Without me.
The coffee sizzled as I took the pot from the base and the thick scent of dark roast filled the air. Aly stood next to me, fixing her coffee, stirring in creamer and sugar absently. “You don’t want any?” She frowned when I put the sugar back in the cabinet.
“Nah. Still too hot from my run.”
She glanced at me, the lingering smile still on her face as she sipped from her cup. Something clicked off in my brain; it was dark and a little possessive but nothing that urged me to be destructive. Aly had moved forward with her life, I knew that. Clearly. And I wasn’t stupid. I knew she’d probably slept with Ethan. I knew she might care about him a lot. But what coursed inside my head just then was a myriad of emotions I wasn’t sure how to analyze or sort into any real sense.
“I…listen, Aly, I’m sorry about the other night,” I told her, hoping she knew that wasn’t a line.
“Sorry?” she said, forehead wrinkling as she put her cup on the counter.
“At the recital. I…I kissed you.” She only watched me, keeping her face impassive. “I, um…I didn’t mean it.” The lie tasted heavy on my tongue, like something bitter and bland that my taste buds rejected the moment I opened my mouth.
“You didn’t mean it?”
“No.” I moved out of the kitchen, stretching my arms to keep from touching her. She followed and I felt that hard gaze on my back. “It was stupid. I mean you and Ethan…”
“Yeah, it was stupid.” She stood in front of me, eyebrows up as she moved her gaze around my face, the heat of it licking against my skin like a burn. I enjoyed the heat, but hated that look. It meant she was reading me, testing me, trying her hardest to catch me in a lie. “What?” I said, popping my neck.
“Ransom, how many times do you think you’ve kissed me?”
“What?”
Aly moved forward, prowling it seemed, but then that was likely my overactive, hopeful imagination. She didn’t want me, I knew that. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that her expression meant a lot more than some attempt she made to get me to stop lying to her.
“How many times have you kissed me over the years?”
“I…I dunno. Thousands, millions.” I shot for cool, relaxed and failed miserably at it, sitting on the back of the sofa when she walked forward. “Why does it matter?”
“Any of those times did you ever not mean it?”
“No,” I told her, giving up the weak fight to keep the truth from her. “Even…shit, even the first time in the studio when I was still beating myself up over Emily, over everything and I kissed you? Even then, makamae, I damn well meant it.”
She nodded, staring longer than was necessary at my face, moving her gaze back over my features as though she tried to see how different I was. The only change in me was the realization of what I’d thrown away and how staring at her now, still wanting her so desperately, probably made me look a little pathetic.
“So you meant it, the other night. Even though you knew I said yes to Ethan.”
“Aly…”
“Even though you didn’t believe me when I said we should keep things in the past.”
She skated so close near the truth, her body moving toward mine stiffening when she did. Still, I couldn't let her challenge go uncontested. “What if I don’t want anything kept in the past? Especially not that last night when you left me?”
Aly shook her head, keeping her gaze steady, her eyes unblinking. “It has to be. Past. I’m…I’m moving forward.” That strong-lined chin lifted, taunting.
She was everything I’d ever wanted. Then. Now. Always. She wanted my friendship. She probably came here looking for my support, for me to reciprocate for all the times she’d given me hers. My instinct told me to back away. Let her believe that she really was moving on, leaving me behind even though those eyes, that look, promised that just wasn’t true.
Logically, I knew I should be an adult, respect the boundaries she tried to set for us. But dammit, I just couldn’t keep silent. Not when she looked at me like that. Not when my heart told me I was right.
“Ke aloha, I’m sorry. But…no. You don’t want to keep anything in the past. Not deep down. I refuse to believe that.”
“What?” She curled her fists at her side and all the happiness that had colored her cheeks before was gone. “Why do you think that?”
“Because…” I exhaled, bracing for her anger, “you don’t love him.” Her lips parted and I knew I’d insulted her. It was a challenge that may have went too far, but I was beyond saving her feelings. Then the press of her lips, the heavy curl of her mouth had me losing hold of any tact I might have. “Fuck, Aly, you know you don’t. Not like you love me.”