Page 12 of It's Always Us

My pulse pounds in my ears as I man up and slowly pull the door open. I quietly step inside to the smell of grease and car fluids. Fortunately, the door is unlocked, but I hate that I can walk in without any hindrance. If nothing else comes from this, I’ll make sure she locks the door.

Country music plays in the background, and Lex stands across the space on a stool, bent over the hood of an old Chevy Silverado. She’s in worn jeans, a white T-shirt, and steel-toed boots, all resembling the girl I used to know. Her long blonde hair falls around her, held back by a bandana as she tugs on a wrench, trying to force a bolt loose.

The roar of my heart softens at the sight of her. I swallow and shove my hands in my pockets, steadying myself for a battle I have no choice but to win.

“Somehow, I knew you’d be here.”

As if in slow-motion, I watch her body startle, her hand slipping on the wrench, and then she quickly settles as if she recognizes my voice. She doesn’t turn around, but her grip loosens on the tool as she straightens.

“It’s been eight years and 134 days, and there hasn’t been a single one that I haven’t thought about you.”

She stands perfectly still, her head hanging. After what feels like an eternity, she slowly turns, her boots hitting the floor as she steps down from her stool to face me. Her pale blue eyes hit mine with the force of a freight train, and it stuns my cardiovascular system, stalling it. All my instincts flare with the need to go to her, but I stay put. I can’t. Not yet.

My gut squeezes tight again as she takes me in. Her eyes trace over me, and I’d give my entire fortune to know what she’s thinking. I stare back, the ache in my chest as raw and real as ever.

This version of her, in old clothes and covered in grease and oil, is still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I want to smile, but my nerves prevent it. It takes everything in me not to wrap her up and beg her to come back to me. To tell me that I’m not completely insane.

Her head falls forward as if to inspect her tired and worn boots. One of her hands runs down her shirt.

It’s only a moment before those empty blue eyes drag back up to meet mine.

“Why are you here?” Her voice is so gentle, it’s painful.

I have to be very careful. My next words need to be articulate and precise. “Because I couldn’t go one more day without seeing you and risking the chance of losing you forever.”

Her brows twitch but quickly relax as her eyes roam over my face.

Her eyes draw closed, and she presses them together tight. I watch her chest rise and fall. My body tenses with the realization that I can’t read her like I used to. A pit slowly forms in the bottom of my stomach, and I need to slide a cover over it before I fall in.

I take one step closer, and she stiffens, so I stop. I want to beg to know what happened. To understand. To know if I really had it all wrong. If I was a complete fool.

But I can’t. The pain would pull me so far under I might not find my way out.

“I know you’re getting married in a couple of days. Are you happy?”

The lonely sound of a sad country song fills the silence, and I break out in a cold sweat, waiting for her answer.

Please say no. I want to know what we can be again.

She turns and walks to the workbench, pulling a shop rag to wipe off her hands.

“How do you know that?” Her question is soft but curious. When I don’t respond, she shakes her head. “I can’t do this.”

Shit.I knew this wouldn’t be easy. Panic starts to kick in, and I need to calm the hell down. It’s like I’m in the fourth quarter with fifty seconds left, and I’m down by eight. I need a touchdown and a two-point conversion, and I only have seconds. I have to hit my mark, and it has to count.

Screw it. I’m here for a reason. This is my chance.

I stride across the room, not hesitating, and reach for her. I gently grab her elbow and turn her toward me. I force myself to release it even though everything in me wants to pull her close, hold on tight, and never let go.

Her eyes stay on the floor as if she’s afraid to look at me. I focus.

“I’m not leaving here until you tell me you’re happy. You convince me of that, and I’ll wish you well and never bother you again.” She doesn’t move. “Lex . . . ”

Her head snaps up, her eyes wild. “Don’t call me that.”

Part of me wants to grin at hitting a nerve, but I resist. I search her eyes. Having her this close but yet so far away is pure torture. My fingertips tingle with the need to touch her again.

I’ve longed for this moment, but the short distance between us feels like a canyon, and I loathe every millimeter of it.

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