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“Well.” I haven’t even looked at Luke, and I’m not planning on doing so. I’m scared if I do, I’ll be able to tell if he’s genuine, and I’ll feel sorry for him and cave in. I can already feel my lip quivering a little and my chest quaking. “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk about Shade. I don’t mind hanging out with him. I miss him and want to see him again. I just don’t want you to be around.”
“Feeney, please!”
“Please?” I crank my head up. “Are you for real right now? I told you there weren’t any magic words. What? Did you not believe me? You think you can just say a couple of things, and I’ll forget all about what happened, and everything will be fine, and we’ll just pick up where we left off? Where we left off was spending secret time together, stolen time at night, because we didn’t want anyone to know.”
“That’s not true, and you know it.”
“Oh, really? I don’t know much of anything. That’s pretty obvious—”
“I know you’re mad.” Luke takes a chance and slides over an inch on the couch. I have nowhere to go. I could get up. I could. I could get up and leave, but I don’t. “And you have every right to be angry with me because I did make a mistake. I can say sorry all I want, but I know it won’t fix much of anything. I also know I have no right to ask you for another chance—”
“That’s the only thing you’ve said that I actually agree with. You don’t have a right.”
“I know. But I also know what I felt was real, and it mattered, and I’m going to fight for it. If you tell me right now that you didn’t feel it and still don’t, then I won’t ever bring it up again. I’ll make sure you can visit Shade, and when you come over, I won’t be here, I promise. I do want what’s best for him. I love that kid more than anything, and I want him to be happy. I know he misses you like crazy, so just tell me. Just tell me you really do hate me for real and that you felt nothing and feel nothing now. That you might not stay angry with me forever, but even forgiveness won’t change anything.”
My stomach feels like I just drank a gallon of water. It sloshes angrily, and my chest compresses, making me feel dangerously close to tears or puking, though I’m not sure which. I just know that either way, it hurts.
I look straight at his beautiful face and into his beautiful eyes. “I didn’t feel it, and I still don’t. I might forgive you eventually, but it won’t change what happened, and it won’t change the fact that I’ll never change my mind about it moving forward.”
Luke’s good at hiding what he feels. I’ve seen that before. I’ve watched him shut down, but never like he does now. He does try to keep his pain private, but his lips turn down, and there’s a misty sheen in his eyes. He looks startled, but he also looks wrecked.
“O-okay.” He turns quickly, angling away from me and completely shutting me out the way I basically just asked him to do. “I’ll make sure we can set up a time soon for you to see Shade. Don’t worry about the cab costs. I’ll cover it. Everything. If you want to take him out for pizza or ice cream or to the splash pad or park or anything, I’ll pay for it all.”
Ugh. Now we’re talking about money—an arrangement for Shade and me this time instead of Luke and me. Luke’s fine-tuning the details, rambling on, but I tune him out. I do hear myself mutter something into the still air, probably some sort of assent. Then I get up. I feel myself walking toward the door and opening it, letting myself out. Once I’m out, I stand on the doorstep and gulp in huge, deep breaths.
I feel like I just fell face-first into a bush of nasty thorns—thorns that held me fast so I couldn’t get out, and thorns that shredded me into pieces, ripped me open, stole my breath, and ate into my flesh, heart, and soul.
I can’t do this.
Luke was genuine in there. He freaking meant every word he said. Feelings. He says he has feelings, but what does that even mean? How much and what kind? Are they the same as mine? Of course they’re the same as mine. I can’t pretend I misunderstood that. Luke doesn’t open up, but he opened up to me. He cares about his privacy so much that he invented a fake persona to maintain it, but he let me in. He let me in, past all of it, and he made me feel cared for, cherished, and alive in ways I’ve never known before. He made me feel like my skin, bones, breath, and spirit were all designed to find their match in him. Yeah, that’s a lot to glean from a few weeks spent together, but I didn’t need a few weeks. I think I knew it—in the very essence of whatever parts know things like that—almost right from the start.
