Chapter 11
PAIGE
· PRESENT DAY ·
“Please, I just want to talk for five minutes.” Ian’s voice is gentle and pleading as he angles his body toward me, giving us a smidgeon of privacy from Zia and Jordan. His crystal-blue eyes pierce mine, and I feel sixteen again, catching his gaze in the middle of a basketball game or over my latest book—or between his sweet kisses.
I shut my eyes and wrestle my racing heart into submission, telling it to behave while I conjure up the image of Ian kissing Olivia or the way I’d held a bag of ice to Jordan’s bruised jaw the night of Homecoming. Ian’s eyes may be a stunning Caribbean blue, and the years might have shone favorably on his physique, but no amount of time could erase the heartache I suffered because of the man in front of me.
I straighten my shoulders and tilt up my chin, channeling my inner Missy. I am Paige Devons. I am fierce. I am strong. And unlike last time, I will walk away from this man unscathed.
Then I open my eyes and take in those baby blues, and my mouth betrays me for Team Ian. “Okay, let’s talk.”
I want to clamp my hands around my traitorous lips.
Jordan looks at me with about as much bafflement as I feel. His eyebrows knit together as he stares at me, and I can’t tell if he’s asking if this is really what I want or if he should return Ian’s long-ago punch with interest.
Zia tugs Jordan’s arm. “We’ll see you at our table.” Her words exude confidence, like she knows it’s only a matter of minutes before Ian charms me into this date.
But I missed an episode of Sunsets and Sabotage to be here, and I am not happy about it. I may have agreed to hear him out, but when it comes to Ian’s ability to reach my heart, consider it in an iron lockbox inside another lockbox.
Despite Jordan’s clear reluctance to leave me alone with Ian, Zia pulls him with her, and they disappear through the ornate golden arch of the Indian restaurant.
I fold my arms across my chest and level my most mature scowl at Ian. The one that says, You may have fooled me in high school, but I’m a grown woman now who knows how to handle scum like you.
“You knew it was me on the phone, didn’t you?” I finally ask. “How did you know I was back in town? Did you ask Zia to set this up? Your phone number had a Hawaiian area code—or is that even your real number?”
Ian throws his hands up. “Paige, I promise—I did not set this up. Zia was telling me that she knew a girl at her work that she thought was my type. And yes, that is my real number. I lived in Hawaii after high school. And no, I didn’t know it was you on the phone. Well… initially I didn’t.”
Initially? “Well, you could have clued me in. How was I supposed to know it was you when your number is different and your voice is…” A deep, rich bass? Wildly attractive? Worthy of a Grammy? “Has changed.”
“I was going to tell you,” Ian says, and his handsome face is pure penitence. “But when you told me about ‘Faithfully’ being one of your favorite songs, and hearing your voice light up…” He pauses. “It brought me right back to when we dated, the relationship we had back then.”
I scoff, but a blush steals across my cheeks as I recall all the times I held his hand as we listened to that song in his car, thinking “faithful” was a forever word.
“And I knew if I told you who I was,” he continues, “you’d never want to see me, let alone go on a date with me.”
“What makes you think I want to go on a date with you now?” My tone is sharp. I don’t try to sugarcoat my words. Ian hurt me, and I shouldn’t have to pretend he didn’t.
“Paige,” he says softly. “What I did to you was wrong. And you’re right. You shouldn’t want to go on a date with me.” He swallows, his Adam's apple dipping. “But I feel like I’ve been given a second chance to say something I was too cowardly to say in high school. And if you’ll give me just a moment, I want to explain myself.”
I stop just shy of rolling my eyes. “You don’t have to explain. I think the whole school saw how little our relationship meant to you.”
“No. They saw an impulsive decision that cost me the only girl I’ve ever loved.”
My heart seems to stop beating altogether at the sentiment behind those words. Once upon a time, Ian loved me. And I loved him. We may have been young, but even now, almost seven years later, I know what I felt then was genuine. I also know what it feels like to have my love thrown away like an empty bag of chips.
Ian takes a deep breath. “I was waiting to ask you to Homecoming. I’d ordered those flowers—plumeria, I think they were called. The ones Ji gave you and Missy after she went to Hawaii. The moment you saw them, your eyes lit up, and I could tell they were instantly your new favorite.”
I swallow, swiftly recalling that moment with Ian, Missy, and Ji when Ji returned from spring break. I did love those flowers, so much so that I went home and pressed them between the pages of my journal.
“I wanted to surprise you, so I ordered them. The problem was that they were coming from Hawaii, and shipping took longer than I expected. When they came, I was so happy I could finally ask you to Homecoming with them that I tore the box open on the kitchen counter to make sure they were the real deal. And that’s when my dad came into the kitchen.”
He sighs. “It was the first time I’d seen him sober in days, and he pointed to the box and said, ‘That girl is the best choice you’ve ever made. Don’t mess it up and marry some trash like your mom.’ I was so mad, Paige.” Ian shakes his head, likely thinking about his poor excuse for a dad.
“After that, Carson Johnston texted me, asking if I wanted to come to his house to watch the Nuggets game,” he says. “I thought I could numb my emotions and just watch a screen as I worked past my anger, but all I could think about was how my dad thought you were right for me. For the briefest moment, I second-guessed our relationship. If my dad thought it was right, then it had to be wrong. He never once made the right choice.”
I remember Ian’s dad. When he was around, he was angry and bitter and usually drunk by nine in the morning. Nothing propelled Ian into blind fury faster than a run-in with his father.
Of its own accord, my body shifts closer to Ian, eager to hear how his version of our story will end.
“I mean, it was you ,” he says. “And I loved you. But at that moment, I was so angry that I wasn’t thinking straight. There were a bunch of people at Carson’s house that night, including his sister, Olivia, and she singled me out. I told her I had a girlfriend, but she was persistent. And the more I thought about my dad, all I wanted to do was prove to him that he was wrong. He was always wrong. So… I kissed Olivia.”
Ian winces as if the memory alone causes him pain. “I never liked her, Paige. I knew right away it was a mistake. I was going to tell you at school the next morning, but Olivia leeched onto me in the parking lot, then I saw you in Jordan’s arms. I was completely crushed. I knew I had no right to be. I’d kissed Olivia, and I saw the picture her friend posted. I knew it hurt you, but I thought I could make it right. But then you and Jordan... It looked like you’d moved on. Paige, I made a decision in my anger, but how I felt about you never changed.” He shakes his head. “In one stupid moment, I ruined the best thing I ever had.”
I clutch my exposed arms as goosebumps rise beneath my skin. I still remember the night Ian and I came back from his first varsity basketball game as a sophomore. Ian had scored most of the points against our rival high school, and we had just finished celebrating his victory with our friends. When we walked into his house, his dad was there, and he looked at Ian’s basketball bag and got right up in his face.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep with it,” he slurred. “You’ll be a basketball legend like your old man.” Ian quit basketball the next day.
I can’t help but compare this memory with the story Ian is telling me. It would be so like Ian to throw away all logic when it came to his dad. He would do anything just to spite him. Was that really what happened seven years ago—a mistake born of snubbing his dad and not a lack of love for me?
Regardless, his decision was stupid.
“And Jordan?” I ask. “Why did you punch him?”
Ian runs a hand through his dark hair and blows out a breath. “I was jealous, Paige. In just two weeks, Jordan had completely replaced me. I watched you two together. I didn’t know you were just friends at the time—you guys acted like you’d known each other for years. Then there was our friend group.” His jaw clenches for a moment. “I was like a leper who had been cast out, and Jordan was right there to fill the void. I was alone and angry, and I wasn’t in a good place, Paige. When I saw you two at Homecoming, dancing with the friends who wouldn’t talk to me anymore, I was out of my mind with jealousy—so I punched the person I blamed for taking my place.”
Sadness washes over me as I imagine Ian’s side of things. Our friends, or what eventually became just my friends, always claimed they got me in the divorce. I laughed over that at the time, probably too angry and bitter to think of what that meant for Ian. But now, all I can see is Ian during our junior and senior year. After Homecoming, I never saw him with Olivia again. He was a loner, always off reading in some corner. At the time, I thought he deserved it, but now I wonder what I would have done if our friends had chosen him and not me. The thought alone makes my eyes prick with tears.
But jealous or not, Ian hit Jordan, and that crossed a line. “Lashing out like that was dumb. You realize that, right?”
His eyes flick to mine, and they are brimming with sincerity. “Yes. I know. There are a lot of things I regret. I came here tonight to tell you that I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve what I did to you.”
At his words, seven years of pent-up emotion rushes to greet me. Hearing the apology I’d longed for all those years ago was like a summer rainstorm washing away my heated feelings.
“I know I don’t deserve this date with you. And I won’t blame you if you decide to walk to your car and drive away. But I would really like a second chance with you, Paige—a chance to prove to you that I’ve changed. I’m not that impulsive, angry boy anymore. And I’m smart enough now not to let a good thing go when I have her.”
The words wrap around me until something unexpected bubbles up inside. I feel wanted . Ian is asking for a second chance with me. Maybe to date me. Maybe to love me again.
I think of Jordan. How no matter how much I hope, the look on his face will never transform into the one Ian is giving me now. Ian’s eyes are telling me that he wants to get to know me again as something more than a friend. Something like we once were.
At one point, I thought Ian was my future. Back then, I wanted him forever. Could we have that again? Can I look past his mistakes and find a new future with him?
Suddenly, I want to find out. I want to give Ian a second chance.
I take a deep breath. “Okay.”
“Okay?” he echoes, sounding surprised.
“Yeah.” I smile. “Okay.”
A mixture of relief and happiness flood his features, then he laughs, and the sound fills something deep inside me.
So maybe my heart isn’t as fortified as I thought.
Out of instinct, we both open our arms for a hug like we used to in the old days, but we hesitate. It feels too soon, but then again, standing there with our arms half extended is far more awkward. We both chuckle, and he gives me this old-habits-die-hard look.
I lean forward, throwing caution to the wind, and close the gap we’ve created. Ian’s arms immediately wrap around me, and it feels like we’re teenagers again and embracing him is the most natural thing ever. And I can’t help but notice that the older, less-gangly versions of us fit perfectly together.