Page 55 of Legs

Unsure how to unravel it all, I did the only thing I could—nothing. I climbed onto his bike, held on, and spent the ride trying not to cry.

Seventeen

Jimmy

Rachel was the girl for me. I knew it in my bones, felt it in the ache constricting my chest. But I was tired of her games. The ride back to San Francisco was torture. Her thighs hugged mine, her hands gripping my sides, but she wasn’t present. Her reaction wasn’t surprising. She didn’t know about my plan and the ruin it would bring to my family winery, but denying my mother was a big fat X in her books. A checkmark in her undateable column—next to tattoos and bartender.

She may have been the girl for me, but I was done trying to be the guy for her.

When I pulled up to her apartment, she didn’t move. Her chest wasn’t pressed to my back, but I could feel each of her inhales and it hurt. It was too much, she was too much, and I felt too damn much. Two hours ago, we’d had the best sex of my life, raw and open and real.

Now we sat like strangers.

She pushed off my bike and paused on the sidewalk. “Thanks for the picnic, and the wine. I…” She trailed off, turmoil in her fidgety stance. “I’m sorry for how it ended.”

I was sorry, too. Sorry I’d lost my temper and that my mother had shoved her way back into my life. Sorry I wasn’t enough for Rachel, but it was time to let her go. It had taken me years to be comfortable in my own skin. I needed a woman who respected that.

Gripping my handlebars, I wrung my hands around them, tamping the urge to strut over, carry Rachel up to her apartment, and remind her how good we were together. But her indecision was palpable and getting in deeper wouldn’t end well for me.

At the least, she needed to know the truth of it. “I’m not perfect, and my family situation is a disaster, but I’m not the bad guy here. If I thought you’d have listened, I would have explained things, but you’ve had me running in circles. I can’t keep on like this. It sucks you can’t see what we have. It sucks how hard I’ve fallen for you. But I…” I revved my engine, unable to go on. “It’s better if we end things.”

I peeled out the second I said it and didn’t glance back. Couldn’t glance back. If relief had flooded her features, it would have cut deep. If she’d looked crushed, I would have said fuck it and grabbed her and kissed her and apologized for being such a dick, only to wind up back here the next time she freaked out.

Lose-lose.

I drove for an hour, gut twisting, cruising the streets in search of peace that didn’t come. Just as my life was turning around, my family had to mess it up, again. Get in the middle of another relationship. Rachel could cope with me having estranged parents, but one hint they wanted to mend fences, and she saw me as the asshole in the equation. The troublemaker.

My path was clearer for it. I had to cut them off, once and for all. Bring their lies to light, clear my conscience. My mother would stop trying to reach me, and they’d all leave me the hell alone. Maybe then I’d meet a woman who could accept me as I was.

I pulled over by the ocean. Salt stung my nose, the expanse of the Pacific a welcome sight. Cars rushed behind me, waves rolled ahead, birds coasting above. I blinked through the darkening light, envious of the seagulls and the simplicity of their existence.

Fly. Fish. Eat. Repeat.

My phone rang and I gritted my teeth, unsure if I should check it. If it was my mother, I’d probably toss it in the sea. If it was Rachel, I’d probably toss it, too. Then I’d jump in after it.

Unable to resist, I pulled it from my pocket. Owen Phillips. An unexpected name, but one that had me relaxing. We hadn’t connected since his first text. He’d asked to hang out once, but Rachel was coming over, and I’d been greedy for her, unsure how many nights we’d have.

Not enough, in the end.

I hit Talk. “Owen Phillips.”

“Last I checked,” he said. “Wondering if you wanted to grab that beer.”

I could drive around for the night, or stare listlessly at the horizon until the sun came up, but clouds were rolling in, dark with rain, and none of it would make me feel a damn bit better. It certainly wouldn’t help me forget I’d have to see Rachel in four days and pretend I was over her.

“Sounds great,” I said.

Thirty minutes later, I walked into The Blue Door. My gaze cut to the stools Rachel and I had sat on as I coaxed her into a no-strings affair, clueless to what I’d started. It was probably stupid to revisit this place, but it had a cool vibe, and the familiarity was comforting. Cameron stood behind the bar, and I spotted Owen at one of the cramped tables, spinning his tumbler of amber liquid. He glanced up as I came in. His eyes skimmed over me, past me, then darted back. A grin split his face.

I ordered a beer from Cameron, then made my way over to Owen. He clasped my hand and pulled me into a hug.

“Been a long time,” I said.

He thumped my back. “I’ll say. Barely recognized you.”

I wasn’t the only one who’d changed. Owen was still taller and broader than me, but the eighteen-year-old I’d chased around the soccer field had worn jeans and running shoes back then, his shirts often from Goodwill—he’d showed up at school once, an old top of mine on his back. That kid had hidden behind a mess of sandy hair. He’d been the first to throw a punch if it meant protecting a friend.

This thirty-year-old man seemed cool and collected: trim hair, gold watch, pressed dress shirt and slacks. Like me two years ago.