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I blink a few times, my brain mush as it processes the tingling sensation from his touch, the fact I could have really hurt myself, and the words that just came out of his mouth.
“North side,” I echo.
His lips move around, his eyes bright—too bright. “What’s wrong with you?”
And because my brain is still on the fritz, I blurt, “You touched my boobs!”
His gaze drags to my chest, sticks for a few seconds that feel like minutes, then returns to my eyes. All trace of laughter is gone, and I feel like the air just heated twenty degrees.
Then he shoves his hands in his pockets, his gaze shifting to the water. “Just say what you want to say. Kissing me was a mistake and it’ll never happen again, right?”
Right.
But for some reason, my mouth won’t work.
“I’m not stupid enough to think it meant anything,” he continues mutedly. “You were excited about the job and had a momentary lapse of sanity.”
I open my mouth and close it again. Even though he’s saying exactly what I was prepared to say, it sounds wrong. The words, his stance, the fact he won’t look at me.
“Lucas…” I trail off, and finally manage, “I’m sorry.”
He nods and even smiles when he looks at me, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “We’re on the same page. I get it—I know you, remember? Don’t worry. We’ll sweep it under the rug, et cetera. Now, about the dock. Let me show you where I think the new one should be.”
21
Nerves skate under my skin, my grip on a store-bought pie punishing as I walk up the driveway of the Torreses’ ranch-style home. The collar of my button-down shirt chafes my neck, and even though I’m wearing my favorite jeans, they feel rough and ill-fitting. Like I’m eleven years old again, showing up at a new school with bruises under too-small clothes.
I almost didn’t make it here. When Billy invited me to his parents’ annual Memorial Day barbecue this morning, I’d been caught off guard and hadn’t known what to say. Then, like an idiot, I’d said I’d try. The flash of disappointment in his eyes had stayed with me all day, and guilt had worn me down.
The fact is, I owe him and the Torres family. I owe Jeremy to show up for them. Most of all, I owe Celeste for all the years I wasn’t here, wasn’t facing the grim reality of Jeremy’s loss at her side.
I’ve spent the majority of my life avoiding uncomfortable feelings and situations. Only now, I’m coming to realize the cost of it. Rejecting attachment and all the complications that come from them has left me with nothing and no one.
I’m tired of being alone.
So here I am, feeling more awkward than I have in decades as I ring the doorbell and pray I don’t fuck this up.
The door swings open on Billy, whose face splits in a wide grin. “Holy shit, I didn’t think you’d come.”
I chuckle, the sound strained. “Yeah. Surprise.”
“I’m glad you’re here. Come on—everyone’s out back.”
Entering the Torres home is like walking a road into the past. The same furniture, area rugs, curtains. The same wooden picture frames lining the hallway, with a few new additions featuring Billy and his family. But the old photos are there, too.
My eyes burn as my gaze stalls on a familiar one: Celeste, Jeremy, and me, our arms slung around each other, grinning like lunatics. Jeremy’s face blurs, disappearing.
There’s an anvil on my chest. I can’t breathe.
“Hey, man, you okay?”
I focus on Billy with effort, realizing I’ve stopped, that my hand is braced on the wall next to the photo. He grabs the pie before I drop it, then grips my shoulder.
In a lower voice, he says, “It doesn’t get easier, but it does get different. You just keep moving forward. No leaps. Just one step at a time.”
Some part of me realizes the gift he’s giving me with his acceptance, while another part of me is deeply ashamed. This family has been through unimaginable grief. They’ve been processing it and living with it for years, while I did everything in my power to ignore it.
“I should have been here,” I say hoarsely. “I’m sorry.”
