4. Chapter Four

Oh god. His voice is deep. And smooth. I heard it last night, but this is different. This time, it's my name he's saying. From only a couple of feet behind me.

And I can feel him—the heat of his body, his presence like a warmth I haven't known in ten years. It surrounds me, reminding me of that day. Our kiss. God, that kiss. For a fleeting moment, I remember it—the feel of his lips on mine, caressing softly, my tongue sliding along his lower lip, and then his tongue venturing into my mouth, tasting and exploring. And his body pressed flush against me.

But the moment is over in an instant, crushed by the weight of the thousands of days since, the thousands of lies since. And by the weight of the moment the kiss had ended, when my father had burst into the room. The moment I'd made the worst decision of my life. It presses down on my chest, building quickly into a throbbing ache, even as I turn around to face him.

God, he's even more gorgeous than I remember. Tall. Six foot four, maybe. And all muscle. His forearms look strong and thick, and his biceps bulge against the short sleeves of his blue T-shirt. And god, that stubble and those dark-brown eyes—it's gotta be the sexiest look I've ever seen.

My throat suddenly feels dry.

"Coop," I breathe. I wonder how long it's been since I've even said his name. Too long. Much, much too long.

His expression is guarded, as it should be, I suppose. After what I did to him, I deserve much worse than just a clenched jaw and a frown. But then he blinks and loosens up and gives me something that resembles a smile. A tight smile. That in no way reaches his eyes.

My stomach lurches.

"Josh, funny seeing you here," he says, his voice still rich and deep. But I hear a wariness in his tone as he adds, "It's been, what, ten years now?"

The kiss. His lips on mine. Chocolate. He'd tasted like chocolate. My eyes can't help but flit down to his lips for a moment as an intense warmth spreads in my chest. I quickly clear my throat and look back up.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, m-maybe about that long." Smooth. But what the hell am I supposed to say? I can't defend my actions, not really. No matter how I justified them at the time. Besides, the time to do so would have been, oh, I dunno, like ten years ago. Not now. God, what the hell did I do?

He reaches out to hand me my wallet, that forced smile now gone from his lips. My chest tightens, and I can barely stop my hand from shaking as I take the wallet from him. I'm hoping, almost desperately so, that my fingers touch his. It's such a deep ache, a longing. And it surprises me so much that I think I hold my breath. But it doesn't happen. He seems careful of that, pulling his hand back quickly.

Dammit. I wonder if the disappointment shows on my face.

I smile as best I can, holding up the wallet. "Thanks. Can't believe I forgot it."

"Happens more often than you'd think," he says, not quite looking at me now. "Lucky you were still close by."

His forced smile is back, and I wish I could pretend that I didn't see it, that I didn't know.

"Yeah, yeah. Definitely. We're just—we're staying at the motel just down the road, actually. We'll be in town for a couple weeks."

There's a subtle pause and another not-so-subtle shift in his expression. Another flicker of something in his eyes. I want to imagine it's hope. But why the hell would I want that? Wouldn't it be easier if he just told me he hated me and to piss off and that I should be on my way? It would be. Much easier.

But no, I see it again—a flicker in his eyes. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and backs away just a step. And he looks about to say something, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"Coop! Table eight needs coffee."

Both of us jump slightly, and with a sheepish grin—oh, god, there it is—he shrugs and glances over his shoulder.

"Got it, Mel!" He turns back to me, and for whatever reason, I can no longer read anything at all into his expression. Like he's completely locked everything away. I feel sick. "I, uh, gotta get back to work. See you around. We should catch up sometime."

The words sound stale. Sort of like when someone asks how you're doing and you just respond with a vague "I'm okay," even when you're really, really not.

Like right now.

I manage a nod. "Yeah, for sure. We should."

"Great." Fake smile again. I'm definitely gonna be sick. He gives me something of a little wave and then spins around and jogs off, disappearing through the doors leading into the kitchen.

I can't move for a long moment. I'm not even sure I'm breathing. Watching him leave, which he was obviously in quite a hurry to do, is like throwing a bucket of ice water on me. The warmth is gone, replaced by some deep, sudden chill as my father's angry words echo in my head.

"The fuck is going on here?"

A hand sets on my shoulder, and I flinch. God, I'm wound up today.

It's just Brenna. And her touch is sweet and gentle, like it always is. She steps in front of me as her hand slides down my arm to my elbow.

"Did they have it?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah," I answer, holding up my wallet. Shit, I can almost still feel the warmth from where his fingers were, so close to mine. A tingle of something shoots all the way down into my toes.

"Dammit. What the fuck, Josh!"

"Dad, I—it—it wasn't—"

"You, Jackson, you get the fuck out of my house! I don't ever want to see you here again. And Josh, you fuckin' stay here. I'm not done with you yet."

Brenna senses something, but she quickly covers whatever she's thinking with a smile, and she rubs her hand back up my arm as though she knows just how rattled I am.

"Good! Ready to go then?"

"Yeah, I—"

Coop exits the kitchen again, almost deliberately not looking in my direction. Which I guess I can't blame him for. He's holding a coffee pot in one hand and balancing several plates of food on a large tray in the other. And he smiles brightly as he stops at one of the tables to top off a man's coffee.

"Josh?"

"Sorry, babe, yeah. Let's go."

I stuff my wallet in the back pocket of my jeans, and then Brenna slips her hand into mine and squeezes gently. She gives me another soft smile, but I see her eyes flicker across the room in Coop's direction as we turn to go.

***

The drive across town to her parents' house is quiet, but not really uncomfortable. At least, not entirely. She's driving, which is good. I don't think I'm in any shape to drive, and I think she can tell. Besides, we're running a little late, and she's always thought of speed limits as more of a suggestion than a law.

That's probably her only flaw.

I reach over and set my hand on her thigh, and she smiles at me.

"Are you okay? You still seem really tense," she says. There's concern in her voice, and her eyes do this little thing they always do when she's worried, narrowing slightly. She tries for another smile, however, and a little laugh. "My parents love you, you know. They're going to be happy to see you. They always are."

I can't tell what she's thinking right now, and I have no idea whether she knows that I'm not at all worried about seeing her parents again, whether she's just trying to break the tension or get me to talk. And I find myself weighing my options, wondering how much this lie will cost me. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the headrest.

"I know, babe. It's not that."

Her hand settles on top of mine. "I know," she says.

Of course she knows.

The knot in my stomach that's been there since last night tightens more. It's tension mixed with guilt. That and the tug of all my memories, trying to pull me back ten years in the past.

"He was my best friend," I say. I'm not sure if I really mean to, but more words come anyway—words that my mind carefully edits before they leave my lips. "The server at the restaurant, I mean. His name's Coop. We grew up together in Garrington. I haven't seen him since around the time my parents sold our house and moved us to Omaha when dad got that job at Union Pacific."

I leave out lots of important things. Like how close we'd really been. How we'd spent nearly every single day together since kindergarten. How he'd taught me to ride a bike in the second grade since my parents had never cared to, and how I'd helped him through Mr. Shelton's sixth-grade science class. How we'd camped together in a pillow fort in his living room nearly every weekend in the summers until we were probably twelve, spent hours playing at the playground and reading comic books in his mom's classroom after school, gotten lost exploring the trails along the river south of town when the weather was nice, and hidden from the cold at the public library when it wasn't. How we'd become inseparable.

And I definitely leave out how I'd secretly fallen in love with him. How I'd asked him to kiss me that afternoon. And how my dad had completely lost it when he'd caught us, how he'd kicked Coop out of the house, forbidden me from seeing him again. And then... the lies that had started it all—how I'd told my dad the kiss had been Coop's idea. Told him I'd hated it. Promised him I wasn't in any way attracted to Coop or to other boys.

"That's fuckin' right. Or I'd have to beat that shit right outta you. Go back up to your room. You're fuckin' grounded for the rest of the month. And if I see his face around here again—"

I also leave out the absolute worst part—how I'd treated Coop in the days and weeks after. How I'd started living those lies as though they were truths. How I'd abandoned my best friend.

"You didn't keep in touch?" she asks quietly.

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. "No, um..."

Brenna's my safe place. She knows me, and she knows my parents. Well, I mean, my mom's... fine, really. But Brenna knows my dad. She knows him how he is now, and then she knows what I've told her about how he used to be—a violent alcoholic. So I can probably go easy on the lying as long as I still... carefully edit.

"My dad sorta decided I shouldn't talk to him anymore. Especially, um, after we moved. He wanted me to cut all ties. I never even got the chance to tell Coop why."

God, that hurts to say out loud.

The car slows, and I open my eyes again as Brenna pulls off the road onto the dirt shoulder. She shifts the car into park and then reaches over and wraps her arms around me. I don't deserve this hug. I don't deserve her. But I let it comfort me, and I bury my head into her shoulder and hug her back.

"I'm sorry, Josh," she murmurs in my ear, and she kisses my cheek and rubs my back.

I deserve none of this.

I say nothing, but she doesn't need me to, I know. And we just sit there for a few more minutes until my heartbeat stops thundering in my ears.

She pulls back and gives me another of her kind smiles, and there's something else in her eyes too. Like she just knows. I mean, not that. She certainly doesn't know all of it. She can't. But she probably does know and can see how much this is hurting me. And somehow, she understands.

"Maybe you have a sort of second chance here then?" she suggests. "We are in town for two weeks, and Mom only has plans for almost every day. Maybe you can see if he wants to hang out. And you can, um... set the record straight. Or whatever you need to tell him."

Somehow, I doubt he'd be willing, especially given how keen he was to get away from me at the diner just now. But I nod, and she gives me another kiss on the cheek before she pulls her car back out onto the road.