“I was scared,” I admitted. “Not of you. Never of you. I was scared of getting caught, of what everybody would think, of what it would mean if people knew, and I chose that fear over you.” I shook my head. “That’s the truth, and it’s ugly.”
His eyes came back to me. “You let me stand there and take all of it.”
“Yeah.”
“I kept waiting for you to say something.”
I closed my eyes for half a second. “I know.”
“You looked right at me.”
“I know.”
“And you still didn’t do a fucking thing.”
“No.” My voice lowered. “I didn’t.”
He stared at me for a long second, before I continued. “I was drunk and scared and weak, and none of that matters because you deserved better than what I gave you.”
“Do you know what that did to me?”
I exhaled slowly. “I know some of it. I know I saw the hurt on your face that night, and I still see it. I know I watched you waiting for me to be better than I was, and I wasn’t.”
“That’s why I never spoke to you again.” He pulled in a shaky breath and looked down at our hands before returning his focus to me. “It wasn’t because I got over it; it was because I didn’t.Every time I looked at you after that, all I could see was you standing there while I waited for you to pick me, and you didn’t.”
My throat burned.
He looked at me for a second before continuing. “I was in love with you too, and I hated that. I hated that one real apology from you probably would’ve made me give in when I wasn’t ready to forgive you. So I cut you off. It was the only way I knew how to protect myself.”
“Fuck, Keaton.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “You made me feel stupid for loving you, and I couldn’t let you do that to me twice.”
I nodded because there was nothing else to do. “You shouldn’t have had to protect yourself from me.”
“No, I shouldn’t have.”
“I know sorry doesn’t fix it,” I added. “I know I don’t get to erase any of that just because we ended up here tonight. But you deserved to hear me say it without excuses. I was wrong. I was a coward. And you didn’t deserve any of it.”
He studied my face, and this time I could tell he was searching for weakness. For the kid I’d been. For the version of me who would back off the instant it got tough.
After a minute, he asked, “Why now?”
“Because we’re finally talking.”
And because you didn’t let me all those years ago.
His brows pulled together a little.
I squeezed his fingers. “Because for once we’re not fighting. Not dodging. Not pretending there wasn’t something real between us before I ruined it.”
“You really think this is that conversation?” he asked.
“Yeah, I think this is the first real one we’ve had in years.”
He glanced at our fingers and said, “Then keep talking.”
I drew in a breath; I was going to lose it.
