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“I was wrong, J.R. I never expect you to forgive me.” I turn away from him for a moment, and then I turn back. “I don’t know what else you want me to say. I’ve told you everything.” My tone is sharp. Maybe even angry. I’m tired of rehashing this over and over again. I can’t change it. I can’t change any of it.
J.R. puts his hand through his hair. He’s frustrated, too.
“I love you, Rachel. I’ve never stopped loving you, even after…” He shakes his head. “I just can’t. You and me. I can’t.”
My heart breaks again, and I just want him to leave. I’m crying now, and I can’t even stop myself. I went into this without expecting J.R. to take me back, but I would be lying if I claimed that I hadn’t at least hoped that maybe he might give me another chance at some point. I didn’t expect him to throw himself at me the moment I showed up. “I told you, I didn’t come back for us.” I wipe my cheek. “Thank you, again, for taking her out. Just let me know when you want to see her again.” I turn away from him again, hoping he leaves. I’m not sure how much longer I can bear to be around him. His presence is suffocating.
J.R. doesn’t leave, though. He keeps standing there, watching me. I can feel his blue eyes against the back of my head.
Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll go away. Isn’t that how it works? I force myself to the kitchen and find a dusty bottle of vodka in the cabinet. I haven’t had a drink in a while. I haven’t needed a reason to, but tonight, I have a reason. I don’t want to feel anymore. Not like this. I want to be numb. Then maybe I can actually write this stupid opinion piece on the Mayan calendar and how they were wrong.
I hear footsteps behind me. J.R.’s footsteps. I still don’t turn to face him. I pull a small glass down from the cabinet, and then I fill it a quarter of the way with vodka.
“Rachel.” His voice is gentle.
I don’t face him.
“Rachel,” he says again. This time his tone is stern, and I know that he means for me to look at him.
Reluctantly, I turn to face him. I’m not even ashamed of the trail of tears on my cheeks.
He’s beautiful. The way he looks at me with his soft blue eyes—they’re like a window into his soul. A view that I took advantage of too often. I used to think that I could never grow tired of gazing into those eyes and exploring every inch of him. All of his pain, all of his joy, everything he’s ever been through—it’s all there behind his blue eyes.
“When you left,” he says, “I swore that if I ever got a chance to have you again, I would take it. No matter what.”
“What are you saying?” I ask him, feeling hope ignite in my soul again. I cross my arms across my chest, and I pretend to be done. To be over it. Maybe I am a little. He’s made it clear that we don’t have a future together, not the way we were. But then, he says things that make me think that there is forgiveness somewhere, waiting. That there is a second chance waiting for us.
“I want you and Knox to come home,” he says. “Where the three of us should have been all along. I’m not…I can’t…you and I—I’m not there yet. I’ve got some stuff I have to work through, but I want you and Knox at home. Where you belong.”
I’m confused. My head is throbbing. My expression says it all, I’m sure, but I take my shot of vodka and throw it back, placing the glass back on the counter once it’s empty. I look up at him. “Are you asking me—us—to move in with you?”
“Yeah, I guess I am. It’s still our house, Rach. You should have never left it.”
I think about the proposal for a moment, and I realize that I don’t have an answer for him. We have a life here. A home. Knox has friends, and I have Kelley. How can we just pack up and move? Besides, how hard will it be to live under one roof with J.R.? It’s hard enough having him here right now.
“I’ll have to think about it, J.R. I can’t just—”
“That’s fine. Think about it,” he says, cutting me off. “I’m on the road for another week.” He steps a little closer to me. “Just think about it.” He raises his hand as though he’s going to brush my cheek with his fingers, but then he stops. “We’ve got a mess here, you and me, but I think that the three of us should be together, at least. That’s how we were meant to be.”
“And if we’re not together, you and me, you don’t think this will just confuse Knox?” I ask him.
“No, I don’t think so. If anything, I think it will make her happy. We both agreed that we need to be friendly for her. I think this is a step in the right direction.”
“And what about you and me? Where do we go from here?” I wish that I hadn’t asked him this question. None of this was supposed to be about us in the first place, but I can’t help but wonder where his mind is exactly concerning the two of us.
“I don’t know, Rach,” he says with a sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Okay.” I sniff and wipe the back of my hand across my cheek. “Well, I’ll run it by Knox.”
“Okay.” He nods. “The band leaves in the morning. I’ll give Knox a call then.”
I walk J.R. to the door, and just as he hits the second step down my front porch, I feel a sense of dread wash over me. I hate watching him leave. I hate leaving him. Watching him walk away breaks my heart in a new way that I can’t explain.
I call after him. “J.R.?”
He turns. “Yeah?”
“I love you.” The release of these words from my heart lifts a weight from my shoulders, and I think I’ve been longing to tell him this for years.
