CHAPTER FIFTEEN | Penn
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Penn
London shifts in the seat next to me, whether because she’s uncomfortable or nervous, I can’t say for sure. Seven years ago, I would’ve known the exact reason for her apparent restlessness, but today, I don’t pretend to know anything at all.
“Can I ask you something?” I glance in her direction for a brief moment before my eyes return to the road.
“Okay.” It’s the first word she’s spoken since we left the bar five minutes ago.
“What happened?”
“You’ll need to be more specific. What do you mean what happened?”
“To your leg. You said you got injured. What happened?”
“Alec hasn’t told you?”
“Alec knows?” I don’t try to hide the irritation in my voice. I assumed he knew more than he was saying, but having it confirmed makes me weirdly angry with my brother.
“So he didn’t tell you.” She thinks on that for a moment. “I got hit by a cab.”
“You got hit by a cab?” I phrase it like a question, not sure if she’s actually telling me the truth or messing with me. Again, another thing I wouldn’t have had to second-guess before she left.
“In a crosswalk,” she continues. “Rolled right into me like I wasn’t even there. Broke my femur in multiple places, my wrist, and I had to get stitches at the crown of my head.”
“You’re serious?”
“Because that’s the kind of story you make up.” She huffs, and even though I’m not looking at her, I know with complete certainty that she just rolled her eyes.
“Damn, LV. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want nor do I need your pity.”
“I can be sorry for what you went through without pitying you,” I say, fighting to keep the edge from my voice. “When did it happen?”
“Eighteen months next Tuesday.”
“That’s oddly specific.”
“Easy to remember the day everything I had worked my whole life for went up in flames.”
When I glance in her direction, she’s staring out the window.
“So, are you able to dance at all anymore?”
“You saw me tonight. All I did was stand for a bit. Imagine if I were jumping and twirling around.” She blows out a hard breath. “No, my dancing days are over.”
“I’ve never known you to give up so easily.” I want to take the words back as soon as they slip past my lips, but it doesn’t make them any less true.
London Voss is the most headstrong, determined person I’ve ever met. At least, she used to be.
“Give up?” She harrumphs. “I didn’t give up. I pushed my body past its limits and instead of succeeding, I only injured myself worse. I didn’t give up,” she reiterates. “My body did.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine.” The way she says it does not make it seem fine in the least. “Why do you still have that?” I turn my head just enough to see her gesture to my wrist.
I don’t have to ask what she means. I know she’s talking about the tattoo of her initials. And while the answer is the simplest thing in the world—I didn’t want to remove it because doing so would be like erasing her entirely—I lie just the same.
“Too expensive.” I shrug.
“Aren’t you sick of looking at it? I mean, you clearly hate me...”
“I could never hate you, London.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she mutters under her breath.
“Are you trying to start a fight with me?” I fight the smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“No. Just curious why you kept it.”
“Do you know how painful and expensive it is to have a tattoo removed?”
“Last I checked, you could afford it. And since when do you shy away from a little pain? I’ve never known you to be a baby.”
She’s goading me, trying to see how I’ll react.
“Just because I can afford it doesn’t mean I should. My priority is my business, not some silly tattoo I got when I was too young to know better.”
“So you regret it?”
“No,” I answer honestly.
“No?” She seems surprised by this.
“It’s a reminder of how quickly your life can change. It’s a reminder to cherish the things you have while you have them because you never know when they’ll be gone.”
She falls quiet for a long moment.
“I never meant to hurt you, you know.”
“Whether you meant it or not, the outcome was still the same.”
She falls silent after that, turning her attention back out the window.
I give her over to her own thoughts for a few long moments, but the silence is deafening, so I say the first thing that pops into my head.
“You know, just because you can’t dance doesn’t mean you can’t still have dance in your life.”
I feel her gaze on the side of my face as she turns toward me.
“How do you figure?”
“Have you ever thought about teaching dance?”
“Teaching dance?” She says it like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard.
“Yes, teaching dance. How many times did you say you wish there were more options for dancers and performers in Wren Cove? How many nights did you complain about not getting home until ten o’clock on a school night because you had to drive an hour away for lessons?
” I ask, realizing I might just be onto something.
Or you’re just grasping at ways to keep her here... That irritating voice in the back of my head decides to pipe in.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Have you given any real thought to what you’re going to do when Janet comes back?”
“Not really.” She scoffs. “That eager to get rid of me?”
“I’m not saying that. But Janet is coming back and when she does, I won’t have a place for you. Maybe you should take this time to figure out your next moves.”
“Okay, Dad. I’ll get right on that,” she snips.
“Why are you getting offended?” I ask, pulling onto her street. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
“Well, maybe you should. Do you want to know what I think?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway.” She crosses her arms in front of herself.
I know this play. She’s digging in her heels, the stubborn brat that she is.
“I think you should look into opening a dance studio here in Wren Cove.”
“Yeah, let me just pull out a hundred grand from my overflowing savings account and get right on that.”
“You don’t need a ton of money. You just need a plan and a lot of determination. The London I remember had that in spades.”
“The London you remember is long gone,” she says so quietly I almost don’t catch it as I turn into her driveway.
“I don’t believe that for a second.” I don’t say it until I’ve reached the house, shifting my truck into park before turning toward her.
“You are the most driven, talented person I’ve ever met in my entire life.
” This statement has her gaze finding mine, emotion swimming heavily behind those brilliant blue eyes of hers.
“I don’t think you can do whatever you set your mind to; I know you can. ”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she admits, voice soft.
“I could help you.” I surprise myself by saying.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why help me? At the start of this week, you could barely stand to look at me. Now you want to help me what? Start a business?”
“We agreed to try to be friends. Isn’t this the exact kind of thing friends do?”
“I appreciate the offer and the suggestion, but I’m not even sure that’s something I want to do.”
“Well, at least think about it. And if it’s something you decide you want to try and pursue, you know where to find me.”
“Why are you being so nice to me right now?”
“Maybe because I realized that by punishing you for leaving, I was really only punishing myself.”
“I am sorry, you know.” She pulls in a deep breath. “I’m sorry for leaving the way I did. I’m sorry for not asking you to come with me. I’m just... sorry. I should have said that to you a long time ago.”
It takes every inch of willpower I have not to take her face in my hands and kiss her. The way she’s looking at me makes it almost impossible not to do just that.
I force myself to stay exactly where I am.
“I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you since you came back. I’m sorry that I let you leave. I’m sorry that I didn’t fight for you.”
“I really made quite a mess of things.” Unshed tears fill her eyes, but she’s quick to blink them away.
“We both did.” I reach for her hand, honestly a little surprised when she lets me take it. Wrapping my fingers around hers, I give them a gentle squeeze.
“I just need you to know that if I could go back and do things differently, I would.” She gives me a sad smile, pulling her hand out of mine. “Thanks for the ride, Penn.” She turns, pushing open the door.
“London,” I call after her as she slides out of the truck.
“Yeah?” She turns, eyes bright, dark hair hanging over her shoulder. My God, if she isn’t the definition of perfection.
I want to tell her that I still love her.
That these past seven years without her have been torture.
That everything I’ve done to hurt her is proof that I’m not over her. The way I’ve treated her. Sleeping with Cat because I knew it would hurt her. All of it, it’s because I’m still so in love with her that sometimes when I look at her, I find it hard to breathe.
“Thanks for tonight,” I say instead of saying any of those things.
“Of course.” She smiles, but the action doesn’t reach her eyes. “Good night, Penn.”
“Good night.”
I don’t drive away until she disappears inside and even then, the last thing I want to do is leave.
I’ve spent so much time trying to convince myself that I don’t still love London that I almost made myself believe it. But that lie came crashing down around me the moment I saw her sitting outside of the office that first day.
Even then, I wouldn’t let myself admit it. I still don’t want to. I don’t want to love her. To need her. To crave her the way my lungs crave air when I’ve been underwater for too long. Like if I don’t have her right this second, I might actually die.
I don’t want any of those things, and yet it doesn’t change the fact that I still do.