Page 72 of The Scars We Heal

Despite the gentleness of the kiss, my fingers slid through his hair and I grasped the strands. One of his hands found the back of my neck, and he pulled me even closer to him. My heart rattled against my ribcage like an animal trying to tear its way out of my chest and fall into his palms.

I could feel his pulse, his own heart hammering to the same beat.

When we finally broke apart, chests heaving and foreheads pressed together, I whispered, “What are we doing, Jake?”

He didn’t pull back, simply breathing out the words, “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you think…isn’t this a bad idea?” I started to push him away, even though my hands, fisting his shirt, lingered for a second too long.

“It’s never been a bad idea to me. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you.”

I shook my head, disbelief clouding my head. “You don’t mean that.”

He stepped back toward me, closing the distance I’d created a second before. “Yes, yes I do.”

“Why? Why, though?”

Pain flashed in his gaze, his mouth twisting in agony. “Because I’ve wanted you for the last ten years, Cait! Because it should have been me instead!”

“W-what do you mean?”

His words were merely a whisper, but they still echoed. “I didn’t want you to marry him. I wanted to tell you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

jake

NINE YEARS AGO

Instrumental piano music trickled out of the church’s double doors as guests filed into the building. Instead of slipping into the line of people, I stood in front of the stairs. My spine stiffened, and my fingers curled into my palms, what remained of my fingernails digging into the sensitive flesh.

A big easel with a sign reading Welcome to the wedding of Adam and Caitlin stood on the sidewalk next to me beside a pot of obnoxiously bright flowers. I knew if Caitlin had a choice, she’d have white roses, not whatever these bright orange and yellow things were.

A few older folks nodded at me, uttering some hellos as they passed. Others stared at me like I’d grown two heads for just standing outside like an idiot.

My feet were rooted to the ground, though, tethered there like a dog on a leash.

“Are you here for the wedding?” one older woman asked, tilting her head like she was confused.

I was sure I looked a bit out of place with my dark-wash jeans and button-up shirt, but in my defense, I wasn’t exactly sure what “creative semi-formal” dress code meant. Unfortunately for me, I showed up underdressed, if the men walking around in suits and the women in fancy dresses were any indication.

“Mm-hmm.” I nodded.

The woman looked me up and down, sizing me up. Then she made some sort of huffing noise and walked off.

Tough crowd.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, unsure of who I was hoping it was.

Colter

You here, buddy?

Mrs. Morrison mentioned there was a guy outside who looked like he might be lost.

I’m guessing she was talking about you.

Yeah, I’m outside.