Joey laughs. “Probably. Be right back.”
I plop down on the wooden porch swing, memories of Keri Ann and me through the years cross my mind. And for some reason I remember the picture Keri Ann showed me the night Nana Butler died. My eyes stray to the porch steps where the two of us sat, Joey watching us. It’s weird to think about that picture right now. I’ve been on this porch a thousand times since, and it never crossed my mind.
Joey comes out with two open bottles of beer. He hands me one and we clink the necks together.
“What are we drinking to today?” I ask.
He sits down next to me, and the swing rocks gently. I fight the urge to lean closer to him and inhale.
“I think I’ll stick with my toast of last night. To the foolishness and bad timing of love.”
I lick my lips and think about my conversation with Keri Ann this morning. “I guess I’ll drink to that.” I look him in the eye, touching my beer to his again, then bring it to my lips. He holds my gaze. Then when the bottle leaves my lips, his look falls to my mouth.
“Aren’t you going to drink?” I ask. “It’s your toast.”
He brings the bottle to his mouth and takes a long deep drink. How he makes that seem erotic is beyond me. But it is. The condensation on the bottle, the way his lips mold to the glass lip, the way his throat works to swallow the liquid down, the way his eyes are still burning into me.
I clear my throat and pull my bottom lip between my teeth. How am I supposed to talk to him when all I want to do is climb onto his lap? Chemistry is so weird. How can we have all this heaviness between us, and I still want him? The sooner I get some distance the better.
“Tell me your favorite image of me,” I say. My voice comes out husky.
“My favorite image of you …” He pauses, take a sip of beer, and seems to have an internal debate. Then he sets his jaw and looks me in the eye.
His eyes are bright and vivid.
I wait expectantly.
“My favorite image of you is when I was in the water, and you ran down the beach toward me in that tight red swimsuit, a massive It’s-My-Birthday button pinned on your boob, and you just kept coming until you popped up through the waves right in front of me.”
I smile faintly at the memory of that day.
He takes a deep breath and a sip of beer. His fingers are fidgeting with the label. Then he looks back at me. “It was at that moment it felt like you skewered me through the chest. I’ve never felt anything more terrifying or more painful. I fell in love with you.”
I’m frozen. I think my mouth is open. My chest feels tight.
If anyone’s chest was skewered it was mine, just now.
Fuck.
I can’t breathe.
Lurching to my feet, I accidentally drop the beer bottle and the contents foam all over the wooden decking.
I round on him. “Don’t lie to me,” I croak, my voice lost. My finger points in his face.
He grabs my finger, gripping it tight as he rises to his feet to tower in front of me. His eyes are flashing with some untamed emotion. “I’m not lying.” His jaw flexes. “And you fell in love with me too. You admitted it.”
“That was three years ago!” I spit out the words, enraged.
“Three years ago? Who the fuck cares when it happened? It may as well have been yesterday,” he growls back, his voice rising to match mine. “For me anyway.”
Tears sting my eyes and burn in the back of my throat. “It’s too late now,” I tell him.
He blows out a breath and runs his free hand down his face. His other hand grips mine. “How long do I have?”
“You don’t. I’m leaving next week.”
“I’m not asking you not to go. I’d never do that.”
“Of course not. You just want to make it hard.”
“No. God, I don’t. But I can’t lose you. If you get on the plane not knowing how I feel, I’ll never have a chance.”
“I want to punch your face right now.”
His eyes widen.
“Not literally, jackass. But the fact you can stand here after three fucking years and tell me what you should have told me then …” The pain in my chest right now makes it hard to breathe. I try to free my hand from Joey’s, but he holds on tight. “You changed me, Joey. I miss the person I was then. I miss her so much, I ache with it. She was full of life and hope. She was sarcastic and fearless. Before she was betrayed. Before she had her heart shattered. And I know it wasn’t just you. It was losing my father at the same time. But you will always be wrapped up with that. My father died. But you? You will always be the one who chose to walk away from me in the moment of my greatest pain. You chose to kick me while I was down.” And suddenly the truth is blaring. I’ve never tried to drill down exactly how angry I am at him, but here it is erupting from the depths of me. “I don’t …” Taking a deep breath, my thoughts become crystal clear. “I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that.”
The words hang out there. And shock me with their truth. With their finality.
Joseph looks in physical pain. His mouth is tight, his skin pale.