Page 31 of Tell Me Again

There’s this nervousness in his voice, and it’s got something else to it too that’s making my heart race. And god, I don’t really know why or what to think, but suddenly, Thursday is sounding really, really amazing.

“Thursday’s good, yeah. Uh, just let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.”

He lets out a sharp breath, and I can almost hear the relief in his voice as he says, “Great, good. Um, h-how about the bowling alley at eleven? It’s just—just past the diner, off Second Street.”

He’s stammering a bit. Why is he stammering? And why is my heart hammering even harder in my chest?

I clear my throat. “Perfect. Yeah, that sounds good. Bowling alley at eleven. I’ll see you there. And I’m, uh, I’m really glad you called, Coop.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can really stop them. And it’s not so much the words as the way I say them—my voice lower than normal and maybe... slightly breathy.

Dammit . . .

“Uh, yeah, man, I’m looking forward to it.”

God, his voice is lower too. All deep and a little rough, and it’s sexy as hell. I really, really need to hang up.

“I should go. See you Thursday.”

“Yeah, yeah. Uh, good night then.”

“Good night.”

I glance over at Brenna as I hang up, and she’s still sitting there with her hands folded in her lap, watching me. Her entire expression has softened, and her smile is so, so kind. Like she’s telling me that it’s okay.

Because it is okay, right? To want to see my old friend, I mean. God, it would be okay... if that’s all it was. But I’m lying to even think that. I’m lying if I tell her that. Even just talking to him on the phone right now is making me feel all sorts of things I haven’t felt in ten years. And she absolutely deserves to know.

She frowns at me, and I realize it’s probably because I’ve suddenly gotten tense again. It’s in my shoulders and jaw, and I’m not sure if I can get rid of it. I try for a small smile, however, and then set the phone back on the nightstand.

When I look at her again, she’s reaching a hand out toward me, and her kind smile is back.

“I’m kinda tired. Um, can we just...” She pauses when I take her hand and sit on the bed with her again. Then she lifts her other hand and touches my cheek. Her touch is so gentle and so soft, like her smile.

I start to nod but stop when she presses her hand against my cheek again and blinks a few times, chasing away the tears at the edges of her eyes. Her cheeks flush ever so slightly, and then her smile tightens as she drops her gaze down to our joined hands, which now rest in her lap.

“It’s... okay, Josh,” she says, her voice so quiet I’m not entirely sure I heard her right. But she repeats herself just a little more clearly as she lifts her eyes to mine. “It’s okay.”

“Wh-what’s . . . What do you mean?”

Her hand slides down to my neck, her fingers a whisper of a touch, before she pulls away and then crosses both arms over her chest.

She’s not looking at me anymore, but she smiles again and then lets out a short, unsteady breath. “I’ve been pretending these last few months. Hoping, I guess.”

“Hoping what, Bren? I-I’m not really following.” I set a hand on her thigh, and she lets out a breathy laugh and then places one hand over mine and looks back up at me. There’s hurt in her eyes now. And it’s clear and unmistakable.

“Hoping I was wrong,” she says, again with a small smile. A tear escapes and slides down her cheek, and she quickly pulls her hand away to wipe it off, shaking her head slightly.

“I’m still not—”

“It’s okay,” she repeats, firmly this time. Then both of her hands come up to cup my cheeks, her thumbs brushing gently along my skin. She nods slightly and smiles yet again as she says, “It’s okay for you to love him, Josh.”

My stomach clenches, and there’s some painful ache in my chest. She... knows? She knows something, or... something. Everything around me thickens, becoming heavy and weighted, and I close my eyes and struggle to breathe. “I-I don’t...”

“You love him,” she whispers. And again, there’s no question in her voice. It’s a solid statement.

I don’t know what to do or what to say, and her hands feel so warm and comforting on my cheeks. “I-I love you.”

“I know you do. And I love you too. I’m in love with you,” she says gently. Both of her hands slip down to my chest, and I open my eyes so I can see her again. There are more tears on her cheeks, but she’s still smiling at me, despite the obvious pain in her expression. “But you’re not in love with me. You’re... you’re in love with him. And”—she sniffles, and her voice catches in her throat—“and that’s okay.”

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