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Leveling his gaze, I process his words.
Finally, nodding, I reach out a hand. “I’d want nothing less.”
He glances down at my offered hand, teeth working a toothpick. Then, nodding, he gives me a quick, firm shake.
“Look,” he says, nodding somewhere behind me. He drops my hand to grab a glass. He waves it at me and I absently tell him a Diet Coke—no alcohol; I always make sure to clarify that—before turning to where he nodded to, I find Skyler across the room, head cocked, eyes narrowed this way.
When he sees that I’ve caught him, he spins around, and I bite back a laugh.
“He’s different with you,” the bartender says.
“What do you mean?” I say, accepting the drink. I sniff it and take a sip.
He shrugs, twisting the toothpick around between his teeth, and folds his arms over the bar. “It’s taken me six months to get him to loosen up, and even then…” His gaze cuts to mine. “I heard you in the backroom before I interrupted.”
Nodding, I look down.
“He’s just…freer with you. I don’t know how to describe it.”
I nod some more, unsure what to say to that.
A customer calls him away, and I find myself taking a long pull of my drink, the last half hour or so replaying through my head on a loop.
I can’t fucking believe he’s here. Skyler’shere.
In Vermont.
Minutes away from where I live.
For six fucking months, we’ve probably walked the same streets—not that I come downtown much, but still. He’shere,and he’s been here, and I run into him at a strip club of all fucking places.
Shaking my head, I frown, wondering how the hell this ended up being the place he decided to put roots. It’s clear he’s made friends here. Found a home of sorts.
Speaking of which…where the fuck has he been staying all this time?
Now that the shock of seeing him again is wearing off, all these questions are surging to the surface.
What’s he been doing for the last three years, what happened at Black Diamond after I left, what happened with his parents, why did he disappear, what made him decide to bite the bullet and come find me all these years later…
I pull out my phone and glance at the time, a picture of Abby dressed like a princess warrior greeting me from my lock screen.Two hours to go…
Sighing, I dim the screen, and shove it back in my pocket.
I look over my shoulder, seeking him out once more. He’s now at another table. It’s empty, and he’s collecting the abandoned glasses, setting them on his tray.
He must sense me staring, because he lifts his gaze, his movements stilling.
This time, he doesn’t immediately break the connection, and it reminds me of that day so long ago, in our first shared group therapy session. When I looked across the room, after having ripped myself open for a bunch of strangers…
Only to find that I wasn’t alone after all.
Like then, it rattles me to my core.
It’s terrifying, but it’s exhilarating too, like that feeling when you’re repelling down the side of a mountain with nothing more than rope and carabiners keeping you from certain death.
That weightlessness…
It’s here now, in my chest, freeing the pressure that’s been there for so long I thought I’d never be free of it.
