26
Joel arrives a little after eight. The sight of his tightly shuttered face has nerves stirring in my stomach. He refuses my offer of food or drink, a clear sign he doesn’t plan to stay long.
We sit stiffly across from each other in the living room. I’m in a white hoodie, sweatpants, and slippers, my hair pulled into a low ponytail. I didn’t bother dressing up. What would be the point, when I suspect he came to end things between us?
“Farah spray-painted your car because of me,” he says straight away, skipping past any small talk.
My fingers tighten their grip on my knees. I knew he’d blame himself.
“I wasn’t hurt, Joel,” I remind him.
“You could have been.”
“But I wasn’t,” I insist calmly. “And Owen found out who did it.” I hesitate, then add, “Farah even came by today. She apologized.”
Surprise ripples across his face. “She did?”
“Yes. So, actually, everything’s fine.”
“Everything’s not fine.” He bites the words out, his jaw tight.
I search his face. “What are you really worried about?” I ask softly. “Checking my house, warning me to be careful—what’s that about?”
He keeps quiet, his face instantly turning wary.
And in his silence, my niggling sense that he’s worried about something—or someone else—being a threat is confirmed.
There are so many empty spaces in what he tells me. He’s so careful with his words. With his emotions. His secrets. Honestly, I’m tired of trying to second-guess everything about him.
“We tried to keep this quiet, but it isn’t working,” he says finally. “If anything, we’re drawing more attention to ourselves. For both our sakes, we should stop seeing each other.”
“Liar.” The shot of anger startles me, but the anger feels good. It feels better than the misery I’ve been fighting all day.
Surprise widens his eyes. “Did you just call me a liar?”
“I did,” I say defiantly. My knee-jerk instinct to apologize flares, but I shove it down. “The least you can do is have the guts to tell me the truth.”
He’s looking at me with a confused furrow between his eyebrows. “What truth?”
“If you want to cut me out of your life, you don’t have to make up an excuse about being worried for my safety.”
“I’m not making it up,” he says evenly. “Why would you say that?”
A huge lump of mortification abruptly forms in my throat. I realize with a flicker of shock that my behavior isn’t so different from Farah’s. Here I am chasing him, refusing to accept that he wants to end this. I don’t want to be that person.
“You know what, never mind,” I say, waving my hand as if I can brush the words away. “We said the whole thing was fake. And it was. It still is. We’ll simply end it a little sooner than we planned. It’s fine.”
“Kenzie—”
“Really, it’s okay. Who cares what your reasons are?”
I hate how small my voice sounds. I hate how he’s reduced me to this. Or have I reduced myself to this?
Joel pins me with an unrelenting stare. “Why do you think I’m lying to you?” he asks slowly.
He’s not going to let it go.
Just rip the bandage off, I tell myself. It’ll sting, but I’m already raw. What’s one more layer of hurt? I have nothing to lose at this point. My dignity might as well join the scraps of my self-esteem already littering the floor.
“I see the women you’ve dated.” My voice cracks, and I take a moment to regain my composure. “They’re beautiful, confident, and self-assured. And I’m...I’m none of those things. So I get it. I’m not enough for you.”
Not sexy enough. Not adventurous enough. Not pretty enough.
He closes his eyes briefly, as if in pain. “Kenzie, that is so far from the truth. You feel more real to me than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“You’re not making sense,” I say, frustration leaking into my voice.
“I know.”
“Do you find me attractive?” I dare to ask.
Heat flickers in his eyes. “I find you unbelievably attractive.”
“Then is it my personality? Am I boring?”
He levels a look at me, the intensity of it making my stomach flutter. “You are the farthest thing from boring. You delight me. You challenge me. You undo me.” A pause. “And you exhaust me.”
I’m not sure if the exhaust part is meant as a compliment. The look on his face says no. Still, I’ll take it as a win.
The silence stretches on, broken only by our breaths.
“Those other women—and there weren’t as many as some people would have you believe—I never had a third date with any of them.” A shadow passes over his face. “But with you, it would be different. It wouldn’t be casual between us. That’s why I can’t pursue this.”
My heart beats faster at his words. There it is. Finally. His admission that there is a connection between us, one that goes deeper than just the physical.
Taking in his brittle expression, I realize I’m not the only one hurting. It’s strange, we haven’t known each other long. We’ve barely spent any meaningful time together. And yet I can’t help feeing as if I’ve lost something that could have become precious and permanent.
His jaw tightens. He exhales like it hurts. “I wish there was another way.”
“There is. It’s called taking a chance on us.”
Pain streaks across his face. “I got careless and selfish, and let this go on for too long, trying to convince myself it was only fake. I’m sorry.” His voice comes out low and tortured. “I’m just not good for you. And I can’t watch you get hurt.”
“Who’s going to hurt me?”
Weariness fills his eyes. “You don’t need to know that.”
A sudden, terrible thought grips me. What if Joel isn’t trying to protect me from someone else at all? What if the danger is him, and this whole time he’s been trying to keep me safe from himself?
Confusion swirls like smoke inside me, so many theories clamoring for attention in my head I can barely think straight.
“So you’re ending this because you don’t want me getting hurt?” I ask carefully.
He scrubs a hand down his face, then pushes to his feet. “Yes.”
“It would be my hurt,” I retort, standing too. “My choice.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying.”
I stare into his beautiful, dark eyes, and I glimpse the conflict and frustration there.
“You look at me like I’m worth saving,” he whispers.
“That’s because you are.”
For one hopeful second, I think I’ve broken through to him. But all too soon, his face closes down.
Pressure builds behind my eyes. I knew it. Tonight was always going to be less like a conversation and more like a verdict.
As if he can’t help himself, he reaches out and cradles my face gently in his hand. “Goodbye, Kenzie,” he says. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
I swallow the tangle of emotions in my throat. “I’m sure you will.”
He steps back. The movement feels symbolic—stepping away from us, from what we might have been.
If only he’d been brave enough to step forward instead.