Page 98 of The Has-Been

As Aubrey and I close the distance to one another, my hands fidget at my sides.

How can she still make me this nervous, after all this time?

Do I pull her into a hug?

Press a kiss to her cheek?

I want to claim her in front of the whole room—though I know Aubrey Vaughn could never truly belong to anyone but herself. She’s far too independent.

I’m still figuring out what to do with my hands when she reaches me, taking one in hers. I exhale as our fingers intertwine.

We really need to have that conversation sooner rather than later, because I’m falling almost as fast as the snow outside.

A fucking blizzard. So in love that I’m lost, unable to see the ground beneath the white layers.

Part of me rejoices that, for the first time, dark thoughts don’t trail me like a shadow, like they did last year. I laugh. I joke. I smile.

But the part of me that clawed myself out of that hole—the part that spent hours in therapy, working through my shit—is screaming at me to take it slow, to demand answers, not to let her back into the place she once occupied.

We move around the room, hands still joined.

“Liam Anderson,” a voice announces behind us. I take a breath as Aubrey’s fingers brush the back of my hand in a way of comfort.

I suppose it’s best to get this over with.

But before I know what’s happening, a thin figure is crashing into me, taking the breath from my lungs and squeezing me tightly. “Am I happy to see you!” Aubrey’s mother, Christina, takes my face in her hands and pinches my cheeks.

Chrissy always loved me. I would be lying if I said she was ever anything but welcoming when I joined her family. But I also think I could have been a total loser, and she’d still have found something admirable in me. She’s warm and understanding in that way.

I chuckle as she looks at me, reaching to put Aubrey’s hands back in mine.

Chrissy tears up, dapping her fingers over her eyes. “I just knew you two would figure everything out. I’m so relieved that Aubrey finally told you—” she clears her throat, but my chest heaves, as I’m pretty sure I stop breathing. “It was so hard for us all. But especially my Aubrey, watching her mourn without you—Aubrey tells me that your mom is doing well. I’m so happy to hear that.”

My heart skips several beats. Did I hear her right? Did she say mourning?

Mourning what?

Me?

Though I often felt like a part of me had died that night, I didn’t. I’m here. I’m better.

I’m healing. Why would she say that?

“Mom,” Aubrey grits, pulling me from my trance. Side eyeing her, I see she’s gone rigid.

Chrissy’s mouth drops open, as if she realizes that I have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about.

And if it could get any worse, it does.

Someone slaps a hand on my shoulder, with a grip far too complicated and forceful to truly be taken as a welcoming gesture.

“My almost son-in-law!” Aubrey’s father declares as he moves around me, moving to place his arm over his wife’s shoulders.

Is there an edge to his tone, or am I imagining it?

Almost son-in-law? I can’t help but narrow my brows. What the hell is going on? I look at Aubrey again—she’s staring at me, her face white.

I want her sunshine back, her warm skin—her freckles, her glow.