Chapter 31 #2
“Slim, buddy, but you can always lead off with a text that says something like, ‘I fat-fingered your name when I entered it into my phone, and now I can’t remember it, but I really want to take you out.’ In the future, have the girl enter her contact info in your phone.
She’ll tell you as little or as much as she wants.
I once had a girl include her full name, birthday, address, and in the notes a list of her favorite color, flower, and food.
You can learn a lot about a girl by what she puts in your phone. ”
“Wise words. Should have known you had a system.”
By the time we get to the apartment a few minutes later, Rhett’s so sleepy he shuffles up the stairs and into our place. He falls onto his bed facedown, fully dressed—minus one sock.
I head back out the front door, walk to Reagan and Dakota’s apartment, then hesitate. I knock softly and wait. I’m about to give up, head resting on the front door when she opens it.
“Hey.” I shove both hands in my jeans pockets and take a step back.
“Hi.” She folds her arms at her waist and looks around. “What are you doing here?”
“I missed you.” It’s honest, but damn, I hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that.
“I’ve missed you too.” The words should make me feel better, but she says it like it’s a real inconvenience.
“I started to text, but I wasn’t sure you’d answer.”
No response.
“Listen, I’m sorry about the other night. I can’t imagine what that was like for you having your mom show up. I should have gone with you, and I never should have let her use me as a messenger.”
“She would have found another way. She’s amazingly resourceful when she needs something. I went to see her today.”
“You did?”
Reagan nods. “I thought maybe she really had changed.” She huffs a laugh. “Lori wants to sell the house, but it’s in my name. She didn’t come to Valley to reconnect or because she thought I was engaged, she needed money. Like always.”
“I’m sorry.” Damn, I hate that woman.
“It’s okay. I feel like maybe I’ve finally made peace with it. Or I’m working on it.” She rubs her upper arms and shrugs. “She is who she is, and I have to accept that.”
“You shouldn’t have to accept that. You deserve so much better.”
She nods. Her brown eyes are haunted, and I want nothing more than to chase away the ghosts of her past.
“Can I come in? We could watch TV, talk some more. I just want to be near you. I’ve missed you so damn much. I got the scholarship, and all I could think about was calling you up and telling you.”
“You did?” She sounds as shocked as I felt.
“Yeah. Thanks to you. I appreciate what you did. All of it.”
“I should have done it sooner. I’m sorry that I almost cost you the scholarship. I bet Janine’s bummed.”
“Actually, it sounds like they found another scholarship for her too.”
“Congratulations. That’s amazing. Truly. I’m really happy for both of you.”
“We could celebrate. I think I’ve got a bottle of red.” I jab a thumb back toward my apartment. Standing here talking to her is the best I’ve felt all week, and I don’t want to leave.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s late.”
“Okay. Can I see you tomorrow? This weekend?”
“The play is this weekend, so I’m going to be pretty busy. Even though I lost my part.”
“I heard. I’m sorry.”
“I still have to be there. The show must go on and all that.”
“Well, how about next week? You name the time and place.” I consider throwing in next month, but she looks like a startled horse about to bolt.
“I need you and me to be okay. Just about the worst thing I can imagine is the two of us not being able to be in the same room together. You mean too much to me. You, Dakota, Ginny, the guys—you’re my family, and I can’t risk losing the only family I have left.”
“Never. You have us. Always. That doesn’t change whether or not we’re together.”
“Doesn’t it, though? This is the first time we’ve spoken in days.” She shakes her head. “I should go. It’s late. It was really good to see you, Adam.”
My fingers itch to touch her, pull her to me, kiss her, but instead, I back away, slowly watching until she shuts the door.
With a sigh, I head back inside. I sink onto the couch. Ginny’s in the kitchen getting a glass of water.
“Hey,” she says, voice deep from sleep. “Where’ve you been?”
“Outside talking to Reagan.”
“Yeah?” Ginny looks hopeful.
“I don’t know what to do. I miss her, and I want to be with her, but maybe it just isn’t meant to be.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I always thought when I found the right girl, I’d just know. That things would click into place. That it would be easy. Mom and Dad always made it look that way.” I realize what I’ve said and add, “And look how well that worked out. Fuck. I don’t know.”
“You’re a guy who likes facts and certainties. I get that. I can’t tell you if it’s right or not with Reagan, but I know that this is the first time you’ve ever acted like you cared when a relationship ended.”
“That’s because I didn’t want it to end.”
“No?” Ginny’s brows pinch together. “Then why did it?”
“Reagan said she could read it on my face—that we were done, and we weren’t meant to be or whatever. That she was tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop.” I rough a hand through my hair. “I hesitated. I thought maybe she was right.”
“But you don’t think that now?”
“I can’t stop thinking about her.”
Ginny looks at me with big, sappy eyes.
“I don’t want to lose Reagan because I gave up too soon, but I know that she’s been hurt, and I can’t add to that—even unintentionally. What if I’m wrong?”
“You could start by telling her all that.”
“I did.” I think back. “Okay, I didn’t use those words.”
Ginny rolls her eyes. “Try using the words you mean, bro.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Also, if you’re going to win her back, you should do it not reeking of alcohol or wearing jeans with a wet crotch.”
I glance down. My boxers were still damp when I pulled on my pants, and sure enough, there are weird wet spots all over the front. Fuck me.
“Go to bed,” Ginny says. “We’ll figure it out in the morning.”