I ordered myself not to cry again. I cursed and belittled myself, threatening that if I dared cry another tear over the past, I’d hurl myself over the roof and give myself a broken leg or something. I was already crying when I made my threats though, and they only made me cry more.
I’d come to a place in my life where I’d been certain I’d left all of this behind. I’d left Charleston and Boone and the baby behind. But if that was the case, why did I feel like I’d just been gutted at the same time my heart was attempting to exit my body via my throat? Why did I feel like everything I’d known had been a lie and everyone in it had been a liar?
I was trying so hard not to cry, because each tear that rolled down my cheek seemed to make it more real. Each one gave more credit to what had happened instead of allowing me to rebury it in the unmarked grave I’d been content to ignore for seven years.
I should have listened to the warning siren in my head and never come back here. I should have listened to it after I had come back and it kept going off, warning me to leave before things got worse. Because things had impossibly gotten worse.
We’re talking bottom floor of the Worse Building.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a big shadow crawl through the window toward me, but I was going to ignore him. Maybe if that was the policy I’d applied to Boone Cavanaugh all those years ago, like my parents had ordered me to, I wouldn’t be here now—on top of my childhood home and crying my eyes apart.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look over. He just sat beside me, leaving a couple feet of space between us, and stared into the darkness that he seemed immune to. Whereas the dark had always seemed to envelop me and take me under, Boone had always been able to wade through it.
After a minute, I couldn’t take the silence anymore. He’d come looking for me and crawled out here for a reason. He should have had the balls to announce that reason without drawing out the waiting game.
“What are you doing here? I’m just your slut ex who got an abortion.” I’d been going for venomous hate, but my voice fell more in the overwhelmingly sad realm.
“You’re right. I never did stop to hear you out.” Boone looked at me. “Or listen. I would have done anything for you back then, but when it really mattered, when we probably both really needed to talk and listen to each other, I failed.” I wasn’t looking at him—not really—but even from the corner of my eye I could see his jaw go rigid. “I’m ready to listen now.”
I curled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. Sitting like this, on the roof next to Boone, transported me back in time, to a place I both wanted to never leave and never visit again. “But maybe I’m past being willing to explain.”
“Maybe.” He nodded. “And that’s on me. So if that’s the case, I’ll understand.”
“You seemed less ‘understanding’ down there.”
Boone shifted so he was almost facing me. He might have been ready to face this, but I wasn’t sure I was.
“Well, like your dad said, sometimes I just need to give myself a moment to cool my hot head.” One of his shoulders lifted. “Plus, he might have threatened to turn me into a shotgun target if I didn’t get up here and hear your side of the story.”
“I bet he was disappointed when you listened.”
Half a smile moved into place. “I’ve never seen a man so disappointed.”
He was wearing on me. Wearing me down or wearing me ragged, he was getting to me. It could have been the partial smile, or it could have been him, again, being the only one to ever come find me when I left, or it could have been that I’d never been good at saying no to Boone Cavanaugh. Whatever it was, it seemed that after years of silence and misguided beliefs, I was ready. Ready to talk, explain, and finally bury this all for good.
“Tell me this first,” I started slowly. “If what you believed was true, about what I’d done, why did you take me up on my offer?”
“The money.” His answer was immediate, but his voice gave him away.
“Oh yeah? The fat check you still haven’t cashed? That was your reason?” My brows lifted in his direction. “Well, paint me skeptical.”
“Seven years have gone by. That’s ancient history for all I care.” His tone was still off, barely, but it was enough to give away that he wasn’t telling the truth. At least not the whole truth.
“And that’s why you’re acting like it all happened yesterday?” I waved at him, his posture tense and his eyes darting over everything but me. “Well, slap a double coat of skeptical on me.”
That was when his eyes finally moved in my direction. They didn’t dart away. “You know why.”
“I know what?” I pressed, not about to make this easy on him. Why start now after years of trekking down the hard road?
“The same reason we touched on last night.”
My heart stopped climbing up my throat and dropped back into my chest where it belonged. It was beating harder than I was used to though, and faster. “We touched on a lot.” I sounded almost out of breath. “What reason are you specifically referring to?”