“It was weird not talking to you this week,” I whisper, needing to get us back to some semblance of normal. The warring voices inside me all week have told me it was better to leave her alone but also to get my head out of my ass and just go talk to her.
The phone call from the Department of Forestry offering me a video interview for the wildland position on the West Coast should’ve been the highlight of my week. If I hadn’t been on duty and yet again passing through Main Street without sight of my favorite baker, I probably would’ve been more excited about it. Hiding the call from my partner had only been accomplished by short one-word answers to the lady making the appointment.
“So what’d you get into?” I ask, glossing over the things we probably need to talk about, but I’m mainly trying to get her talking. What I want to ask is where the hell she’s been. Why the hell she hasn’t bothered to contact me. And I want to know why the hell it bothers me so much.
The look she gives me is incredulous. “What?”
Her eyebrows hit her hairline as she pulls away, staring at me like I’ve suggested we jump into bed again. Not that I’d be opposed to the idea, but we did it once, and look where that got us.
“Are you serious?” Her voice squeaks in offense, like I’ve committed some super-rude faux pas. Thosefucking uppity parents of hers always pop up in the weirdest mannerisms.
The agitation and frustration I’ve pushed aside all week bubble up. “Are youmadat me?”Shewas the one who went radio silent on me.
So we slept together. Big deal. As long as Alice doesn’t find out and threaten to cut my nuts off, Maggie and I should be able to go back to being friends like nothing ever happened.
She crosses her arms and glares at me. “Oh my god. You are serious.”
“Jesus Christ, Mags. I came by thinking you’d had enough time to get over last weekend. I mean, you stormed away from me when I dropped you off like I’d done something wrong. And then you didn’t call or text for an entire week.” I stop the swing and launch out of the seat because I cannot stay still for another second while she stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
This is wrong on so many levels. She’s the only person I’ve gotten close to in years, and that alone scares the shit out of me and makes me want to bail.
In a heartbeat, the fire leaves her. It’s like watching a balloon deflate as her shoulders droop and her mouth turns down. She looks defeated. Sad. Not like my vibrant Mags at all.
And I’m the fucking reason for it.
I snatch my hat off my head, hoping that pulling my own hair out will activate my brain and offer me some sense of how to get this conversation back on track. Get us back to the fun-loving, happy-go-lucky place we were before last weekend.
Setting my cap back in place and giving it a tug, I stop my pacing and lean against her porch rail. My heart isracing like I’ve just finished a sprint, my guts are churning, and my balls must be shriveled, because I’m suddenly fighting the urge to drop to my knees in front of her and beg her forgiveness. My fucking eyes are stinging for god’s sake.
“How can I make this right between us, Maggie? Tell me what to do?”
The weight of her gaze makes me want to run and hide. Why can’t things be like they were?
“I’m curious…” she starts. This doesn’t sound promising. “If not hearing from me for a week bothered you so much, why didn’t you reach out?”
I ball my fist to keep from reaching for her. “You bailed out of the Jeep last weekend and were all freaked out. I thought I was giving you space.” Or whatever. I also don’t want to admit that I’ve taken the job interview. Moving on is the right thing to do—it just isn’t the right time to tell Maggie.
“So it’s my fault.”
“There’s no fault. That’s not what I’m trying to say. Fuck. This is not helping.” I join her on the swing again, folding my hands in my lap and trying like hell not to feel like a kid in trouble. “Were you waiting on me to call you?”
Silence falls between us, and I guess I have my answer. Minutes that feel like hours pass as the night creatures come out. Finally, she sighs, a sound that carries the weight of the world. I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet.
Then she folds her leg under her and sets the swing in motion with the other. Her head drops onto my shoulder as we fall into a rhythm so familiar that my chest grows tight.
“Iamsorry, Mags,” I admit. “For what, I’m not sure. Am I sorry that you’re hurt or mad or whatever you feel? Yes. Am I sorry that it happened? Not as much as I am that I wasn’t completely sober and don’t remember it.” I immediatelywant to retract that last sentence. The truth slipped out when I wasn’t paying attention.
“We are so stupid,” she whispers, and the melancholy in her voice kills me. “We’re going to just pretend like last weekend didn’t happen?”
Somehow, I know that saying yes to that question is a mistake, but it’s so tempting to chalk it up to a good night of partying if it’ll get us out of this emotional wasteland.
“I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what the right thing to do is.” Shit, if only I could remember that night. The bits and pieces that have come back to me this past week have been mind-blowing and have left me with this need to find out if being with her really was that incredible, or if my imagination is embellishing. “But yeah, I think it’s the only way we move forward.”
She fiddles with the hem of her shirt as we swing. “What about Alice?”
“What about her?”
“Are you going to tell her?” The question is soft and timid, but it pierces the night like a balloon bursting.
