Page 13 of My Unfinished Heart

“It's the name, I guess.”

“You remember that?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I remember everything.

“Do you also remember taking off without telling me?”

Here it is. This is more along the lines of what I expected. I nod for him to go on because he’s obviously got more to say.

“I had to find out you were gone from your housekeeper.”

My jaw twitches. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t tell anyone when I left. I apologize.”

“Okay.” He stares me down. There’s something distinctly different about him. His eyes are darker, more intimidating. He was always the bigger of the two of us, the stronger one. The far cooler and more popular one. But he was cool in a teddy bear way—like everyone loved him and wanted him in their circles. Now, he’s sporting a septum piercing and two full tattoo sleeves. He’s even got a neck tattoo of a spiderweb or something.

He’s wearing ripped jeans that fit his tall, muscular body well, and a mechanic’s shirt with his name on it and everything. It’s a whole new look for West. I admit, I expected him to take a baseball scholarship and ride that to an MBA and a fancy corporate job, so the bar and his whole rebel vibe are subverting expectations.

“How long are you in town?” he asks.

“I don’t have a concrete plan yet.”

He shakes his head at me. Whether it’s in disgust or dismay is hard to tell. “Well, you're here now. Have a drink with me.”

I sit down on the stool he’s pointing at while he returns to the other side of the bar. I’m not ready for this reunion, but I really do need a drink.

“What’ll you have?”

“Doesn’t matter. Whatever you’re having.”

He pours us each a glass of whiskey on the rocks and comes back around to sit with me.

“What have you been up to?” He gives me another once-over. “Did you make it to college?”

“I did.”

“You finish?”

I nod, focusing on the cubes of ice in my glass.

“With a degree and everything?” he asks.

I nod again.

“And where was that? If you don’t mind my asking.”

I do mind because I know him. This isn’t about my degree. This is about my leaving. “Does it matter? What do you want? For me to explain myself?”

His shrug is casual, but his dark eyes are like icepicks. “You don’t think I deserve that?”

I glare at him, as hostile as I’ve ever felt in my life, and it sucks that all my self-hatred is aimed straight at the one guy in the world who never did me wrong. He deserves more than an explanation, but fuck if I want to admit that right now.

He sighs. Heavy and long. Then he gives my leg a conciliatory pat. “Never mind. Forget it. Take it easy. It’s good to see you.”

I doubt that.

“Even with your attitude. Take a breath. I'll go easy on you. I can see you're kinda jumpy.”

He’s right. I am jumpy, and my attitude sucks. “Just say what you need to say, West. Seems like you've been waiting a while to get the chance. Let’s get it over with.”