He stands and moves to the mini fridge, pulling out two cans of Dr Pepper. He lingers for a moment, restocking the fridge from the case on the floor. I watch his fingers move, the way they tremble ever so slightly, and I wonder if he’s as unsure of what to say as I am.
“Hungry?” he asks, not looking at me. “We have chips, pretzels, and chocolate.”
“Chips are fine.”
He grabs a party-size bag and walks back over, handing me a can before sitting beside me. He opens the bag and places it between us on the bench, his arm brushing mine briefly.
We reach for the chips at the same time. Our hands touch, just for a second, and I jerk back like I’ve been burned.
“I’m sorry,” Blake says, his voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, but the memory of his touch lingers longer than it should. Reminding me of what we had before. What we were.
We fall back into silence, taking turns dipping our hands into the bag, the only connection between us now a shared snack in an ocean of unresolved pain.
I clear my throat, needing to ask something before I can talk myself out of it. “You said you thought Max was interested in me. Why?”
Blake exhales sharply, like the question catches him off guard. “Why wouldn’t he be?” he says after a moment. “You’re hot as hell. Not to mention he’s always hanging around you now that you came out, yet he never talked to you before.”
My mind flickers back to that night at the club. The flashing lights, the music, the moment I thought I saw him. “Did you go to the club that night?” I ask, my heart pounding. “I could’ve sworn I saw you there, but then you were gone. I thought I was imagining it.”
His body stiffens, his jaw tightening before he coughs, rubbing the back of his neck. I stay quiet, waiting to hear what he wants to tell me. My gut tells me I already know the answer.
He sighs. “I was there.”
A strange, hollow feeling settles in my chest. “Why?”
“I heard the two of you talking,” he admits, his voice raw. “And I was jealous. You were smiling at him like you used to smile at me.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down hard. “Then I saw you two together. Hugging. You were so close, and I—I thought you were kissing.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Blake…”
He shakes his head. “I was so mad. I knew I needed to get out of there.”
Blake saw us hugging. He thought we kissed. He was jealous. He does still care about me.
Silence stretches between us again. Then, softer, he says, “And it would serve me right even if you were. After what I did to you.”
I don’t have an answer for that. So I just sit there, staring at the now crumpled bag of chips between us, wondering if there’s any way to go back to before. Before the betrayal. Before everything fell apart.
And wondering if, despite it all, I still want to.
The silence eats away at me like an annoying rash. One that lingers and won’t go away no matter what you try.
“We didn’t kiss,” I finally confess. “He’s not interested in me.”
“You didn’t?” Blake says, his voice breaking with relief as if he’s been holding his breath this entire time, waiting for the worst.
I shake my head. "No, we didn’t. In fact, he told me I should talk to you. Work out our issues. He thinks you care about me."
Blake’s eyes shoot to mine, searching. "He’s right. I do care, Chase. I love you. I never stopped. I never will."
His words are like a punch to the gut, and I exhale harshly, turning my gaze away. Love isn’t always enough. If it were, we wouldn’t be here, sitting on opposite ends of this emotional battlefield, surrounded by the wreckage of our relationship.
"Tell me what I need to do, Chase. How do we get back to where we were?" His voice is thick with desperation, with a longing that makes my chest ache. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
I shake my head again, biting the inside of my cheek. "I don’t know, Blake. It’s hard because I keep thinking about you and that night. No matter how much I want to move past it, it’s always there." The image of him with someone else, the thought of his hands on her, his lips—
I clench my jaw, forcing the image away before it can consume me again.
