Chapter 11
eleven
. . .
BLAIR
The silence in this car is killing me. We’ve said nothing to each other since we dropped Sophia off and I gave him my address ten minutes ago.
“So, do you like?—”
“Do you remember?—”
We both start talking at the same time and then laugh.
“Do I remember…what, exactly?” I ask him cautiously. This feels like stepping into our sticky past.
“It’s actually who. That big guy who used to help load all the golf bags onto the carts. Henry, I think his name was?”
“Yes! I haven’t thought about him in years! He was so nice, but also the weirdest person I’ve ever met.” I turn to face him, and he’s already adjusted in his seat to face me.
“He’s a motivational speaker now.”
“NO! You’re lying.”
“Swear it. My buddy Jake is into all that self-improvement stuff. I saw him onstage.” He tells me about his yearly trip with his buddies and how, two years ago, Jake made them all go to an “Attract Your Ideal Mate” session. Wyatt saw the poster board sign for the session in the room next to his, and it was Harry.
He pulls up a photo from his phone and shows me, and I’m taken right back to senior year. God, we had so much fun. We were so close. I didn’t think I would love anyone else but him. It’s fascinating how completely blind you are as a young adult. You really believe you know everything, and you can’t realize how much you don’t understand yet. How much life you absolutely haven’t experienced.
That deep thought has me shifting to face forward in my seat again.
“What made you think of that?” I ask him. It’s a pretty random reference, considering all of the memories from our past that he could have chosen from—or of high school in general.
“I think about that time more than I should.” He stares straight ahead, but I see him lick his lips and swallow like he’s nervous.
“We don’t need to walk down memory lane, Wyatt. We were best friends. I don’t regret being with you, but it’s all in the past. We’ve moved on. We’re different people now.” I wave him off because I thought I’d moved on, but in this car with him, after feeling his hands briefly touch my body a few innocent times tonight, every memory is bombarding me.
“What if I haven’t?”
“Haven’t what?” I look at him, confused.
“Moved on.”
I laugh at him because it’s absurd to think the guy who literally slept with me and then got right back together with his girlfriend hasn’t moved on.
“Yeah, I can tell. All the letters, texts, and phone calls have been too much.” I’m joking with him because I can’t even get into this. I don’t want him to think I’m not over it—or that it affected me as much as it did. And I’m definitely not talking about this with him.
“I couldn’t,” Wyatt says.
“Couldn’t what?” I ask, truly confused about what that is supposed to mean. Couldn’t call me? Couldn’t make contact at all? I go from angry to hurt to confused in a matter of seconds.
“Nothing. You’re right. It’s in the past.”
I look over and watch his shoulders stiffen. I think the thing that bothers me most is how I was so wrong about him. About us. I want to know what happened. He treated me with such care and patience, and I believed we both wanted to be together. What changed? Why wasn’t I enough?
“I’m sorry, Blair.”
I wait for him to say something more, but he doesn’t. Then his comfort shifts to detachment. I just stare and push my lips together in a tight smile. I don’t want him to know how much he hurt me. Thankfully, perfect timing means we’ve arrived at my house.
“Thank you so much for the ride home.” I open the door to get away from this completely awkward conversation, but he jumps out and rushes to help me out of the car. I hesitate because, while I don’t need his help, I seem to want to torture myself.
When I go to stand, my heel catches in my dress, and I fall right into him. One hand lands on his bicep, and the other slams into his chest. I feel his muscles flex as he grabs me, and my stomach drops. I can feel the outline of his pecks under his shirt, and it takes all my willpower not to run my hand down his chest to his abdomen.
“Careful. You ok?” His face is so close to mine that I can feel his breath on my lips. I look up, but he’s staring at my lips, and the memories rush back and make it seem as if no time has passed. I lean in, and so does he.
I feel his hands adjust around my waist, and that’s all it takes for me to snap out of it. My hands pull away like I’ve been burned, and I step back, making sure my dress is clear of my shoes.
“Thanks for the ride, Wyatt. Have a good night.”
I run up the steps to my front door as fast as possible to get away from whatever that was. After rushing through the front door, I close it and immediately look out the peephole.
He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, staring at my house. After a minute, he turns to get back into his car, and I swear I see a smile take over his lips. I turn around and slide down my front door until I’m sitting on the floor.
Thanks for the ride? Smooth, Blair. Jesus.