Page 38 of Licks

My abs flexed, like her words had struck my gut. Adrenaline spiked my heart rate. It took three rough breaths to compute what tense she’d used.

Loved not love. Past not present.

Even worse was the heavy disappointment that crushed me at the realization.

She clutched her mother’s diary in one hand, her keys in the other. I didn’t cup her cheeks the way I ached to, or pull her into my arms. I kept picturing her face when she’d spoken about her job, how much she loved it. How she’d found her life’s purpose. A life that didn’t include traipsing around Europe with a touring musician.

But, man, the rawness in her voice. “When?”

A sad sigh slipped past her lips. “I don’t know. For as long as I can remember. Like, as kids, being around you made it hurt to breathe. During high school it got worse, especially at the end. And that shitty, lonely year after. Not just because of the lonely part, me building it up in my head.”

She tossed her keys and purse and diary on the floor behind her. Like she was angry. “I’m not talking about a teenage crush here, August. This was bone-deep love. And I was sure you didn’t feel the same. I thought you pitied me. Or it was my own lame excuse to push you away. I pushed everyone away. It’s what I did. Sorry. God.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’m not making sense.”

But she did make sense. Too much sense.

Hand jammed into my pocket, I flipped my guitar pick over. Her texts nine years ago had hinted at the intensity of her feelings. That Zap she inspired had leapt from my phone the second I’d seen her name. This morning, at her mother’s, the way she’d spoken and the heat in her eyes had said all she hadn’t. My instant connection to her had been just as strong.

It had never faded. Not fully.

I’d tried to make sense of this Gwen habit over the years, how I’d pull that zoo picture up on my computer, stare at her, miss her. An addiction I could never kick. Each wallow session ended in sad songs sung. So, yeah…I understood what it was to feel like the marrow had been sucked from your bones, the hollowness that lingered. Nine years of emptiness. Nearly eleven if her previous silent treatment counted.

I also recognized the way she was breathing harder now, eyes round and wide. Filled with doubt and longing—hope that this second chance would stick.

I stepped toward her, a fraction closer. She had loved me. She loves me, my body and soul taunted. Whatever the tense, her truth had me addled. It was why I’d backed away from her earlier. This was not a woman I could casually fuck. That kiss in the street had resounded through me, like a tuning fork had vibrated through my blood.

This was a woman meant to be worshipped, strummed, discovered, possessed.

And she had a life here she loved. Friends. A great job. Not to mention I was helping her track down a deceased man.

Letting this go any further would be irresponsible. That didn’t stop my honesty from matching hers. “I loved you, too. I realized it when I started resenting Finch hanging around us. I hated him making you laugh, hated you wrestling with him or running through the sprinklers together. I wanted you to myself, but I also knew I was all you really had. That thought scared the crap out of me.”

Her hand floated up to her neck. “Why?”

“If we didn’t work, where would that have left you? With friends like Kayla who only ever wanted to social climb? Feed you false information, so she could make her move on me?” I shook my head. “I couldn’t risk it.”

“You knew Kayla did that?”

“Not until much later. The night I broke up with her, when…everything went down, she didn’t walk away easily. She badgered me awhile, and when she figured out something happened with you, she told me you hated being my charity case. That what we had hadn’t been real. She framed it in a catty way to make you look bad, but it was easy to read between the lines, that she’d turned those tables on you, too. At the time, it was more shit heaped onto a shit pile. But I know you, Gwen. I understand how your mother beat you down. How one word from someone like Kayla would infect you.”

Her spine went rigid. “My mother never hit me. I would have told you.”

“Emotional abuse is just as bad.”

She winced, and it crushed me. I’d walked in once, unannounced, to overhear Mary Hamilton call her only child worthless. Stupid. The word disgusted had been used. Always in that acrid tone, like Gwen was lice stuck in her hair.

“Thing is,” I shut the door and inched forward, walking until we were in her kitchen, her back pressed to her island countertop, “you never cowered when she laced into you. You would lift your chin and take it. Stand taller. I never pitied you, Gwen. I was amazed by you.”

She tilted her head to meet my eyes. Disbelief shone. “Really?”

“Oh, honey. I was in awe of you.” I planted my hands on either side of her, caging her body against the counter. The space between us swelled with nine years of bridled heat.

“But you don’t know me now,” she said, her voice breathless. “I also wasn’t fully honest with you earlier, when you asked why I slept with Finch.”

My grip on the counter stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“You asked if I did it to hurt you, and I think part of me did. Aside from being sad and lonely, and wishing Finch was you, I was devastated when I saw that stupid picture of Kayla. I was angry and knew sleeping with Finch would hurt you. I knew, and I did it. I wanted you to feel my pain.” She finally touched me, her hands branding my chest. “I’m sorry. It was so wrong.”

My first instinct was to wrench away from her and pace an angry line, but to what end? Feed the demons that had chased me these long years? Try to surgically remove this woman who lived under my skin? I’d only cut myself. “I understand,” I offered instead.