Chapter 13
thirteen
JOHANNA
Patrick’s confession echoes around us, floating into the night sky. It rattles in my hollow heart, and when it settles, the tears I’ve been holding in trail down my face, and his eyes follow each one with equal agony.
He looks as wrecked as I feel. His confession drains whatever argument or words of persuasion I had to convince him he’s wrong. I think we’re done for the evening, but our unspoken words still speak volumes.
Is he sorry he loved me, and no longer does? Maybe I should be lucky he ever felt that way. Being loved by him once is better than never at all, right? I wonder how he stopped, though. Because for me, loving Patrick Sadler is chronic. No cure for the heartrending love I spent years trying to ignore.
After months of regret, guilt, and doubt over the move to Tennessee , I accepted that my decision meant that my love would never be reciprocated. I didn’t think I would ever see him again. But here he is, standing in front of me, having stopped loving me before I even knew it was possible.
This type of love hurts, but it didn’t always feel like this. It was gentle and soft, like a cool spring breeze. One minute the grassy fields are bare, the next they’re flooded with new life.
I can pinpoint the exact moment my love for Patrick started to bloom.
Smoothing out the layers of tulle on my baby-blue dress, I try to ignore the horde of butterflies taking flight in my stomach.
I’m not much of a girly-girl, that much is obvious considering two of my best friends are boys, and I’ve never been into makeup and all that jazz. But when my mom offered to take me into the city to get my hair and makeup done, I couldn’t say no.
Because tonight is my junior prom.
When Brody Dixon walked up to me as I was about to step on the bus, and asked me to be his date, I couldn’t believe it. He didn’t make a big fuss about it like I’d seen some of the other boys in my class do, but who cares? I had a prom date!
Patrick also looked super surprised, and I was a little bummed he didn’t seem as excited as I was. He just sat there staring out the window for the entire bus ride home. I don’t know if it’s because he didn’t have a date yet or was tired after a long week of school.
My blonde hair is curled in tight ringlets that fall down my back, and a few diamanté clips hold back my bangs. The curls bounce around as I turn in front of the mirror, checking that my dress and makeup are perfect before heading outside. Brody is picking me up in his new truck, and when I check the time, I realize he’ll be here soon.
I swipe one more layer of gloss across my lips, smack them together, and leave the restroom to join Patrick and our parents.
Patrick’s dad wanted to get some pictures of the two of us together at the restaurant. We begged him not to, finding the whole thing embarrassing, but it’s rare you find Ted without his trusty camera. When I walk out and I’m met with a chorus of gasps and coos, my cheeks heat.
“ Johanna ,” my mom chokes out. “ You look stunning, my little Mayflower .”
Even my dad tries to subtly swipe away his tears .
My face drops and I chew my lips to hide the shy smile pulling at them. When a pair of black, shiny dress shoes steps into view, the bashfulness vanishes.
I slowly drag my eyes up to find a wide-eyed Patrick . As he looks me up and down, his mouth parts slightly, but no words come out. He’s in a silver two-piece suit and I know he hates how his hair has been styled like that.
Is it normal to think your best friend looks hot?
His tie is a little lopsided and I reach out to adjust it, which snaps his gaze to mine. I watch him swallow as I straighten the silky material. “ Well don’t you clean up well.”
“ T -thanks. You look beautiful. No ! I mean, yes, you do. Your dress is beautiful. You look okay. No , grea—oh fuck.”
“ Patrick !” Claire scolds from across the room. Ted shakes his head with laughter as he fiddles around with his Polaroid camera.
He’s not usually nervous like this, but the red tips of his ears and the way he stumbles over his words make me think he is. Because of me?
“ Your tie kinda matches my dress,” I point out, giving it a pat, letting him know I’m done. It’s a darker shade of blue, but it looks nice against the poofy tulle between us.
“ Is that okay? I know I’m not your date, but when you said you were wearing blue… I can change, it’s dumb.”
He goes to turn away, but I drag him back with the grip I still have on his tie. He falls into me but steadies himself when his warm hands land on my bare shoulders. My heart pitter-patters at the contact, and now I’m the one blushing.
“ No , keep it on. I like it.” The rhythm of my heart doesn’t slow when his panicked face morphs into a big smile, flashing his straight white teeth.
We take photos, our parents fuss over us, and then Patrick heads over to the school with a few of his lacrosse teammates and Dex , leaving me to wait for my date at the restaurant.
When the clock on the wall chimes at seven o’clock, my ears perk up every time I hear a car outside. After ten minutes of waiting, my knees bounce in anticipation. After half an hour, my mom is giving me a pitiful look from across the table. And after one hour, my dad doesn’t put up a fight when I beg him to take me home.
As we step out into the cool night, the tears of mortification I’ve been holding in finally fall. My prom is ruined, and everyone will be talking about how I got stood up by Brody on Monday morning. I tug at the clips in my hair, not caring about the sharp sting in my scalp, when shouting from behind me has me pausing.
“ Wait !”
My dad and I turn to find a red-faced Patrick running toward us with something white clutched in his hands, arms flailing in the air.
Quickly wiping at my tear-stained cheeks, I look at my dad in question, who shrugs.
“ Patrick , what are you doing here?” I ask once he reaches us. His styled hair is now a mess of curls, and he bends at the waist trying to catch his breath.
“ Wow . The school is much farther than you think.” Did he run here? “ My dad texted me. Brody Dixon is a fucking idiot, and you can do better. Don’t let that little turd ruin your night,” he rushes out breathlessly. He holds out his elbow to me, but I just stare at him in confusion. “ C’mon , YoYo . We’re gonna be late.”
Still unsure of what’s happening, I take his arm and he escorts me to where my dad is standing by his truck. Patrick jogs ahead and opens the back passenger door for me, and I can’t help but giggle at the bow he gives me as I climb in. I expect him to sit in the front seat, but to my surprise, he rounds the truck and slides in next to me.
“ George , my good man. Take us to the prom!” Patrick calls to my dad, who is now sitting behind the wheel.
My dad rolls his eyes in the rearview mirror, starts the engine, and pulls a U -turn to head in the direction of the school.
I look at Patrick , who’s face is still pretty flushed as he smiles brightly. He holds out a fist and uncurls his fingers to reveal a white flower sitting in the middle of his palm. It’s a little crushed and bruised now, but it’s still recognizable.
“ A corsage?” I whisper, my eyes flicking between the delicate flower and my best friend.
“ Yeah .” He scratches his cheek and glances between us. “ Dex was holding on to it for me. That’s why it’s, umm, a little squashed. I didn’t think that tool would get you one, and I didn’t want you missing out.”
He shrugs his shoulders like it’s no big deal, when this is the biggest deal ever. The pitter-pattering from earlier is nothing compared to the herd of horses now galloping in my chest.
He takes hold of my left hand and slips the elastic band around my wrist. He’s leaning so close to me, his minty breath coasts across my face and the subtle scent of his aftershave fills my nostrils. Pine and something else?
“ You didn’t need to come back for me.”
“ Of course I did,” he says and squeezes my wrist gently. “ You’re my best friend. And I guess this makes me your prom date now, huh?”
Chuckling softly, I stroke the soft petals of the corsage before smiling at Patrick so wide, my cheeks hurt. My humiliation is long gone, and Brody Dixon forgotten. “ And I’m yours.”
A sudden gust of wind whips across our faces, pulling me back from the memory. We’re still standing impossibly close to each other in the middle of the parking lot.
“ Why didn’t you say anything?” The wind picks up as my voice pitches with emotions.
I can’t bring myself to look at his face right now, so I keep my eyes trained on his throat. He swallows deeply before speaking. “ I never got the chance, and it was all so new between us.”
Whether it’s from the cold or the devastation, Patrick notices the shiver that ripples through me.
Taking hold of the coat still hanging from my fingers, he drapes it over my shoulders and rubs his hands up and down my biceps. The way he looks after me, even when there’s so much strain between us, reminds me of that same seventeen-year-old boy.
He gives me a sad smile before he backs away. My body screams at him to come back as he walks toward a row of trucks. My legs have a mind of their own as I follow him silently. Pulling out his keys, he stops in front of a very familiar-looking blue Chevy and slides the key into the lock. Turning toward me, my face must give away my shock at seeing his dad’s old truck.
He taps the roof and opens the passenger door for me. “ I’m as shocked as you are that this old thing is still running.”
Flashbacks of school pickups, camping trips, and drive-in movies come racing back to me as I walk to where he’s holding the door open for me. A small dent in the passenger door has a watery smile appearing on my face, remembering the first time Patrick drove it and within the first yard, hit his neighbor’s mailbox. He freaked out for a good hour, but in classic Ted fashion, he didn’t care and was just glad we were okay.
“ Get in, I’ll crank the heat.”
I hesitate for only a second before sliding past Patrick . There isn’t much space between his truck and the one next to it, and when my hip grazes his, he plasters himself against the car door to escape me. I can’t decide whether to chuckle that he’s trying to be a gentleman or cry that he’s trying his hardest to stay away from me.
He rounds the truck and climbs in as I slide into the passenger seat, then chucks his phone and wallet on the bench between us.
“ Here ,” Patrick says as he reaches behind me to the backseat. He’s wrapped in a black parka, and when he leans back, his navy Henley rides up to reveal a sliver of muscle and a trail of hair disappearing under his dark blue jeans.
I immediately snap my eyes forward. My emotions are all over the place. From panic, to anger, shock, and now… I have no idea what’s hanging in the air between us. Something scratchy falls in my lap and I meet Patrick’s meek gaze.
“ Sorry , that’s all I have in this truck.”
“ This is fine,” I say and drape the blanket over my knees.
He nods and turns to face the windshield. The interior lighting turns off after a few seconds and we’re blanketed in darkness, both staring out across the blueberry field in front of us. I hate the awkward tension between us, so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. The younger versions of us would be so confused at it all, but I guess time and distance can do that to people.
“ I don’t want it to be like this,” Patrick murmurs, breaking the silence. We stay facing forward, but from the corner of my eye I can see his fingers flexing against the steering wheel. “ I handled you coming back badly and I’m sorry.”
“ My dad and your mom didn’t exactly prime you for my return. And maybe I shouldn’t have pretended that…well, that everything could just be ignored,” I offer.
“ I know why they didn’t tell me. But I think I’ve done my fair share of pretending too.”
The side of my face warms, and I know he’s looking at me. I want to meet his eyes, but I drop my head and play with the frayed edges of the blanket instead.
“ I’ve been unfair to you, and you won’t be surprised to hear that my brothers have been giving me a hard time for it. And Dex . I want to make this work between us. For the restaurant,” he rushes out. “ If you’re here to stay?—”
“ I am,” I blurt out. I need him to know that I’m not going anywhere.
His head rests against the seat; he looks tired, handsome, and so familiar. I want so badly to wipe away the frown line etched into his face, erase all his worries and doubts. We were always that person for one another, someone we would go to for validation, to vent, to laugh, or to cry with.
He has Carrie for that now.
I watch his throat work as he mulls over his next words. When he turns his head to face me, I swear I see relief. “ Okay . I’ve had a lot of time to go over what happened all those years ago, I’ve gone through all the motions, and I’m not mad at you for leaving. I might not know or understand why you left, and I’d still like to hear you out. I don’t think tonight is the time for that. If we’re going to continue working together, I think a clean slate is what we need.”
“ I agree. There’s more I want to say, but I struggle to open up sometimes.” The worry in his face deepens and I’m quick to assure him. “ It’s nothing bad, or anything you need to worry about, just some things I had to work through. I don’t find it easy to share…but I want to tell you when I’m ready.”
“ Whenever you’re ready, I’ll listen. I know I acted like a prick, but I’ll never stop worrying about you.”
How does one even begin to respond to that? “ I’m not here to make things difficult for you. I want us to move forward too.” My stubborn heart will hate me for what I say next, but it seems crucial if we really want to move past this all. “ I know we have history, but Carrie can rest easy knowing I’m not here to rekindle anything.”
His head rears back and he sits up straighter, his entire body now turned toward me. “ Wait , what? Jo , that’s no?—”
“ It’s fine, Patrick . If I don’t say it now, I never will,” I interrupt, though the words taste bitter and ashy. “ I have spent almost six years coming to terms with it and…it’s okay. I’m glad you’re happy. Lottie seems like a great kid.”
He looks so dumbfounded. Is it that hard to believe that I could be happy for him? At least one of us hasn’t been a total disaster and has moved on .
“ How about that heat?” I ask, needing to change the subject.
It takes him a moment to shake himself out of his stupor, and once he does, he places the key in the ignition but doesn’t turn it. He opens and closes his mouth before shaking his head. I’m about to ask him what’s wrong when understanding and disbelief shadow his features.
“ You’ve got it all wrong, Jo .”