Page 94 of The Very First Night

I may resent the man who gave us both life, but no child deserves to have to watch that happen twice.

“I’m sorry.” The words tumble out of my mouth. It’s a shitty way to comfort someone, but they’re the only words I can figure out how to string together.

“Thank you,” Patrick responds politely. “I don’t want you to think this is the only reason I reached out over the summer. I actually didn’t even find out until after I sent the letter.”

It hadn’t occurred to me that he might have contacted me out of a sense of obligation to share the news about our father rather than a genuine desire to connect with me.

I nod, my mind a flurry of thoughts.

Patrick appears to be deep in thought, his gaze fixated on the steaming mug of black coffee cradled in his hands. He seems restless, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his head. I’ve spent most of my life trying to understand the motivations of others, and Patrick is no exception.

Then he says, “I think you should meet him.”

FORTY-FIVE

KAT

As the wedding ceremony comes to an end, I begin to pack up my camera bag. The weight of the equipment is a familiar comfort, but my mind is filled with a jumbled mess of thoughts. Memories from yesterday’s conversation with Patrick swirl through my brain, the request he made before politely leaving. I understand his wanting to make a swift escape after the way my face probably contorted, but asking me to meet our father is a steep ask, even given the circumstances.

But amidst the chaos, one thought remains constant—the state in which I left things with Tanner back home. A knot tightens in my stomach as I recall the last night we spent together, and guilt creeps in like a dark cloud threatening to overtake me as I realize this arrangement between us has gone too far. I fucked it all up by catching feelings.

With a heavy sigh, I zip up my bag. I’m bracing myself to head back to my mom’s empty house when my phone lights up with Elijah’s name for the first time since my birthday.

Elijah

Hey Kat. Im sorry about what I said on your birthday, that was fucked up. Can we talk?

As I read his apology, I roll my eyes and delete the message without responding. He’s pulled me into his deceitful web too many times for me to believe any genuine change in him now.

My agreement with Tanner had, at the very least, provided what I needed to get past my lingering infatuation with Elijah. Despite our agreed-upon rule to not let emotions get involved, I can’t deny that I have developed feelings for him, much to my surprise and dismay. It’s like trying to clean up a massive mess while realizing you’ve been slowly falling into it all along. I know with certainty I need to put a stop to it before it gets to a place that we can’t come back from.

The thought of losing Tanner in any capacity isn’t something I can stomach. It’s not an option.

I walk into my childhood home, dropping my camera bag onto the entryway table and contemplating only how to fix whatever divide I’ve unintentionally sewn between Tanner and me.

Sex was never worth potentially ruining my friendship with him—one of the most important people in my life. But how the hell am I supposed to undo that? Outside of going back in time to fix it—which I am fully aware at this point does absolutely nothing to prevent things from happening—how can I backtrack in a way that results in our friendship remaining the same?

I fumble for my phone, fingers shaking as I open the messaging app. My heart races with uncertainty as I type out a message to one of my best friends—to the one person who makes me feel alive. The person I very well could be in love with…if that wasn’t such a horrible idea.

Kat

We can’t keep doing this. I appreciate you, so much, this was exactly what I needed to get through everything with Elijah. But, I’m good now, and my feelings have gotten muddled and I know we agreed not to let that happen, I fucked up. So, in an effort to not ruin everything, we need to stop.

Hastily, I shove my phone into my pocket, my fingers trembling. The words I just typed out and sent burn a hole into my mind and I desperately want to erase them from memory. I need to forget it.

I spend a solid two hours on my hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor with a stiff-bristled brush. As I work, sweat beads on my forehead and drips onto the floor. My fingers turn black with grime as I dig deep into the crevices. Eventually, I wipe my brow and survey my work—the grout is now a bright white instead of dingy gray. But as I stand up and stretch my aching back, I notice the dirt caked underneath my fingernails and sigh in frustration.

When I’m finally finished admiring my handiwork, I shuffle over to the sink and turn on the hot water, vigorously scrubbing at my dirt-caked nails. Despite my efforts, some of the grime stubbornly clings to my cuticles.

Suddenly the doorbell rings, causing me to jump slightly. I grab a nearby towel and hastily wipe the suds off my hands before rushing to answer the door, my heart pounding from the startle.

The moment I twist the doorknob, a rush of familiarity overwhelms me. A head of tousled light brown hair bursts into the house. The expression on Tanner’s face is one that I have only seen a handful of times before, though never directed toward me. His usually bright eyes are clouded with anger and frustration, his jaw clenched tightly. A sinking feeling settles in my stomach at the realization that it’s more than likely my text message that has him all out of sorts.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as I close the front door behind him.

“Seriously, Kat? What is this?” he asks, holding up his phone with my text message from two hours and fifteen minutes ago displayed on the screen.

“Shouldn’t you be in Kent?”

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