I’ve wondered endlessly whether or not I did the right thing in telling him I love him. I feel like the world opened up and swallowed me, but I also feel relief that I finally came clean, even if what I said was not what he wanted to hear.
I’m still thinking of the look on his handsome face when the words left me, the shock and almost concern (for me, I’m sure it was for me). I can’t concentrate on the book on my lap. I’ve been staring at it for a while when I hear the sound of tires and a rumbling car motor.
I peer out the window and watch a tall man emerge from a silver Audi rental.
He’s wearing black jeans and a black long-sleeved crewneck. It’s hard to breathe when the man walking to the front door is the one I wanted to get away from this weekend.
A familiar triple knock startles me.
I force myself to put the book down, walk to the door, inhale deeply, and open it.
He fills the space outside like he is a god and like he is at the center of everything. Our eyes lock, and I suddenly realize I’m makeup-less, in my pajamas, my heart flipping helplessly at the sight of him.
I can’t think when he looks at me, with wounded blue eyes and a thoughtful frown.
I press my lips tight with nothing to say, then turn around and let him in.
I don’t know what’s happening, what I was getting into when I told him I loved him. Two broken parts can’t make a whole and I know it.
We were friends. And now how can we be friends after what I said?
He’s silent and so am I, two broken people, a little angry at whatever hurt them, having nothing to vent and no one to punch, not really.
The wood floor creaks as he stalks so close at my heels that I can almost hear my personal bubble pop. My lungs strain for air as he stops me and slips his fingers up my cheek and cups the side of my face.
“Don’t,” I warn.
He kisses my cheek.
“Don’t.”
He kisses my other cheek.
“Tahoe, don’t.”
He goes for my mouth and I turn my face away. His kiss lands on my cheek, and against my skin, he inhales.
His arms come around me, stronger than if they were steel.
The feeling of being engulfed by something uncontrollable seizes me.
“Are you upset with me?” he asks fiercely in my ear, turning my face.
I’m trying to talk without allowing my voice to reveal any of the chaos I’m feeling. “Why would I be—”
“For being such a messed-up fuck.” He looks at me. His perfect face is only an inch from mine. He sets a peck on my lips and my breath leaves me in a hurry.
“You’re not. I’m not upset. I just want to be alone a little bit, okay? We’re okay. You and I are okay, we’re friends and we’ll always be friends.”
He holds my face in both hands as if to make sure I won’t avoid him this time. “So easy, you give up on me, huh? You tell me you love me and run away—why? Did I not have a right to say something back?”
I press my lips in stony silence.
“Well, you’re going to have to hear it, lady.”
I exhale.
“First I have to say I missed you,” he says, his voice dropping. “You’re like an insistent little trickle of water, soaking into every inch of my life. I can’t look anywhere without noticing your absence, Regina.”
Just hearing his voice makes me oddly emotional and makes my throat ache. “I missed you too, Tahoe.”
He drags a hand over his bearded jaw, drops it and fists it at his side. “You just up and disappeared. Don’t do that to me again, Regina.”
“I didn’t disappear, I’ve been right here. I didn’t think anyone would mind.”
“I’m not anyone, and I was worried about you.”
He looks restless, all of his energy crackling around him, around us as he silently wills me to understand with his gaze.
“Okay,” I say.
“So,” he spreads his arms out, “girl,” he laughs, “you’ve checked me so hard I can’t even think straight anymore. You’ve been checking me left and right this whole year and I fucking can’t even think straight anymore, Regina.
“I love you.” He looks at me. “I love every part of you. I could be a thousand miles away from you, stay away from you my whole life, put an ocean between us, take a million other women in my arms, and you’re still the one I want, the only woman on my mind.”
He scrapes his beard. He seems nervous, rubbing the back of his neck restlessly.