Page 44 of The Cost of Forgetting You

Derell and Jed do their best to support me. They still invite me out every Friday, despite the fact that I haven’t stepped foot in that field since that night. They try. Really, they do. But I feel too far gone to be reached. Come fall, Derell will be off to the University of Alabama and Jed will leave to work on an oil rig offshore. Their lives will move forward, while mine feels impossibly stuck.

Just a pit stop, not a derailment, I remind myself. But the words feel hollow.

Perhaps it’s the thought of them leaving, the realization that the last few pieces of my life that remain unchanged are about to morph into something I don’t recognize, that convinces me to let my friends drag me to prom. It certainly wasn’t the thought of seeing Lucy, even from a distance, dressed in a beautiful gown. I’m no masochist.

My gaze flits past face after face in the gymnasium, but none of them are hers. Disappointment settles like a stone in my gut.

Okay, so I’m a little bit of a masochist.

Jed elbows me in the ribs. “Dude, look at Talia.”

I halt my search of the room and follow his gaze. Through the mess of writhing bodies, I spot Talia Winters doing a shimmy against one of her friends. Her lashes are lowered, purple pout perfectly in place. She points to Jed, then does a come-hither curl of her finger.

“Is this really happening?” Jed tugs at the stiff collar of his button-down.

Derell lets out a sharp whistle from my other side. “I don’t fucking believe it. But yes, I think it is. Go get ’em, Tiger!”

I chuckle. It’s a loose, breathy thing. I could blame it on a lack of practice and a parched throat. More likely it’s the result of spotting Lucy the second she walks through the gymnasium doors, looking like a dream.

Her dress is made of dark blue velvet that drapes over the swells and valleys of her body like flowing water. It ties at the nape of her neck, covering her chest in a modest way that I’m sure the pastor approves of, but her delicate shoulders are exposed. I’ve never gotten hard at the sight of shoulders before, but suddenly all those dress code rules make a little more sense.

Golden strands fall in soft curls around her heart-shaped face. The rest of her hair is swept up high on her head, with small bits and bobs pinned throughout that twinkle in the flashing lights. A thin shawl comes around her shoulders, placed by familiar hands.

Attached to a familiar body.

Belonging to a familiar face.

Jed finally snaps out of whatever trance he was in, abandoning us for the possibility of a post-prom blow job from Talia. I grind down on my molars.

“Who is that?” Derell throws a half-hearted punch against my bicep, as though I’m not already locked in on the scene unfolding fifteen feet away. “He looks too old to be at prom, right?”

Waylon Parker squeezes Lucy’s now-covered shoulders. He leans in to whisper something in her ear. Her lips pinch together and she nods. When he walks away, bound for the table of snacks and punch on the far side of the basketball court, I swear she looses a breath. That shawl drops from her shoulders ever so slightly.

“Definitely too old,” Derell says, confirming his own statement. “The guy’s, like, twenty-two or something.”

“Twenty-three.” My fists clench and release at my sides. I’ll never understand how her dad could have a problem with me, but he’ll send her off with someone like Waylon without an issue. There’s no way he’s changed all that much in the short time since he was a student here. Does the pastor truly believe Waylon’s wannabe pious persona? Kissing ass must really work wonders.

Anger and hurt tighten my sternum. I suck in a breath to loosen it, but it’s no use. My lungs don’t want the air. They just want her.

Her honeysuckle scent. Her sweet breath flowing over my lips. The feel of her body crushed against mine behind the oak tree. Even though it was the worst day of my life, it’s a sacred memory. Maybe especially so, for that exact reason.

“What happened with you two?” Derell’s eyebrows rise, his dark eyes locking with mine. “You seemed to be getting cozy leading up to that night when your dad…” His voice trails off, Adam’s apple visibly bobbing beneath tawny skin as he swallows. “Well, you know.”

I shake my head, letting my gaze fall away from his. “Nothing happened.”

Lucy’s eyes find mine in the crowd. Her lips part, and I imagine the sharp intake of her breath. Not unlike the one when our mouths collided in the cab of my truck. The shawl drops farther, and I notice a dark birthmark in the hollow where her right collarbone meets the shoulder. I wet my lips. Watch her track the movement. Just as she takes a step forward, Waylon returns with two glasses of punch in hand, a lazy smile pulling at one side of his mouth.

His gaze follows hers, brow furrowed, until at last landing on me. That smile becomes a scowl. He passes one cup to her, then uses his free arm to take her other hand, guiding her into the crowd and away from me.

“Nothing will ever happen,” I add.

Derell glances between me and the place where Waylon and Lucy disappeared, lips folded into a flat line. I suck in a breath like it’s the last one I’ll get.

“Is there any place to get a drink around here?”

“Excuse me? Like alcohol?” Derell’s eyes widen. “You. Drinking?” He licks a finger and holds it up in the air. “No, it doesn’t feel like this hellhole has frozen over. What gives?”

I shake my head. “I just want a drink. You drink all the time, dude.”

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