Chapter 15 – Kev
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
KEV
“Just, um, let me get dressed.”
While Davis sat on his couch with the box in her hands, Kev rifled through his drawers, grabbed whatever looked pants and shirt shaped, and disappeared into his bathroom. Once he closed the door, he dropped the clothes onto the floor, grasped his sink with both hands, and stared at his reflection.
She’s here, he thought at the man staring back at him. She’s in your cabin. She read your letters. Be cool. Don’t fuck this up, Lowes. Do not fuck this up.
After taking five deep breaths he really hoped she couldn’t hear through the door, he got dressed, scrubbed a towel over his hair, and pointed a finger at himself in the mirror, mouthing be cool one last time.
Finally leaving the safety of his bathroom, he sat on the edge of his bed, directly across from where she sat on his couch. After a beat, he asked, “Are you okay?”
After another beat, she nodded.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry, Davis. With the letters. I never wanted to upset you or make you sad. I just wanted you to know. ”
Her eyes turned glassy, and he watched one tear slip down her cheek.
“Shit,” he said, wanting to go to her, wanting to dry every single tear he’d ever made her cry. “I’m doing it again.”
“Can you just be quiet?” she asked, raising a hand. “Like, just for a minute? I need to get this out, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to if you keep talking.”
Since he’d do anything for her, anything she ever asked, he made a key turning in a lock motion against his lips, then threw the key over his shoulder. Which made her smile at least.
“Okay.” She took as deep of a breath as he’d taken in his bathroom. “That night… The night I saw you—” She waved her hand in the air.
“The night I relapsed,” he said for her.
“After, when I came home, I didn’t know what to do. Mom and Grandma, even Madigan, were all freaking out because I couldn’t speak. Like, I couldn’t get the words out. I couldn’t stop crying. I was so scared.” When she met his stare, hers was as intense as a storm. “Kev, I was so fucking scared.”
There were so many things he wanted to say to her. I know. I’m sorry. I was so scared too. But she wanted him to be quiet, so he balled his hands into fists and kept his mouth shut.
“I couldn’t sleep either,” she said. “Just like you. I had nightmares. I got sick almost every night. I couldn’t eat. I lost weight. I lost strength. I didn’t recognize myself.”
While her voice went soft, the one in his head roared. Look at what you’ve done. What you did to her. Never. Never again.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she told him, her gaze flickering to the box in her hands, her fingers tightening around it. “I wanted to scream at you. I wanted to ask you why. I wanted to know what I’d done wrong. I wanted to hold you and pretend none of it ever happened.” Looking up at him again while he blinked, because the tears filling his eyes had made her face blur and he needed to see her clearly, she said, “I understand why you never sent me those letters. And I’m glad you didn’t. I wouldn’t have read them. I wouldn’t have been ready. I was so sure that you’d chosen her over me, that you’d wanted to be with her when you didn’t want me that way anymore.” Dropping her chin to her chest, she repeated, “I wouldn’t have read them. And even if I had, I wouldn’t have understood. It was the right choice. But because you didn’t send them, I had no idea what you were thinking. I had no idea if you even thought about me. I had no idea if I even crossed your mind.”
Every day. Every minute. Every fucking second. He didn’t tell her this, even though it killed him not to say it.
“But I missed you. Like there was this hole you’d left behind that I kept throwing myself into. I couldn’t stay out of it. I was just…buried. And it was really fucking lonely down there, so I started writing to you. Little things. On napkins. Scraps of paper. On my hands. Anything I could find. It helped, somehow. Getting it out. But then, one night,” she said, her voice going so quiet he had to lean forward to hear her, “I was lying on the floor in my bathroom after waking up sick and terrified again, and I thought, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t miss him like this anymore. I can’t be like this anymore. I can’t keep burying myself inside this Kev-shaped hole.”
He bit down, grinding his teeth together.
“So I told myself it was over,” she said while his throat closed up and his eyes burned. “I told myself I had to move on. I told myself I had to let you go because if I didn’t, I was going to disappear.”
When her voice broke, it took everything in him not to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness. Beg her not to cry. Do whatever he could to keep her from hurting for one more second because of him.
“So I did. I let you go. And slowly, things got better. I started riding my bike more, training harder. I started sleeping again. Eating again. I’d almost convinced myself I was over you. But it was a lie, because I still missed you. I missed my friend. I missed taking walks with you. I missed just talking to you. Because just talking to Kevin Lowes was pretty fucking amazing too. ”
A laugh tumbled out of him. It was the kind of laugh that never made sense. Laughing through tears. Laughing even though it hurt.
“So I kept writing.” She looked down at the box in her hands. “All these little notes. Little messages to you.” When she looked back up at him, uncertainty tugged her brows together. “These are my thoughts, my feelings. But some of them aren’t very nice. If you don’t want to read them, I understand.”
Not giving himself time to think about whether this would be good for him, he held out his hands. “I want to read them.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She leaned forward, and despite how badly he wanted to, when he took the box from her hands, he was careful not to brush his fingers over hers.
Working the lid off the box, he looked inside, pinning his lips between his teeth. There were so many of them. Corners torn off menus, folded napkins, light pink journal paper, matchbooks, receipts. Her tidy handwriting scrawled across each one. His heart rate picked up, the idea of reading these notes not three feet away from her making his palms itch. But he didn’t care. If he couldn’t realize the way every word, every thought, every bit of honesty in this box was a gift, then there truly was no hope for him.
Starting with a cocktail napkin, he unfolded the thin white paper, revealing the words I wish I didn’t miss you so much hidden inside. He brushed his thumb over the black ink, over the embossed detailing, the letters M and S. He wondered where she’d been when she found this napkin, what she’d been doing while wishing she didn’t miss him.
Setting the napkin beside him, he pulled out a piece of journal paper.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
He almost laughed, because he wished he knew .
There were more like that. More angry words written quickly.
Why did you do it?
Did you ever care about me?
Did you ever love me?
Nobody has ever hurt me this much.
That last one made his stomach burn, a sour taste surging into his mouth. But he kept reading.
I am so lost.
Maybe this is all a dream. Maybe I’ll wake up.
Fuck you!
Why can’t I hate you?
Her anger was hard to take. But it was her sadness that cut into him, making him struggle to keep going.
Why wasn’t I enough?
When will I get better?
When will this be over?
I want my life back.
The note she’d written on a matchbook from Randy’s shook between his trembling fingers.
I still love you. I wish I didn’t.
It was a knife in his chest, claws scraping across his heart. But he kept reading. He kept listening to her, letting her yell at him now when she hadn’t been able to then. Eventually finding notes with some promise. Notes that almost made him smile. The beginnings of conversations they didn’t get to have. Words that felt more like the start of something rather than the end.
I was never this bored before you left.
Do they have romance books where you are?
I saw someone with a bouncing knee today and cried.
I think Murphy misses you.
I got stung by a fucking bee on my ass.
That one country song you sing all the wrong words to was playing at the grocery store. I can’t even get away from you when I’m buying chips.
You would have liked the moon tonight. Maybe you saw it too.
The more he read, the more he noticed one statement recurring. A statement she’d written at least fifteen times. And seeing it, reading it over and over again, made something bubble up inside him. Something sweet and heavy. Something he probably shouldn’t let himself feel. Hope.
I wish you were here.
I wish you were here.
I wish you were here.
But there was one note he hadn’t read yet. One that was crumpled into a ball in the corner of the shoebox. All the other notes had been folded carefully or tossed in. This note had pain and anger and hurt etched into every crinkled edge.
“You don’t have to read that one,” she said when he pulled the crumpled note out of the box. She didn’t look him in the eye when she said it, so he knew she was wrong. He did have to read it. He wasn’t there for her then, when she’d needed him, when she’d written it. He wasn’t about to run from her now.
He uncrumpled the note, carefully spreading it flat. And then he read the words she must have written to him that night. When she’d decided to let him go.
I love you. But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be this nothing anymore. Not for you. Not for anyone.
He’d done hard things in his life, but not reacting to her words, keeping his expression neutral while he held the exact moment he’d lost her in his hands? It wasn’t hard. It was impossible. That note, that was when his choices had almost broken her. He’d broken himself when he’d made them, but he never wanted to break her too. And it killed him, knowing he’d come so close to doing it anyway.
Even though her words were tattooed on his heart now, scars he’d feel with every beat it took for the rest of his life, he realized it was good that she’d written them. Because she should have let him go. She should have forgotten about him. And maybe he should have let her. But that was a future he couldn’t even imagine. He wasn’t that strong.
Carefully, he placed the final note on top of all her other admissions. Her questions. Her anger and rage and confusion and hurt.
Their ten minutes long since passed, he put the lid back on the box, closed his eyes, and said, “Thank you.”
Her voice shuddered. “I’m sorry if those were hard to?—”
And that was it. That was the raggedy end of his self-control snapping.
He slid off the bed, landing on his knees, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. But he couldn’t listen to her apologize to him . There was no fucking way.
Taking her hands in his, he stared deeply into her glassy blue eyes, hoping she could see the honesty in his and know he was telling her the truth.
“Davis,” he said, “please don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about. This was all me. And I am so, so”—he hung his head, worried he might start crying again and not wanting a single tremor in his voice when he said—“sorry.” He forced his gaze back up to meet hers. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry you felt lost. I’m sorry you couldn’t eat. I’m sorry you couldn’t sleep. I’m sorry that knowing you couldn’t hate me makes me happy.” I’m sorry that knowing you might still love me makes me even happier , he thought but didn’t say.
“You were always more than enough. You were everything. You are everything.” Giving her a hint of a smile, he said, “I’m sorry you were bored. I’m sorry you got stung by a fucking bee. I’m sorry that country song made you think of me while you were just trying to buy chips—although I know all the words to it now because Jen listens to nothing but country classics in the barn. I’m kind of sad it isn’t actually ‘Hoop Shootin’ Boogie,’ to be honest.”
When she choked out a laugh, he said, “And I’m sorry you wished I was here. I wish I’d been here too. I wish I’d never left. I wish I’d talked to you. I wish I’d done everything differently. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice trailed off, his shoulders sinking, his chin falling to his chest. He didn’t know what else to say.
“Kev.” At least she was still holding his hands. At least she hadn’t let go. “Look at me.”
Shaking his head, he closed his eyes against a surge of welling tears, his emotions finding all the cracks in the dam he’d tried so hard to build around them. He pressed his forehead into her knees, using care not to push on the knee she’d cut after her fall, but he had to touch her, feel her, be near her. In case this was his last chance.
When her hands slid out of his, he knew it was over. He’d done everything he could, but it wasn’t enough.
And then he felt it, so soft, so faint at first he thought he’d imagined it. But it was there, it was real, her fingers running through his hair, her nails scraping so gently along his scalp, soothing, comforting. Relief. Bliss. Everything.
Still, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t raise his forehead from the safety of her knees.
Until she cupped his face. Until she said, soft but demanding, “Look at me.”
It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he obeyed, lifting his head, opening his eyes, finding hers wet and red and filled with unshed tears.
“I forgive you.”
There was no fight left in him, no resistance to the sob finally wrenching itself free from his chest. He collapsed back onto his heels, and she followed him down, kneeling in front of him, letting him fall into her as they cried together, his arms loose around her waist, hers tight around his shoulders.
“I forgive you,” she said again, their bodies shaking, breaths shuddering. “For everything.”
He pulled back, taking her face between his hands, brushing her tears away with his thumbs while she did the same. They held on to each other then, both on their knees, and he’d never been more grateful that another human being existed, that somehow, he’d been lucky enough to live at the same time as her, end up in the same state as her, the same town, the same ski hill. With all the mistakes he’d made in his life, the bad choices, how he’d made it here now, gazing into her eyes, touching his forehead to hers, lowering his lips to hers?—
“It’s been way over ten minutes!” Madigan shouted through the door.
“Shit,” Kev hissed as they broke apart. He jumped to his feet, pulling Davis up to hers when Madigan warned, “I’m coming in.”
The door swung open, Madigan stepped through, and Kev couldn’t imagine what they looked like. Two red-eyed kids, their faces still wet with tears, chests heaving, hands at their sides, fingers almost touching.
Slowly, Madigan’s disappointed dad expression melted away, leaving only a deep concern behind. “You two okay?”
Kev turned toward Davis, his fingers itching to reach for her, to hold her hand when she said, “We’re good. But we need a few more minutes.”
While some series of emotions raced too quickly across his face for Kev to pin any one down, Madigan said, “Yeah. Of course. I’m, um,”—he cleared his throat—“just glad you’re okay.” Then, with one last glance at them, he sniffed, nodded, and closed the door snugly behind him.
“Kev,” Davis said, her voice calm and clear, her eyes drying. “I don’t really know what all of this means. But I’m so tired of crying. I’m so tired of being sad. All of this feels really heavy right now. And I think we both could use a break from heavy things.”
His heart gave a dull, painful whump .
Not a break. Please. We don’t have enough time.
“This may sound ridiculous.” She laughed at herself, and he’d never heard a more perfect sound. “But do you think we could start over?”
His head tilted. “What do you mean?” Because whatever it was, he’d do it. She could ask him to speak to her only in French while standing on his head and he’d find a way to make it work.
“Can we start at the beginning again? Like we just met? Can we be friends?”
Could he do that? Could he only be her friend? Staring down at her, wanting so badly to brush her soft curls back off her shoulders, cup her jaw, and kiss her until the sun went down and came back up again, he had his answer. It wasn’t the answer he wanted. But it was the answer they needed.
“Okay.” Stepping back, letting himself take an easy breath, he gave her his friendliest smile, held out his hand, and said, “Hi. I’m Kevin Lowes.” When she slid her hand into his, sparks skittering across his palm, he added, “It’s really nice to meet you.”