Chapter Twenty-Six #2
There’s a full-on blockage where my lungs should be, and my hands are balled into fists at my sides.
The emotion swirling inside has too many facets to name.
I’m devastated for the twentyyear-old boy I once knew, helpless as his dreams crumbled around him.
But beneath that lies the sting of betrayal, the ache of wishing he had trusted our friendship a little more.
Solemnly I say, “Parker, we were best friends. All I ever wanted to do was support you. There’s no world where you could ever have been a failure in my eyes.”
“I realized that too late. I knew I’d made things worse by ignoring your messages, but I still didn’t know how to explain everything. I thought you might tell me to fuck off and leave you alone—which is basically what you did when I saw you in Silverpine a year later. I was sure you hated me then.”
“I thought you hated me. It’s not like you gave me a warm reception either.”
“I know. I was being defensive. I was still dealing with my football career ending. I’d been trying all weekend to gather the courage to talk to you, but there you were, avoiding me.
When I finally caught you in front of Rocky’s, you were so convinced I was a monster, I started to wonder what was the point in trying to convince you otherwise.
To be fair, I was also fully committed to being a moody, washed-up athlete who was angry at the world. ”
I kick at the dirt under my shoe. “And then I dumped a milkshake in your car.”
“That wasn’t even the worst part.” He exhales a laugh, but his eyes lower to the damp earth between us, and I watch his jaw tense. “You said you never wanted to see me again.”
“You told me you wanted me to stay out of your life!”
“Guess I’m a liar.”
A couple of barefoot kids choose this moment to waddle past us, shrieking with laughter as they make their way to the water. Parker gestures after them. “Want to get a little closer?”
I give a hesitant nod, and we descend the small slope, crouching side by side when we reach the edge of the swimming hole.
I dip my hand into the frigid water, letting my fingers glide along the surface, making ripples across it.
Next to me, Parker tilts his head, and I can feel the weight of his gaze for a lingering, loaded moment.
The roar of the waterfall above our heads is much louder here, but in our little bubble, every word seems to hang in the air, heavy and thick.
“I tried to text you a few years ago. I never got a response.”
A lump rises to my throat. “I changed my number.”
“I figured as much,” he says. “Until I saw you again that night in Manhattan, I thought you were done with me for good.”
“You left me no choice but to move on, or it would have crushed me forever. I had to get used to life without you.” I draw a bracing breath. “Before that, you—you and me—that was all I’d ever known. It was supposed to always be that way.”
I fall silent. The wind picks up, carrying a fine mist with it, and I feel it settle on my skin like a cool haze.
Parker lifts a hand to my cheek, wiping it dry. His touch is warm, soothing.
“The years we spent apart felt so long. But now that I get to see you all the time, it feels like time is moving way too fast.”
“You’re going back to San Francisco soon, right?
” I ask, once I make the connection. Until now, neither of us had mentioned his leaving, something I suspect was intentional on both sides.
In less than two months, our relationship—our arrangement—will come to an end.
Worry sets in as I consider if we’ve only reached this point because being around each other made us try a little harder.
Once he’s three thousand miles away, will our friendship fade into obscurity again?
“You should drop by sometime.” He pulls his hand away, folding his arms across his knees. “I’ll show you around.”
It sounds oddly casual, considering we’re two people who are casually sleeping together. Part of me wants to point out the obvious absurdity, but I’m afraid he’ll see what I’m really asking: What’s going to happen to us?
So instead, I scoff at him. “Fine, you’ve twisted my arm. I’ll ride your boat.”
A single droplet of rain lands on my nose. Moments later, a light drizzle begins to fall. Parker rises to his feet, rolling the kinks out of his shoulders. “We should head back before the trail gets too wet.”
He looks at me, palm outstretched again. I draw a deep breath and take his hand.
As we retrace our steps to the car, still holding hands, Parker suddenly says, “Remember when you told me about the Danis and Parkers in other universes?”
I’m surprised he even remembers my rambling. “I think so.”
“Back when I was in that football slump, I had this thought: If there’s already a universe where I went pro, then maybe it just wasn’t meant to happen in this one.
And if I did make the NFL there—if I were playing in the Super Bowl and my face was everywhere—then you wouldn’t be able to ignore me.
I’d track you down and make things right. ”
“You would use your fame to force me to be your friend again?”
“I’d do anything to make that happen.” He focuses on leading us down the path as I stare at his back, wishing I could see the expression on his face. “There’s also a universe where that Christmas in New York went differently.”
I don’t speak; my voice clogs with something crushing.
“Dani, I’m sorry,” he says, and I almost miss the squeeze of my hand. “I’m always going to regret that I didn’t show up that day.”
Turns out, eight years still wasn’t enough time to prepare me for this apology.
I can’t find a reaction that matches the enormity of the truth that Parker kept from me.
I have a suspicion that dwelling on the lost years would only make me cry, and I’d be powerless stop it.
I also have the urge to tell him that everything is okay now, that we’ll be fine.
Relief and remorse take hold of me in turns, making it impossible for me to speak as we sit silently in the car.