Page 46 of Undeniable

“You used to love surprises,” he murmured. The statement and the way he quietly muttered the words were unexpected. He was right; I did love surprises. I still did, although they happened with less frequency since entering adulthood.

A surprise birthday party, a surprise date, or even a gift out of the blue were my favorite. So much of my life had always been planned—mostly by my own design—that those little moments were what I lived for. They were a reprieve from the rigidity and rules I’d inflicted upon myself.

And James had been the master at it. In the little over a month we’d spent together, he’d surprised me every day. Whether it was a small bouquet of flowers he’d carefully picked from my mom’s garden, a picnic in the middle of the deserted baseball field, or dancing in the field under the moon, he was full of surprises.

But it only took one surprise to ruin the rest. One surprise and then one heartbreak.

“I still do… mostly,” I said. And he hummed his understanding.

“What else has changed over the past… thirteen years?”

My teeth bit into my lower lip, trying to refrain from smirking at his question. All of our interactions after high school had been short and filled with awkward tension or full-blown arguments. We didn’t really speak besides the half-hearted, required “hellos” and “goodbyes.” Even my family didn’t discuss James and neither did his own when I was around.

The last thirteen years of his life were almost completely unknown to me.

“That’s a lot of time to cover in the little over an hour we have left.”

“Do you still make lists and schedule out every second of your day?”

I shook my head and straightened in my seat. He’d always made fun of me for my organization, although he used to think it was endearing. And based on the humor lacing his tone, I thought he still might have found it funny.

I thought back to the extensive packing list I diligently prepared two days ago, used to pack last night and double-checked that morning.

Annoyed, I said, “Maybe. Do you still live life by the seat of your pants?”

He laughed, knowing full well that my lack of answer meant he was right. “Not as much now. Working will do that to you. You can’t really live carefree and hold an eight to five.”

“What do you do?”

I knew it had something to do with finance, but that was all I’d gleaned from conversations his friends had had around me.

“I work for a midsized oil and gas company. I work in finance and accounting.”

I snorted and then tried to compose myself.

“What? I’m good at my job.”

I nodded. “I’m sure you are.”

He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t have to like it. I wouldn’t want to coach a bunch of teenagers or work in a bar.”

It was interesting how he’d ended up with a career that required him to be more organized and typeA. Mine still required that to an extent, but coaching a successful team wasn’t the same as working in accounting and finance. Both were challenging in their own ways, but they were at odds with what I’d expected from us.

“I know I wouldn’t like working sixty hours a week. Amanda said you don’t even go home sometimes.”

“Long weeks are the norm now. And my office is very nice, so on the off chance I do fall asleep on the couch there, it isn’t entirely unpleasant.”

My next words were out of my mouth quicker than I could think about what I was saying. “Are you required to work that many hours or is the rest of your life just that miserable you’d rather be at work?”

He stiffened, his entire body tensing at my assessment. His jaw, dusted with blond stubble, worked and his lips rolled. For the first time, I actually felt remorse for pressing his buttons.

He stared straight ahead like he wasn’t going to even contemplate answering my question. And it was on the tip of my tongue to apologize, but he beat me to it.

“I wouldn’t say miserable,” he murmured, still staring out the windshield at the boring, passing landscape. “But there were times in my life when I was much happier than I am now.”

There was a reason we’d mutually stayed away from each other for the past thirteen years. My reasoning was mostly because when he said things like that, I felt it in my soul. And I couldn’t help but think he was talking about us and the small amount of time we’d spent together.

I hated the way my chest tightened, and it was suddenly hard to swallow. I hated that I heard longing in his voice. But I really hated that I hoped the longing was for me.

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