“No.” He wrinkled his nose. “Why would I? That makes no sense.”
Squeezing his hand, I asked, “Are you sure? You just said that once your mom saw that your dad acceptedyou, she could accept him back in her life.”
“Yeah, but their love is between them.” I widened my eyes at him, ignoring his muttered “Agnes.”
“Which means their divorce was between them, too,” I spelled out, then brought our clasped hands to my mouth and kissed his knuckles.
His eyes tracked my movements. “You really think so?”
“I know so,” I said, letting our joined hands swing between us. “What happened in their relationship wasneveryour fault. And I think it’s interesting that you’ve forgiven your father more easily than you’ve forgiven yourself.”
He inhaled and looked out over the river before slowly letting out his breath. A hoot echoed through the trees as a breeze kicked up. Hendrix shivered. “It’s just… I’ve spent my whole adult life thinking that I didn’t deserve it.”
“Didn’t deserve what?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“Love,” he said with a shrug, as though that were no big deal.
“Can I point out a teeny, tiny fallacy in your belief?”
“Sure,” he said, releasing my hand to grab the beer resting in the cup holder on his chair.
My hand twitched as I watched him take a swig and return the bottle to the holder. He took my hand again, and the renewed contact sent heat racing through my chest. But then he lifted his brow, reminding me that I had a point to get across.
Working hard to stay focused, I said, “When you decided that you didn’t deserve love, you were a teenager. A precocious, pain-in-the-ass teenager, but a kid nonetheless. And you’ve lived your life based on that belief ever since. Maybe you should look into that.”
He chuckled, then reached across with his other hand to grab the beer. He took another swig and set it back down.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, wondering if I should be offended.
“Your wording. My mom used that same phrase—‘You should look into that’—but for something else.Someoneelse.”
I stiffened. Who was this someone else?Before I could spin out on the possibilities of what he meant, Hendrix continued.
“So, if they’re right, and the implosion of their marriage wasn’t my fault, then I have to think about the number of opportunitiesfor love I let slip by me,” he said, barely above the sound of the wind in the trees.
That line would make for a stunning lyric. Might not fit too well in a punk anthem, but he could spin it into one hell of a heartbreak song.
“Is this about Walker?” I asked, immediately wishing I hadn’t.
“Yes,” he admitted. “And no.”
“Is that why you’re drinking and lighting candles like some heartsick romantic?”
“Yes. And no.” He tilted the beer back, finishing it. He set aside the empty, then dug around in the cooler. Withdrawing another Shiner, he popped it open on the arm of his chair, then offered it to me. Rather than chastising him for disrespecting Ren’s furniture, I accepted the bottle. The foamy head spilled over onto my fingers.
I licked off the foam and took a drink. His eyes again followed the movement of my hand. I decided to ignore what I saw in them, if only for my own sanity. “So, is that what you’ve been doing since Sunday? Drinking and agonizing over the state of your pathetic love life?”
“Why do you have to make it sound gross?” He laughed. “And no. Or, at least, not the entire time.”
“How else have you been spending your time?”
Hendrix gave me hisoh, Agneslook but held his tongue. Taking my hand again, he examined my knuckles. “Ozzie asked me about Walker. And I told him the truth.”
“That you had a huge crush on Walker in high school? Surely Ozzie already knew that.” I drank, not sure I wanted to hear what he had to say.
“Of course he did. He just hadn’t realized it didn’t end back then.”
My heart, which had been tripping along just fine, went cold in my chest. I took another, deeper drink. Truthfully, I wanted to pull my hand away, but I couldn’t find it in myself to break our connection. “So,” I said, my voice catching, “how do you feel about him now?”
