Page 16 of Tell Me Again

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Somehow, a couple of hours pass, and just after I finish whooping his ass in a round of darts and two more games of pool, Josh gets a text message from his fiancée with a reminder that he’s supposed to be there at about six for dinner with her parents.

He frowns as he tells me this, which sort of surprises me. Any time Brenna has come up in conversation in the last two hours, he’s done nothing short of gush about how wonderful she is. I’m happy for him. Really, I am.

So maybe he’s just having so much fun fucking losing to me at pool that he never wants the evening to end. That’s a possibility.

Josh heads up to the counter to close out the tab while I rerack the balls on the pool table and clear our glasses. There are a few other guys in the bar now, sitting along the row of barstools and watching some football game playing on the single TV Sarge has hanging on the wall. I nod a hello and set the glasses on the counter just as Josh is signing the receipt. Then I jog back over and grab our coats before we leave.

Outside the bar a few minutes later, it’s like the whole last two hours of awkward all compounded. He stops just as we exit the bar and sort of stares off at what I assume is his car—a nice, shiny new sedan that no one around here would be driving. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and he looks like he really has something he wants to say.

I don’t know what I’m expecting. But my heart’s thudding in my chest, and my palms feel sweaty. And something really unpleasant is causing my stomach to twist in knots again.

When he still doesn’t say anything after another minute or so, I clear my throat. “Look, man, it was nice to hang out. Good to see you and all.” I might actually mean it. I’m not really sure. It’s been pretty confusing.

“Yeah, um...” He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, just like he did earlier, only this time, I can see that he’s fucking nervous as hell. “I just wanted to say, um...”

Suddenly, he looks way too much like fifteen-year-old Josh as I remember him the day after that incident at his house—much too small and unsure and full of guilt. And somehow it feels like that too. My heart’s racing just like it had that day, and it’s like I’m standing there again, waiting for him to say something, hopeful that despite what happened, we can still be best friends—at least when his dad isn’t around, because I fucking understand not wanting that asshole’s wrath.

And just like that day, my chest is so tight now I can’t fucking breathe. I just know that at any moment, everything’s going to fucking crash, and it’ll be a repeat of the worst fucking day of my life—that day, when he’d seen me in the hallway at school and shaken his head and cursed as he’d taken off in the opposite direction. Then refused to talk to me, pretended like I didn’t exist.

Fuck, that had hurt. That had hurt so much. It still fucking hurts. Feels like my heart’s been ripped right out of my chest. Again.

I don’t want to see whatever it is in his expression. I don’t wanna live through that again. So I look away, out toward the parking lot, stuffing my hands deep into my pockets.

“Look, whatever, man. Maybe you should just get going. Don’t wanna be late. Thanks for getting the tab. And good luck with the wedding and all.”

I start off toward my truck, which looks like a piece of shit next to his nice new car, and I’m walking probably a little too fast, because this time, it’s me who needs to get away.

“Wait, Coop, I just—please wait?”

No fucking way. Not again. I shake my head as I keep walking, and I can hear him jogging up behind me. He reaches me just as I get to my truck.

“Coop—”

I open up the door and get in and slam it closed. He’s still standing there, I think, just outside the door, but I don’t look. I can’t. There’s too much going on in my head right now.

Somehow, my hands are shaking as I pull my keys out of my pocket, and it takes me three tries to get the fucking key in the ignition. I close my eyes as I turn the key, and by some miracle, my truck starts on the first try. I hear him again, just outside my door, and there’s that pleading tone in his words, just like there had been last night.

“Coop, please, I wanna say I’m sorry a-about what happened. Please, can—”

I slam my fist into the steering wheel, which fucking hurts and probably wasn’t the best idea, but at this point, I’m not sure I care about much of anything. I shift the truck into reverse, and then I get the hell outta there. And this time, I don’t even feel the urge to look in the rearview mirror as I go.

Chapter Eight

Josh

I’m completely numb watching him drive away, and I just stand there for several minutes, staring off down the road. It’s almost a feeling of déjà vu, except this time, my dad’s not here screaming profanities at us and then chasing him away. This time, it’s just me and my stupid mouth screwing everything up.

That wasn’t how I’d wanted it to go. That wasn’t what I’d wanted to say, or what I’d planned, or what I’d expected. None of it.

I somehow finally pull myself together enough to climb into the car, and before I can start driving, my cell phone buzzes in my pocket—again. I’d felt it buzz a couple of times already, but I’d ignored it. I can’t keep doing that anymore, though, so I pull the phone out of my pocket and unlock the screen.

It’s Brenna. Her third text. The first two were apparently just little heart emojis followed by a few question marks, but this last one is an actual text.

Brenna (5:54 p.m.): Are you okay?

Of course she’s worried about me. But I can’t respond yet. And the answer is no, I’m not okay. Dammit. And I’m not sure if I ever will be.

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