chest. I can’t say yes. But I can’t say no either.
I slip my hand into hers. Her skin is warm and soft and sends a familiar bolt of longing through my body. “Friends,” I say.
She gives my hand a little squeeze, then she pulls her fingers away and turns to leave. I watch her walk away, emotions coursing through me, but then she pauses and turns. She looks at me, hesitating for just a beat before rushing back, quickly closing the distance between us.
When she reaches me, she pushes up on her toes and wraps her arms around my neck.
I hug her back, pulling her close as I savor the familiar feel of her pressed against me. My hands skim her waist as I breathe in the scent of her, keenly aware of every part of me she’s touching. Her hands on my shoulders, her chest pressed against mine, her hair tickling my nose.
I don’t know how I lived without her—without this.
How did I ever let this woman go?
The hug is over too soon, then she’s backing away again.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she says. “That you’re playing hockey. You deserve to have the life you always wanted.” She bites her lip. “I think your dad would agree with me on that.” She offers me a sad smile, then she turns and leaves for good.
All I can think as I watch her round the corner of the coffee shop and disappear is that it’s almost the life I’ve always wanted.
Almost.