What is it? Vodka?
My muscles tense as I battle memories of the last time I saw him drinking. I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings, and he must see them written all over my face. Remorse flickers in his eyes as he reaches for his glass.
“It’s just water, Charlie. I’ve barely touched alcohol since that night.”
A violent shudder racks me, and I clench my teeth, willing myself not to bolt. I know healing won’t come if I keep running from pain. The resolve I brought with me starts to crumble as old wounds surface.
One look into my eyes and he can spot the fight going on inside of me. His posture sags and he lowers his chin to his chest for a minute, as if he’s gathering his thoughts. When he peers back up at me, his eyes are red and vacant.
“I’m sorry, Charlie,” he says in a thickened voice. “The last thing I want to do is cause you more pain. I’m going to grab Brock here and we’re going to get out of here, okay?”
There’s a brutal beauty in seeing someone you love break open in front of you. It means they trust you enough to show you the rawest, most fragile parts of themselves.
As he turns away, shoulders slumped in defeat, I draw a deep breath, steeling myself. For the first time in seven months, I’m ready to offer Keaton a sliver of grace, even if I’m not sure he’s earned it. The raw pain in his face, the broken posture of someone I once thought unbreakable, and the ache in his voice make it impossible to keep my distance.
It’s the one unfortunate side effect of my empathetic nature.
Tiny pinpricks sting my palm as I uncurl my fist, nail marks etched into my skin.
I act before I can think, afraid that if I hesitate, I’ll turn away, no matter how much his pain tugs at me.
His body goes utterly still beneath my touch, and my knees tremble. Electricity flickers across my skin, a bittersweet ache blooming in my chest.
“St—” I start, but clear my throat when it comes out scratchy. “Stay.”
When he turns to peer at me, his eyes searching, I give him a small smile. “I just met you. I’d like to—” I blow out a breath, “—I’d like to know more about you.”
Am I ready for this?
No. No, I’m absolutely not. But I also think I am. I have to make peace with him somewhere, and being reintroduced as if we’d never met before gives me that chance.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his eyes still moving over my face.
“Yes,” I nod. Then I shake my head. “No.”
I let my hand fall from his arm, grimacing. “I don’t know, Keaton. Let’s just hang out with everyone. Please don’t push me. This is all I can give you right now.”
“Understood, Charlie. You’re in control here. You always will be, okay?”
I nod and wait while he and his friend Brock grab their things. I study Keaton’s friend as I wait for them. The empathetic side of me wants to wrap him up in a warm, fuzzy blanket and tell him that everything is going to be okay. The betrayed side of me recognizes he mimics Keaton's mannerisms, and that doesn’t bode well for his reasoning behind his pain.
Neither of them says anything as I lead us over to the table with Alek, Amelia, and the others. That’s okay with me because I need a breather before any more interaction between us.
They pass greetings around when we reach the table, but then it happens to me. For the first time, I struggle with my decisions. Do I take the seat next to my used-to-be lover-turned-best friend or do I take the one next to the ex-boyfriend who once cut me open and made me bleed?
It’s not a choice I have to make, though, because both the guys rearrange it so that I don’t feel like I’m hurting either of them. They place me in the middle of them. I mean, all in all, it’s not exactly a bad place to be, I guess.
Amelia glances over at me with a smirk, her eyes full of mirth at my situation. She wiggles her brows, and I know she’s just trying to help with the uncomfortableness of it all.
With an exaggerated groan, I flop back in my chair, eyes squeezed shut, abandoning any pretense of ladylike behavior. In this dress Alek forced me into, I’m probably flashing half the bar, but I can’t bring myself to care.
Gentle fingers graze my thigh, tentative and electric, sending goosebumps racing up my skin. I don’t need to look to know whose touch it is. The one who shouldn’t still have a place in my heart.
I sigh, open my eyes, and shift away until he has to let go. His touch is as familiar as my own, and sometimes I ache for it, but right now, I can’t let myself want it.
Shoot. I don’t know if it ever will be again.
Sometimes I wish I could peek into the future, just to know if there’s a day when this stops hurting. A day I won’t feel ashamed for missing the version of him I loved before Rianna. Maybe then I’d know if all this pain will ever be worth it.
