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“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“All right.” He settles back in his seat. His finger taps the edge of his glass. “So…”
“So…” I take another sip.
Corey’s eyes focus on my puckered lips as I drink. He clears his throat. “We’re on a date.”
I feel an undeniable urge to tease him. “Is that what this is?”
His eyes snap up to mine. “Absolutely. No question.”
My stomach flutters at his intense gaze. “Are you sure? I thought this was just an opportunity for you to explain yourself.”
“Can’t it be both?”
God knows I want it to be both, but until I hear what he has to say—until I hear his explanation for why he ran away from me all those years ago—I temper my expectations.
“We’ll see,” I reply, leaning back and resting my hands in my lap.
“Fair enough.” Corey mimics my actions, leaning against the worn vinyl. “But promise to let me say everything I need to say before making any big decisions.”
“I’m not the one with a history of running off and leaving town without a word.”
“Touché.” He drops his gaze to his untouched drink. “Did you know I stopped drinking for a few years?”
“No.”
He nods. “It was during college.”
The news is surprising, but what’s more surprising is Carter never told me about it.
Over the years, my brother would drop random information about Corey in conversation, usually when he was talking toMom or Dad. I would’ve expected him to share that Corey gave up drinking.
“Why did you stop?”
“Because I was afraid.”
I think I know where this is going. Still, I ask, “Afraid of what?”
He releases a heavy sigh and rotates his glass in a slow circle between his palms. “Of becoming the type of man who does stupid things when he’s drunk.”
A stab of pain strikes my heart. “Like kissing me after prom?”
I was aware that Corey and Carter took shots of vodka before the dance. Not only did I smell it on my brother’s breath when he came over to harass Augie for dancing “too close” to me, but I tasted the bitter liquor on Corey’s lips when we kissed at the end of the night.
I’d even considered that the reason he ran away after our kiss was because alcohol caused a lapse in judgment which resulted in him kissing me, but hearing it all but confirmed is an acute form of torture.
“No.” Corey’s eyes snap up to mine. “Absolutely not. The stupid thing I did that night was running away from you. I don’t regret the kiss, except for the hurt it caused afterward.”
My heartbeat quickens, immediately dulling the sharp pain still radiating through the precious organ. Still, there are things I need to know—things I’ve spent more than ten years torturing myself over. “Then why did you run away, Corey? Why did you stay away if you didn’t regret that kiss?”
His shoulders rise and fall with a deep inhale. On his exhale, he says, “Because I wasn’t good for you, Carlee.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is.” He drops his gaze to the table and stops spinning his glass. “You were Carlee Jones, the all-American, girl next door. You were the girl every guy wanted to be with, and I wasthe son of an abusive alcoholic who lived in a rundown trailer on the outskirts of town. You were Rose Hill’s sweetheart, and I was a blight on the town’s picture-perfect image.”
