Page 26 of Finding Delaware

“Come on.” Gently, I tug him out into the hallway, his frown deepening as he lets me lead him down the stairs.

The feeling of his hand in mine is foreign, setting off little alarm bells in my brain that say this is wrong, but I don’t let go. Because I want to show him, for some insane fucking reason, that my touch isn’t always painful. He doesn’t pull away, either, so I take that as a win.

It’s not until we have to put our shoes on near the back door that I drop his hand, and the emptiness I feel at the absence confuses me. It sends a flood of irritation through my chest, old habits to lash out against the unknown rising to the surface, but I force myself to shove all of that into a box and nail it shut, bury it in a hole. I’ll always be hot-headed—nothing can change that. But making other people pay for my issues is coming to an end. I’m determined.

“Where are we going?” Huck finally asks when I lead him out onto the back porch. Cool October air bites into my skin, colder than usual, promising future snow. I use it to ground myself, close my eyes, and take a deep breath.

“The track.”

“But I can’t ride,” he answers sadly.

“I know.” Turning toward him, I meet his eyes with my own. “But I want to talk to you, and you don’t trust me right now. So we’re going to Delaware.”

Huckslee

Taylor’s hand found mine again somewhere between the house and the backyard, causing my brain to short-circuit. Half of me wonders if I’m hallucinating. The anxiety meds and pain pills must be scrambling my brain because there’s no way Taylor fucking Tottman is holding my hand right now.

What do you want, Taylor?

I want to see you.

Please.

His palm is warm in mine as he leads me onto the track, and he squeezes before letting go. Moonlight shimmers down from a clear night sky, giving his dark hair blue hues under the stars. His teeth dig into his bottom lip as he glances at me sideways, uncertainty rippling across his features. It reminds me of the night after the wedding when we opened up to one another, and I can’t force myself to look away.

I should be furious with him. Hell, Iwasfurious with him. Last night, I sat in bed and cried until the sun came up. WhenI couldn’t handle the pain in my arm anymore, I knocked on Dad’s door to tell him I tripped. The whole time, I was cursing Taylor in my mind, wishing every bad thing on him I could think of, even coming up with ways to make him feel what he made me feel.

But then, he surprised me at the hospital by telling my dad the truth. And yeah, I’m pissed at him for it because my dad ripped into me for lying to him, but Taylor told the truth. And then he apologized. An honest, genuine apology, too. Not a fake one, for Dad’s sake. Still, I was pissed at him. Not in the ‘I want to hurt him’ way any longer, but definitely in the ‘he could disappear and I wouldn’t give a shit’ kind of way.

Then, the motherfucker knocks on my door, shakes me to my core by grabbing my hand with a tenderness I didn’t know he even possessed, and now here we are—standing in our neutral zone because, for some reason, he wants me to trust him.

What is happening right now?

“Look, Huck,” Taylor starts, running a hand down his face before looking up at the sky. “Last night was wrong. And I’m so fucking sorry.”

He swallows, throat flexing as his eyes meet mine. There’s a question in them, a pleading like he wants me to forgive him, but he doesn’t ask. I don’t know what to say because he’s right. It was wrong and probably the shittiest thing he’s ever done to me—the worst he’s ever made me feel. So I tell him that.

He nods slowly, glancing away. “I know. I could blame it on a shitty night and the alcohol, but that would be a cop-out.”

“What set you off?”

Sighing deeply, he tugs at his hair. “I don’t... I don’t know, man. It’s hard to explain. I don’t really understand it myself.”

“So let’s talk about it,” I say quickly, desperately wanting to understand because Taylor is so rarely this candid with me. “Maybe I can help?”

A nervous laugh leaves his throat. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Stepping closer, I place myself in front of him, looking down into his eyes with raised brows. “Why do you hate me so much, Taylor?”

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips. “I don’t hate you, Huck. Not even close.”

“Then what? Why have you made my life fucking hell the last few years? Was it because of what happened in eighth grade? Because if you didn’t feel the same way–”

He tenses immediately and backs away, causing me to stiffen as well. Multitudes of emotions war across his face—guilt, anger, apprehension.

“I told you not to bring that up again,” he grits through clenched teeth, his hands fisting like he’s physically holding himself back from taking a swing.

“Why? Because you kissed me? Because you liked it?”

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