22. Ari
TWENTY-TWO
ARI
A knock at my door less than thirty minutes later has my heart in my throat. I know it’s him before I open the door. I barely look at him as I step aside to let him in.
I’m not sure if I’m about to have a heart attack or throw up that last shot of vodka, either way I’m struggling to swallow down bile while my heart beats so hard I’m convinced Will can hear it from where he stops to lean against a dresser.
“I wanted to talk,” he says. “More, that is. About everything that happened, and give you a better apology?—”
“You already apologized, Will,” I interrupt. “I know you meant it. And that meant more to me than you could know, so thank you for that. But you don’t need to do more. I’d rather move on from it.”
Will gives me a crooked, pained smile. “Good. Because I don’t have a better apology for you. I only have this,” he says, pulling a familiar notebook from under his arm and holding it out to me.
“Where did you get this? I thought I’d lost it,” I say, fanning through the pages that seem far more worn than before, with some of the pages dog-eared. I can’t bring myself to be mad or embarrassed by what he read in these pages, though. They’re all things I want him to know.
“You left it in Raleigh. I kept meaning to give it back to you, but so much keeps happening, and I think I kind of got attached to it when I realized I’d lost you.”
I wait until he raises his eyes from the floor to lock on mine, so he can see how sincere I am when I tell him, “You never lost me, Will. Not fully.”
There’s a sheen of moisture in his eyes that is both heartwarming and concerning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Will cry before, but sure as he’s standing right in front of me, there are tears building up along his bottom lash line. If he were to blink, one would fall.
I almost want to see it, except that my heart can’t stand to see him in pain.
I take a step towards him, but Will holds up a hand. “Hold on. There’s more. I need you to sit down or something so I don’t punk out the way I’ve always done when it comes to anything that I think might hurt you.”
Effectively stalled, I backtrack and tentatively perch on the edge of the bed.
“What’s going on, Will?”
“I told you I don’t have a better apology. I just have that,” he gestures to the notebook I’m holding against my chest like a shield. “And I also have a confession.”
“A confession? If it’s that you read my journal, it’s pretty obvious. And while I don’t love that you saw all my embarrassing attempts at writing, I also don’t hate it. Everything in here was either for or about you.”
Will shakes his head. “Way, way worse than that, I’m afraid. You know I’m doing the whole therapy thing. And I’m working really hard on it, trying to grow, and being honest with myself is a big part of it.”
I nod because I understand. “It’s intense, yeah?”
He huffs, then looks up at the ceiling. When he closes his eyes, a single tear tracks down his cheek.
“There’s a very good chance that you might hate me or never want to talk to me again after I tell you this.
But I can’t start the next phase of what I need to do if I’m not as honest with you as I’ve been with myself lately. ”
“Okay,” I whisper, feeling sick and worried for an entirely different reason.
Will swallows. “When we were in Dallas…” He starts with a trembling voice, worried or maybe afraid about what my reaction is going to be.
I can’t lie, the truth of what he did, the trouble he caused, hits me hard in the ribs.
Some of his words blur together as my brain tries to make sense of the insanity.
I focus on the sound of his voice, and realize that he isn’t just afraid I might never speak to him again—he’s come to terms with the possibility of me being so angry that I walk away from him for good.
He’s doing this because it’s the right thing.
Because he’s truly remorseful. He doesn’t make excuses for his actions, only owns up to what he did.
There’s a why, which is a whole journey his therapist has taken him on to help him understand, but the why doesn’t matter more than the truth and consequences of his actions.
He was horrified by how quickly it escalated and still can’t stand the thought that people got hurt because of him—that he put me in danger and other people were injured protecting me.
And he’s ashamed of the comfort he took from having me in his arms that night, and the places his thoughts strayed to when he woke up pressed to my nearly naked body. No wonder he ran away the way he did.
It’s a lot. It’s too much to process all at once. And it’s not that I’m not angry—I am. What he did was fucked-up on so many levels. But I’m so tired of being angry. And when I really dig deep, as toxic as it is… I’m not really all that surprised.
“There is so much I need to atone for that I’m not sure I deserve the opportunity, but I want you to know how sorry I am. When you’re ready—if you’re ever ready—I will do anything and everything in my power to make it up to you. All of it,” he says quietly, then he turns to leave.
I look down at the notebook in my hands, letting it fall open where an extra page seems to have been folded in half and stuck between the pages.
If I love you, let you go
But holding you is all I’ve ever known
I don’t know how to be anything else
I don’t know how to be alone
I’ve replayed almost every word
All the times you didn’t leave
I’m trying to be brave enough
To give you room to breathe
Truth is, I’ve been standing still
Afraid to find out who I am
If your heart isn’t next to mine
If I’m not part of your plan
It’s selfish, or maybe it’s just fear
Hell, maybe it’s both
But you’re the only future I can see
I don’t know how to let go
If I love you, set you free
But loving you is all of me
I don’t know how to not hold on
Who am I if you’re gone?
I stand abruptly. “Will—” I say, stopping him before he reaches the door. “What did you mean by the next stage of your life?”
He exhales, huffing out a humorless laugh. “Well, right now I’m executing what I’ve been referring to as the don’t-be-a-coward phase of my growth-and-honesty stage.”
“So what comes after that?”
Will swallows. “That would be the groveling phase, which I’m hoping will be followed by a forgiveness phase. And if I’m really lucky, which I’m not sure I deserve—something my therapist is trying to get me to work on—maybe a don’t-be-a-coward 2.0 phase.”
“What’s that one for?” My lips quirk. “Not more confessions, I hope?”
He shakes his head. “Choices, if I can earn them back.”
“Choices?”
“You once gave me three,” he says. “And I didn’t even have the balls to choose.”
My breath catches. “But you want to now?”
“No,” he says quickly. “I want to earn them. I don’t want you to let me off easy. You’ve always let me off too easy. You’ve always given me too much. You shouldn’t let me bully you like that.”
“I kind of like it when you bully me.”
“Ari…”
“What? I thought we were being honest?”
His eyebrow raises. “You don’t think that’s a little toxic?”
“I think I realized toxic wasn’t a dealbreaker for me when I walked away more hurt and pissed than I’ve ever been in my life, then immediately wanted to turn around and come right back to you. I don’t ever want you to stop reminding me of all the ways I’m yours.”
I’m not sure which one of us moves first or faster, but not a moment later we’re pressed against each other.
It’s stupid how right the world feels the moment I’m in his arms. But this time he’s not just holding or soothing me.
Our mouths crash together before our chests do, and his arms wrap around me, pulling me tight against him.
My hands move up his neck to grip his hair, and he lifts me in his arms. My legs wrap around him instinctively, and I lose myself in his kiss.
I pour all my breath, my pain, years of desperate want, need, and love into the kiss, and he gives me back just as much.
Thinking back to the kiss that shaped so many of my dreams and solidified my understanding of love—I knew nothing. Not one other kiss in my life has ever felt like that one did, but this fills my entire soul with heat.
I want more. I want him . I want everything.
But Will pulls back with one last soft press of his lips to mine, then gently lowers me to my feet again.
We’re both hard, I felt every inch of him when I slid down his body. With a pointed look, I flick my gaze down and then back up again. “What are you doing?”
“Not taking advantage,” he says breathlessly.
“No, we’re past that, Will. I know you want me,” I say, maybe a little too sternly.
He must notice the hint of old insecurities creeping up.
“I want you,” he says sincerely. “I want you in every way possible. But I don’t deserve to have you yet.”
“Says who?” I say dismissively.
“Ari, I’ve done so much to hurt you.”
The pain in his eyes is so evident, I’m able to take a step back and reassess.
I don’t want him to think I’m not taking this seriously, but I’ll be damned if I let him leave me here alone tonight.
And, yeah, there’s part of me that needs to see and feel that this is real, to witness the aftermath, before I can relax and truly accept his declarations.
“Alright then,” I say, raising my chin stubbornly. “You said you needed to confess to move on to the next stage, right?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, you confessed. I accept and am processing. So now you may proceed to the next stage.”
Will lets out a little laugh. “I’m not sure that’s how it’s supposed to work.”
“You wanted to grovel,” I tell him, pressing a hand to his chest. “So grovel.”