“No, I don’t mind being wrong. Except when it comes to you.”
“So wait.” He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. “You actually fell in love with that Chase guy?”
“You are so fucking dense.”
“Gee thanks.”
“You, you loser. You were the first boy I slept with.”
Joey stills.
I frown. “I thought you knew. I—I thought you could tell.”
Color leeches from Joey’s face.
“I—”
The full force of everything hits me all at once. I push at him, and he offers no resistance. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, I grab my jeans from the floor. With shaking hands, I pull them right side out, then pull them up my legs, standing quickly to do them up.
I turn.
Joey is lying on his back, his hands covering his face, his bare chest rising and lowering with his breath.
I reach under my shirt and do my bra back up, then fold my arms over my stomach.
He pulls his hands away and sits up, swinging his legs over the other side of the bed. His back is to me as he rests his elbows on his thighs. “You should have told me.”
“I thought you knew.”
“No. You didn’t.” He stands up to face me. “You didn’t tell me because you knew I would never have slept with you if I’d known. Especially when I found out everything that was going on. I felt blindsided. If I’d known that too, there was no way.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You should have told me,” he repeats.
I grit my teeth. “I. Thought. You. Knew. I thought that was why you freaked out afterwards. Because you knew. Because I’d lied to you. Why the hell does it even matter now?”
“Jesus. I always knew you thought I was an asshole.” He barks out a strangled and painful laugh. “But I guess I never knew how much.” He grabs at his hair.
“So you don’t actually have an excuse for freaking out afterwards and acting like an utter dick.”
“Fuck.” He breathes the word out and rubs a hand down his face.
I swallow. “Why did you leave Butler Cove that summer?”
He opens his mouth as if to speak, then stops and snaps his mouth closed. Moments tick past, and he seems to struggle with what to say. Finally, he points to his chest. “I left because when I was with you, I saw my future barreling down the road toward me, and I wasn’t ready.”
“I—” I shake my head. “What?”
His jaw gets tight like the words are hard. “I was young, and ambitious, and I wasn’t fucking ready. I was a selfish sonofabitch, and I would have crashed and burned us before we even got started.”
He left because I made him think of his future?
My throat aches.
He walks around the bed to me.
“What does that mean?” I ask. “What are you saying?”
“I left because you scared me shitless. And I didn’t know it consciously then, but I left because if I’d stayed any longer that summer, I would have been helpless against you.” He takes a piece of my hair. “You’re like a hurricane, Jazzy Bear. You would have changed everything. If you’d asked, I’d have given up my plans and my dreams. Some part of me knew I couldn’t afford to let that happen.”
God.
I feel vaguely nauseous. Awash with conflicting emotions. “You’re changing your plans now. Trying to transfer to MUSC. For me?”
“No, I’m doing it for me.”
It should feel amazing hearing these words, and it does in a small way. But …
He squeezes his eyes closed. “God, if I even think about that day, and then everything afterward, it makes last night even more thoughtless. More ...” He scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve said sorry before.”
“But I don’t think you believe that I am.”
I want to hear more. But it’s too big for right now. We have to think about Keri Ann today. “I think what you just did goes some way toward making it right,” I say in an attempt to deflect him and hiccup a laugh.
It seems to work. “Not even close, but we’ll work on it, yeah?”
I step into him and he folds his arms around me, kissing my forehead and then resting his chin on my hair. He doesn’t say anything for the longest time. “We should get going,” I say. “In case Dan leaves early. I’ll try Keri Ann’s cell phone again.” I pull away eventually to look at him.
When I do, he’s not looking at me, he’s staring at the picture above my dresser that’s right next to us. The one of him kitesurfing.
“Is that me?” he asks, a small crease between his eyebrows. “I can’t believe I did that.” His eyes grow vague, seemingly caught up in the memory. “I think that was when I borrowed a friend of Colt’s gear. I need to do it again. I forgot I loved it. This picture is amazing.” Stepping out of our embrace, he leans closer to the picture.
“Thank you.”
When his eyes lower to the folder on the dresser top, my heartbeat falters. I’m not eighteen years old, I remind myself. I will not let my heart rule my head. I steel my emotions for what’s coming.
“You’re moving to Cape Town?” he asks in confusion.