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“And…” I type, my eyes never leaving his.
He breaks the stare. “And… six months passed before I finally got the nerve. I went to tell your grams that I was going to see you but before I got the chance, she started talking about you. She told me everything you were doing in college, working on the paper, working at Say Something, getting your license. I know how hard that would’ve been for you, so you must’ve been doing really well. And I…” His voice cracks, and he clears it before adding, “I didn’t want to ruin everything, because I know me, and I knew that I would. Somehow, I’d fuck things up for you, and as much as I wanted to see you, as badly as I wanted to be near you, I couldn’t do it.”
There are so many words, so many responses flying through my mind and I want to say all of them. Want to speak every one. But my voice doesn’t work, neither do my hands, because I can’t even find it in me to give him the reply he deserves.
“Anyway…” he mumbles, probably sick of waiting for me to respond. He changes the subject, his voice lighter. “What was wrong with that one nurse I liked? She had experience with dementia patients and she seemed to get along well with your grams.”
I pick up my phone and get Cordy to speak, grateful for the switch in conversation. “Who? Sadie?”
“Yeah. I thought she was perfect.”
I roll my eyes.
“What?” he asks, clearly confused.
I joke, “She is perfect. For you. Young, leggy, blonde.”
He laughs under his breath. “Are you serious? Becca, I didn’t even look at her like that. Besides”—he shrugs and pulls on a strand of my hair—“I’m not into blondes.”
I bite my lip to contain my smile. “The mother of your son is blonde,” Cordy reminds him.
He grimaces, his eyes shifting from the phone to me, over and over again. Then he looks away. “She doesn’t count.”
I scoff. It’s silent. “So maybe I just didn’t like the way she was looking at you.”
His eyes light up with his smile. I squirm when he leans closer, his touch like fire on my bare leg. “Stay with me tonight?”
It would be easy, almost too easy, to fall into him again. To have the safety of his arms be the reason I wake up with my mind at ease regardless of what’s going on around me. And I know it’s wrong—and swear, I’m not messing with his head on purpose. I just don’t know if I can handle wanting him the way I do. “I leave in two days,” Cordy says.
He leans closer again, his lips curving on my shoulder. “So stay with me for two nights.” Then he pulls back to read my reaction.
He must see the battle playing behind my eyes because he smirks, knowing the effect he has on me.
I kiss his cheek softly, then stand and make my way to the front door.
Behind me, Josh chuckles. “Good night, Emerald Eyes.”
I run inside, closing the door behind me, and up the stairs, away from my feelings. Away from Josh. Away from my heart. I pace my room, over and over, trying to make sense of the things I just ran away from. Then I bite down on my thumb, a thousand regrets—each a heavy weight—filling my chest. I could watch you forever, I told him. What the hell was I thinking?
I sent him the letter.
I sent him the truth.
And the truth is the one thing I can’t escape.
I look out the window so I can watch him some more, because I can’t not. I’m drawn, like a million moths to an inferno of flames. My teeth grind into my thumb and I push away the pain, and wait for the punishment. But it never comes. My bite loosens when a smile forms, caused by Josh’s when he sees me watching him. He does a couple tricks on his board before he picks it up—his eyes never leaving me. Then he makes his way up to his apartment, and I wait with baited breath until the light comes on in his room. A second later, the curtains draw, and he’s there, opposite me, his grin matching mine. I release my thumb completely and focus on my phone as I type out a message. I stare at the words, one letter at a time, until I finally find the courage to hit send.
Becca: Sweet dreams, Skater Boy.
20
—Becca—
I swallow my pride as I walk up Josh’s stairs the next morning, Sadie’s footsteps following behind me. “So is Josh home a lot?” she asks.
My shoulders lift with my shrug, but I don’t make an effort to face her. Facing her would mean looking at her and even though Josh was right—that she is the best suited for the live-in nurse’s position—it took everything I had to send her the message this morning and offer her the job. She’s pretty. No, that’s a lie. She’s insanely beautiful. And tomorrow, I’ll be gone, and she’ll be up close and personal with my boys. My stomach turns, jealousy swarming in my veins.
