Chapter 24 - Mars #2
Everything inside me drops so fast I almost feel sick.
My hand freezes over the coffee pods because there it is, the thing I've been afraid of since she told me I could come with them.
She changed her mind. Maybe being around me is too much, or maybe she talked to the guys and realized letting me stay was only going to make everything harder.
I set the pod down carefully and turn toward her. "Okay."
Her eyebrows draw together. "Okay?"
"If you don't want me with the group, I'll go." The words hurt enough that I have to force the rest past the pressure in my chest. "I'll make sure you get to the mine first. I'll help get everything unloaded and secure, then I'll figure something else out."
Her eyes widen. "What? No. Mars, that's not what I meant."
Relief hits hard enough to make me light-headed, but I don't trust it yet. "Then what did you mean?"
She looks down at the edge of the counter and traces one finger along it before meeting my eyes again. "This. Us acting like we don't know how to talk to each other. You apologizing because I'm standing in the same room, and me trying to decide where to look every time you walk past."
I don't interrupt, even though my heart has started beating harder. She takes another breath and turns to face me completely before continuing.
"We used to be friends, Mars. Before... before everything else, we were really good friends." She bites her bottom lip as she tries to find the right words. "I don't want this uncomfortable weirdness between us forever. Can we at least try to get back to that?"
For a second, hope feels dangerously good. I start to nod, because I'll take whatever she offers but then I stop, because if I'm going to rebuild trust with her, it can't start with pretending friendship is all I want.
I shake my head, and the small hopeful curve at the corner of her mouth disappears. Before she can misunderstand me again, I step closer and stop with a few feet still between us.
"I'm not saying no. I'm saying I'm not going to lie to you." I take a slow breath and hold her gaze. "I owe you more than that."
She doesn't say anything, so I keep going. "We can be friends again. I want that more than you know, but friendship is never going to be all I want from you."
I lift my hand and pause before touching her, giving her plenty of time to step back. She doesn't, so I catch one loose strand of her hair between my fingers and give it the softest tug before letting the curl slide over my knuckles.
"I want to find a way past what I broke.
I want to get back to what we had before, and I know I don't get to ask you for that right now.
And maybe I never get it." I lower my hand before wanting becomes taking.
"But you need to know the truth. Every time I look at you, every inch of me wants to touch you, kiss you, love you.
I don't know how to turn that off, Luna, and I don't want to pretend I can. "
Her lips part slightly, and I can see her pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. I want to close the rest of the distance between us so badly my whole body feels pulled forward, but I keep my feet exactly where they are.
"That doesn't mean I'm going to push you.
You said you can't trust me, and you're right.
I have to earn that back before I have any right to hope for more.
" My chest tightens, but I make sure she hears the part that matters most. "I'll be your friend.
I'll give you space, and I'll take whatever place in your life you're willing to give me.
But I'm never going to stop wanting more, and I'm never going to stop fighting to become a man you could choose again. For us. For you."
For one brief second, everything in her expression changes, and I see what we had before.
The angry woman who told me yesterday there was no second chance isn't there, and neither is the guarded Luna standing a few feet from someone who broke her trust. I see the girl who whispered that she loved me against my mouth and believed every promise I made.
Then her eyes drop, and whatever I saw disappears back behind the wall she’s built to guard against the pain I caused. I don't chase it, even though every selfish part of me wants to ask if she felt it too.
She steps around me, "Help yourself to the coffee."
"Luna."
Her hand pauses on the back of one of the dinette seats, but she doesn't turn around. I make myself stop whatever I’m about to blurt out, because I meant what I said about giving her space and instead just say a simple, "Thank you."
She nods once and walks out of the motorhome.
I stay by the counter for another few seconds and let the ache in my center punish me.
She offered friendship, and I told her the truth.
Getting through it without being told to go fuck myself might be the lowest possible bar for progress, but I'll take it.
More importantly, I stopped when she needed me to stop, and maybe a thousand small moments like that are what it takes to prove she can count on me again.
If she needs me, I'll be there, and when she needs distance, I'll give her that too.
I turn back to the Keurig and make the strongest coffee I can find before the break is over.
A few minutes later, travel mug in hand, I step out of the motorhome feeling more awake from the conversation than a dose of caffeine could have made me.
Most of the group is drifting back toward the vehicles.
I start toward the Jeep and I'm halfway there when the growl of another engine carries in from the highway, followed quickly by a deeper one, and every head in the parking lot turns toward the entrance.
A large charter bus swings into the rest stop first, moving slowly across the wide-open lot. Two work trucks follow close behind it, both dusty and loaded with gear, and they stay tight to the bus as all three vehicles turn toward the empty stretch opposite our convoy.
I stop walking and lower my coffee. Nobody from our group moves toward them, and around me the easy movement of a bathroom break disappears as people straighten and start watching.
The bus keeps coming until it reaches the row facing us. I angle toward the Jeep, putting myself between the new arrivals and the closest cluster of our people, while the mug in my hand suddenly feels useless.
Under the Jeep, the shadows twitch, then slide out across the pavement in thin black ribbons and curl around my boots as my pulse kicks harder. I set the coffee on the hood and face the newcomers while the darkness thickens at my feet, ready to answer before I even know whether I need it.
The charter bus finally stops, and the door folds open.