8. Chapter Eight

I'm completely numb watching him drive away, and I just stand there for several minutes, staring off down the road. It's almost a feeling of déjà vu, except this time, my dad's not here screaming profanities at us and then chasing him away. This time, it's just me and my stupid mouth screwing everything up.

That wasn't how I'd wanted it to go. That wasn't what I'd wanted to say, or what I'd planned, or what I'd expected. None of it.

I somehow finally pull myself together enough to climb into the car, and before I can start driving, my cell phone buzzes in my pocket—again. I'd felt it buzz a couple of times already, but I'd ignored it. I can't keep doing that anymore, though, so I pull the phone out of my pocket and unlock the screen.

It's Brenna. Her third text. The first two were apparently just little heart emojis followed by a few question marks, but this last one is an actual text.

Brenna (5:54 p.m.): Are you okay?

Of course she's worried about me. But I can't respond yet. And the answer is no, I'm not okay. Dammit. And I'm not sure if I ever will be.

God, Coop must really, really hate me.

I don't know what I'd expected. I mean, he has a perfectly good reason to feel that way. But I'd really hoped to get the chance to tell him how sorry I am, that I wish I could go back in time and somehow undo how I'd treated him. How I'd lied. How I'd ignored him and abandoned him...

I had the chance. He gave me that chance today. And I screwed it up.

I shut my phone off and pull out of the parking lot, headed west along Route 6, and the numbness spreads until I really can't even feel my hands on the steering wheel. Which is probably really safe. At least there aren't many other cars on the road.

It's not a long drive out to the Richards' home, and I've gone and made myself a little late now. But I still take my time, and I try the whole way not to let my thoughts wander too far. And dammit, I'm certainly not going to let myself cry before I get there or while I'm there or hopefully afterward.

Brenna's parents don't need to see that.

Brenna doesn't need to see that, either.

The tears are there though, right at the edges of my eyes. I wipe them away as I pull into the driveway. It's a long cobblestone path between two dark-stained wooden fences lining huge grass fields that used to be horse pastures, I think. When the house comes into view, I see Brenna sitting outside on the front porch, watching as I drive up.

Of course she's waiting for me. My lack of response to her texts probably told her everything she needed to know.

She stands up as I park the car, and when I get out, she's already on her way down the stairs and heading toward me. I smile the best I can, but I know she's not going to be fooled by any smile or any reassurance I can give her right now.

The amazing woman she is, she doesn't even ask me to explain. She just steps right up to me, wraps her arms around my waist, and pulls me into her for a hug. And it's all I can do then to not cry. Part of it is the relief of knowing she's here for me, although that feeling is now followed by some stabbing pain in my chest and a rush of guilt. She gives so much to me. And even with that, even knowing that, I still hold myself back. She still doesn't know why the hell this is affecting me so much.

I rest my head on top of hers and close my eyes as she rubs my back softly. The relief mixes with the pain, and it's almost too much. I hold her to me tighter and then kiss the top of her head.

"We should go inside," I say. I'm not sure if I'm really ready, if I've pulled myself together enough that I won't break down in front of her parents. But I can hope. And I hate to make her stand out here in the cold any longer.

She pulls back out of the embrace a bit, her expression worried, then she reaches up and touches my cheek. I feel dampness as she wipes away a tear. Dammit. I step away from her and quickly wipe my eyes.

"I-I'm fine, babe, really, I . . ."

I'm not sure why I even tried the lie with her. She sort of purses her lips and shakes her head slightly, because she just knows, and then she stretches up to kiss my cheek.

"If you want, I can tell my parents we're just going to go back to the motel early, and—"

"No, no. I'm fine. I mean, I'll be fine, and later, um... We—we can talk, later?"

"Okay," she says quietly. Her hand slips into mine, and she squeezes gently and then leads us inside.

The next four hours are a blur, really. I manage to participate in whatever conversation happens, but I can't say I'm really present. Brenna helps me out whenever I get lost, because she's wonderful. And her parents are too, really. But by the time we're on our way back to the motel, I'm feeling all sorts of exhausted and sad and guilty and a bunch of other things, and... hell, I just want to crawl into bed and pretend the day didn't happen.

Brenna heads straight to take a shower when we get back, and when she's done, I take my own turn. She's sitting on the edge of the bed when I come out of the bathroom, and she looks up at me with the kindest smile as she sets her phone on the nightstand. Then she reaches out a hand to me, and I join her, letting myself melt into her embrace.

Her hugs are the best, really. Warm and comforting and...

God, what am I doing? I've already ruined the best friendship I'd ever had, and now, I'm lying to my new best friend every day, every moment I'm here with her. It's not fair to her.

I pull away, stand up, and move a little ways across the room, suddenly needing the space.

"Josh?"

"Babe, I . . ."

I feel her hands on my back, rubbing up to my shoulders, and I let out a long sigh. She presses up against me as her hands slide down again to wrap around my waist.

"You didn't get to tell him what you'd wanted to? Or he didn't take it the way you'd hoped? Or both?"

I turn around in her arms, and she brings her hands up to my cheeks and stretches up to kiss me. God, I wish I felt something from it. But I don't. It's just her lips on mine. Nothing else.

Coop's kiss, though... It happened ten years ago, and I can still feel it. The heat and the tingling and my heart racing and.. .

I pull away again, shaking my head. "Um, yeah, uh, both, really. I-I tried to apologize, but I couldn't really find the words I wanted, and—and he got, um..."

I trail off as I step away from her again, and she doesn't follow me this time as I move back to the bed and sit heavily. I lean forward and rub my eyes. There are more tears, but that's okay here, now, I guess. Brenna's not going to judge. Only, she really has no idea how deep this goes. I can't even imagine what she's thinking right now.

After another shuddering breath, I manage to look up at her again, and she's frowning, her lips pursed and her eyes showing her concern.

"S-sorry, Bren, I didn't expect any of this. I don't mean to..."

"To what?"

She steps a bit closer now and then carefully sits next to me, resting her hand on my thigh. I set my hand over hers, and it takes me a few minutes to be able to find more words.

"We're supposed to be on vacation here, relaxing, celebrating"—I lift her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles—"getting ready for the wedding. And here I am, making everything... not so fun. I don't want to take any of this away from you. This is supposed to be a happy time, and—"

"It's okay," she says, shaking her head. "You didn't know this was going to happen, and it seems really, really important to you."

That's an understatement.

Although, if it's really that important, why hadn't I done anything about it before now? Why had I just kept on living my life without trying to find out whether and how he was living his? Even after I moved out to go to college, got my own place, and even after my dad finally decided to get help for his alcohol problem... I mean, I've been independent for seven years now, and my dad's been sober for five. And yet, not one time in any of those years did I think to call? write? drive down here and check on him? And god, if I'd known about his mom...

I'm shaking again now. "H-his mom passed away from cancer only about a year after I moved away. He was only sixteen. God, babe, I didn't even know. He must have been so alone, and I never even tried to reach out to him, and I feel like the lousiest friend ever, and that's not—that's not even..."

She moves then, straddling my thighs so she can wrap her arms around my neck, and she leans in and hugs me tightly. I pull her closer and let myself cry into her shoulder.

God, I wish I could just tell her everything. I wish I could just, for once in my life, be one hundred percent honest and real. Because if there is any one person who might understand me, it would probably be her. Her or Coop. But I had my chance to talk to him earlier, and I blew it. And I'm still too much of a coward to be honest with her now.

She presses a kiss to my cheek and holds me. And I still don't deserve it, I still don't deserve her. But I let her hold me anyway.

Finally, she shifts a bit so she can pull back and kiss my forehead and then my lips again. Brief, light kisses that ask for nothing in return. When she settles with her forehead against mine a moment later, she shivers a bit and then says, "We've got some more time here. Hopefully it'll be enough."

"Enough?"

"For him to give you another chance to talk," she explains.

I want to object. To tell her after tonight, there's no way he's going to even want me coming within ten feet of him, but that realization makes my heart hurt too much, and so I just nod into her.

"Yeah, uh, hopefully."

"Ready to try to get some sleep?"

"Sure."

She scoots off my lap and takes my hand. And together, we finish getting ready for bed. As I crawl under the blanket and she cuddles up next to me, her head resting in the crook of my shoulder, I wish I could think of anything else. But all I see is Coop sitting in his truck, his face contorted with pain and anguish as he slams his fist into his steering wheel.