She looks at me for the first time. “What is that?”
“The money you left in my car when I got home. I don’t want it.” I try to hand it to her, but she doesn’t move.
“Keep it,” she says shortly.
“I don’t want it,” I say again. I move closer to her on the couch, and set the envelope on the coffee table in front of her.
“You’re going to need it,” she answers without looking. “I’m going to guess you didn’t have full coverage on that car.”
“Actually, I do. I got it for the year you were driving it,” I try for the joke, but her expression doesn’t change.
“It's yours.”
“I said I don’t want it.”
She sets her mug down. “Keep the money, Jacob.”
I'm getting mad again. “Why do you want me to keep it? To ease your conscience?”
She finally looks at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I guess it means I feel like you’re trying to pay me off for leading me on for a year and then dumping me.”
She shakes her head and closes her eyes. “The money is for letting me use your car. I told you I was sorry for the way things turned out.”
I slide close to her, but the barrier is still there. “Why are you so stubborn? You won't let anyone get close to you. You won’t let anyone help you. I know it kills you that I won’t take the money. You don’t want to feel like you owe me anything.”
“I’m stubborn? You’re the one who’s still here.”
“You’re right. I am still here.” I move closer.
“Take the money, or not. I don’t care. I’m too tired to fight with you tonight.” She stands up. “I made up the pull-out bed in the rec room for you. The storm is getting worse. I don’t think you should ride the motorcycle home in it.” She could be talking to a stranger—her voice is polite, formal, and cold.
“You want me to stay here?”
“I don’t want you dead, Jacob. Besides, Dad is going to be home tomorrow morning. I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you.”
I grimace at the thought of facing Mr. Roberts. “Oh, so you do want me dead. Just line me up for the firing squad now.”
She looks at me strangely and then laughs.
The sound catches me by surprise. “What’s so funny?”
“You. The look on your face. Like you’re getting ready to face the executioner. I don’t know why I laughed.” She sighs. “Tension breaker, I guess.”
I stand and take a step towards her, daring the barrier to stop me. “It’s good to hear you laugh. Even if it is at me.” She looks down, but I’m already close enough to touch her. I put my hands on her shoulders. Her gaze meets mine. I touch her face, and she doesn’t move. “I miss your smile, Jess.” I draw my thumb across her cheek. “I miss your laugh.” I trace her lips. “I miss you.”
I lean in and kiss her, daring her to stop me. Her hands come up to my chest, ready to push me away, but she doesn’t. She kisses me back, timid at first, but then stronger. Her arms move around my neck, pulling me closer. I drink her in, months of waiting and wanting driving me forward. I move her to the couch, lay her down while we’re kissing. She’s pulling me towards her. I lean against her, aching for this with every muscle in my body.
She puts her hands on my chest. “Stop!”
I pull back. There’s panic in her eyes.
I get off the couch, my heart pounding. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...I wouldn’t ask you to...”
She sits up and turns away, curling up into herself into the corner of the couch. She won't look at me. She doesn't speak for a long time.
I kneel beside her. “Jess, I’m sorry. Please talk to me.”
