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Wolf
“Trust me, Fallyn. I know, and I’m so fucking sorry.”
Laughter twisted with bitterness escapes from her. The sound of it scrapes something deep inside me. Ten years ago, I could have never imagined her voice brimming with so much resentment.
The worst part is that there’s no way to change it or make it better. There’s no way to douse the pain that now lives inside her like a living, breathing entity.
I’m powerless.
“My entire existence changed that night,” she snaps. “Yours didn’t.”
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel until the knuckles turn bone white as I swing into the parking lot of Slap Shotz. At this time of the day, the place is empty. The moment I cut the engine, I swivel in her direction, needing to finish this conversation. Crystal-like tears sparkle in her eyes, turning them even brighter. It’s so damn tempting to reach out and stroke my hand across her cheek before holding it tenderly in my palm. The same way I want to pull her into my arms and offer comfort.
But there’s no way she’ll accept it.
Or anything I have to offer.
“You’re wrong about that. Everything changed. Miles was like a brother to me.”
“He was my brother!” Her voice escalates with every syllable that falls from her lips. “Not yours!”
“He was taken from both of us.”
“You took him.” One lone tear rolls down her pale cheek.
Both her words and tone gut me. It’s as if a knife is slicing through my very heart. Mincing it into tiny pieces that will never be put back together again.
“It was an accident,” I whisper. “I never meant for it to happen. We were young and stupid. We shouldn’t have left the house that night.” I gulp down the bile that gurgles up in my throat as memories crash over me, threatening to suck me under. For a second or two, that’s all I can see. Swirling snow in the darkness. The flash of lights. Losing control of the vehicle. If I closed my eyes, I’d be right back there again.
I force myself to spit out the rest. “If it were possible to change places with him, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
We stare at each other for a painful tick of time.
Then another.
Just when I think my words have finally penetrated the grief she now cloaks herself in, she whispers, “I wish it had been you.”
Her venom steals the very air from my lungs as she slams out of the Mustang and stalks to the back entrance of the bar. I can only sit and stare as she vanishes through the metal door.
It takes a few minutes for the sickness in my belly to abate. The pain of it is almost enough to have me doubling over. I plow my fingers through my short strands before slamming my fists into the leather steering wheel. It’s so tempting to howl in agony.
I have no idea how to make anything better with her.
Hell, I don’t even know if it’s possible.
I’d been hoping that after all this time, the worst of her grief and anger would have been laid to rest, but clearly, that’s not the case. She hates me now more than ever.
I’ve spent all these years thinking about her, wondering how she’s doing, wanting to reach out and make amends. To see if there’s a way to reclaim the fragmented tatters of our friendship.
Even just a little.
Just enough for me to live at the periphery of her universe.
In light of this convo, it’s doubtful she’ll ever forgive me.
It should give me enough pause to reconsider my decision to buy her virginity, but how can I do that?
How can I allow another man to touch her?
