Twenty-Seven #2
A roll of dark eyes doesn’t quite match the sweet, gentle way Imani tangles her fingers with mine and squeezes. ‘It was real,’ she insists, too firmly not to believe.
As the weight that’s been constricting my chest for the last couple of weeks abruptly lessens, I realize just how much I needed to hear that. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for everything to get so . . . complicated.’
‘Trust me.’ Sympathy softens her features – empathy. ‘I understand.’
I’m contemplating ordering another cup of coffee that I don’t need just to give myself an excuse to linger a little longer when the bell above the diner’s front door jingles and a haggard Kai stumbles across the threshold.
His groan reaches us before he does. My nose wrinkles when he tumbles onto the chair beside me, bringing the stale stench of alcohol with him.
Whimpering, he slumps on the table and fixes a pair of pitiful brown eyes on my half-finished plate of lukewarm breakfast before flicking them up to me, making me roll my own.
‘You weren’t even that drunk last night. ’
Kai bats those long, dark lashes and pouts. ‘I’m a sensitive boy.’
‘You’re a drama queen,’ I scoff, but I push my food his way, my full-ish mug too, and I smile a little when he thanks me with a headbutt, like a fucking cat.
I abruptly stop smiling when the door chimes again. My breath catches as my gaze flies to the person pushing inside the diner, leaving me in a low, ragged rush when I realize that, again, it’s not the man I thought it would be.
‘He’s outside,’ Kai tells me quietly, his elbow bumping mine, and I fight the urge to scowl.
So, what? He won’t come in because I’m here? He’s hiding out until I leave? That’s seriously how it is?
‘He’s waiting for you.’
‘To leave,’ I sneer, one hand already reaching for my keys and my phone while the other grapples in my back pocket for the twenty-dollar bill I stuffed in there and tosses it on the table. ‘I get it.’
‘No, dummy. To talk to you.’
‘Why?’
Kai shrugs. ‘Go find out.’
My gaze flicks to Imani – seeking permission? Assurance? Whatever her nod means, that’s obviously what I needed because I don’t move until I get it.
It feels like the entire diner watches me walk outside. If I were to glance over my shoulder, I imagine I’d find a hundred faces smushed against the window. In fact, I think the only pair of eyes in the general vicinity not trained on me might belong to the man leaning against my car.
Arms crossed. Head hanging low. Last night’s rumpled outfit hanging awkwardly on his athletic frame; collar popped and askew, shirt unbuttoned in a dramatic v, the hem hitched high on one side to reveal the top button of his jeans undone, the waistband slung low.
Heath doesn’t look up as I approach. Nor when I ask, ‘Feeling okay?’
One hand lifts to massage his temple, as if the mere sound of my voice has granted him a headache, and he doesn’t say anything.
I wait, I give him a minute, and still, his mouth remains firmly shut.
Irritation tugs at the edge of mine. ‘If you’re not gonna talk to me, can you move?’
Heath stiffens. Discontent rumbles in his chest, but he does exactly what I asked. And even though disappointment squeezes mine, I put on my best unbothered front as I grasp the driver’s side door and haul it open.
Only for a strong hand to slam it shut again.
With a scoff, my narrowed gaze meets his tired one – for a split second, and then he looks away again, squinting at the sky like he can’t bear the sight of me.
He inhales deeply, fucking steeling himself to look at me, and if I weren’t so hurt by the dramatic display, I’d be stomping on his fucking foot.
A muscle in his jaw jumping, he runs his tongue over his teeth before levelling me with wary, reddened eyes. ‘Sorry.’
I kiss my fucking teeth right back. ‘For what?’
‘Showing up last night.’
That’s it? I want to say. Instead, I just shrug. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
The hand holding my car door hostage drops, and I figure that’s it. That’s all he’s got for me – all I’m worth. Except, instead of backing up, he slumps against the frame again, his whole body now impeding my exit.
‘Heath—’
‘I was gonna call you.’
I blink at the abrupt interruption. The abrupt shift in his uninterested disposition. The abrupt, bewildering revelation. ‘What?’
‘I, uh, passed my class. The one I needed for my history minor.’
I hate that disappointment hits me first – that the first thought to cross my mind is That’s it? That’s the only reason?
I hate the wave of pride, far stronger than I have any right to feel, that punches me in the gut even more. ‘You did?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised.’
My eyes roll – my hand squeezes the tattooed forearm I hadn’t even realized I’d grabbed until right this very moment. Quickly retreating, I shove my hands in my pockets lest they do any more unsanctioned wandering. ‘That’s amazing, Heath. I’m so— you should be so proud.’
His smile is shy, as bashful as the dip of his gaze. He shakes his head once, and then, to the ground, he mumbles, ‘You were the first person I wanted to tell. The only person.’
And yet, he didn’t. He’s so . . . God, however the fuck he feels toward me, mad or sad or entirely apathetic, that he wouldn’t even pick up the phone. As tiny little needles of resentment prick my skin, I can’t help but snark, ‘Lose my number?’
The freckles bridging his nose collide as he pulls a face. ‘Didn’t wanna find out if you’d blocked it.’
And deprive myself of the endless hours spent wondering if he’d call, text, show some sign of life? God, I wish the thought had even crossed my mind. ‘I didn’t.’
His sigh is weighted with relief. Tattooed knuckles scrub at tired eyes. He tilts his head to the sky again, staring into space as he shifts and fidgets and sighs some more, and I’m reaching the limit of my capacity for awkward silences by the time he finally pins that gaze on me again.
‘I meant what I said last night,’ he surprises me by drawling – he surprises me by sounding so . . . small. Lost. Drained. ‘I miss you, Dani.’
Three words lodge like shards of glass in my ribcage. Four more get stuck in my throat, too soft and vulnerable and scared to come out yet. I find it hard to look at him, at his drawn, unhappy face or those fucking puppy-dog eyes.
I find it even harder to look away – the notch of his throat is as far as I get. ‘Surprised you remember.’
A red flush begins to crawl its way up his neck. ‘Took me a second.’
What about ‘pretty girl’? I silently wonder. ‘Tried to find you’ and ‘you’re important to me’?
‘Dani.’ He pushes off the car and closes all but a couple of inches of distance between us.
A hesitant hand reaches for me – a stark contrast to the confident finger that crooks around my waistband, a precaution lest I try to flee.
‘I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve just talked to you instead of jumping to conclusions. ’
‘Yeah, you should’ve.’ Maybe I over-reacted at the beach, maybe my hurt feelings were what blew everything up, but my feelings never would’ve been hurt if he’d given me five fucking seconds to clear things up.
If he’d hesitated for a single second, he would’ve seen me shove Ben away. ‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I . . .’ A calloused thumb taps impatiently against the bare skin just above my waistband. ‘Fuck. I didn’t wanna know. Didn’t wanna hear you say it. Didn’t . . .’ He pauses, swallowing hard. ‘I didn’t want you to end it.’
An emotion I can’t quite decipher – or maybe I just don’t want to – lodges in the back of my throat. Around it, I rasp a reminder. ‘It was always gonna end, Heath.’
The hard set of his jaw doesn’t quite agree.
‘It didn’t have to end like that,’ he says, and at least that sentiment, we both share.
‘Our friendship didn’t have to end at all.
I never wanted it to. I . . .’ He inhales deep.
Exhales slow. Tentatively shifts his grip until his pinkie is hooked around mine, holding tight.
‘I don’t feel right without you. I miss my Dani. My best fucking friend.’
The urge to cry slams into me so abruptly, so powerfully, I almost don’t manage to stifle it. I would admit that I missed him too, that his absence was an ache, if I didn’t fear what else might come out with that admission. If I thought that all I did was miss him.
If I wasn’t all but positive about there being a much scarier emotion mixed in there too.
All I can do is nod. Hang on to that pinkie. Steady my knees as relief wobbles them when I’m reminded that Heath never takes my silences personally. Another deep breath tickles my scalp when he drops his face to the top of my head, lips brushing my hairline.
‘Gonna hug you now,’ he warns, but I don’t need it. My hands already found his hip and tugged him close. His arms wrap around me, and my bones all but melt. The anxiety flees my body. It’s the best I’ve felt in weeks. It’s the most still I’ve felt in weeks.
The calm before the storm, I might recognize in hindsight.