Page 12 of Meet Me in the Blue

“Only some of them.” I laughed when he shot me his familiar fuck-off glare, his lips pinching into a strict line.

If I hadn’t known him for most of my life, I might’ve actually thought he was pissed.

“None of them.” He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “And anyway, Harriett is married.”

“But if she wasn’t…”

I didn’t know why I kept pushing. I didn’t have a right to know his life. I’d given that up when I stopped calling, stopped being his best friend. Stopped being a friend at all.

He came to a sudden stop, and I accidentally clipped his shoulder. The skin on the back of my neck prickled from the touch.

“You don’t get to do this,” he said. “You don’t get to come back and act like everything is fine. Like nothing has changed.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

“And stop apologizing,” he grumbled and started to walk again. His big stride faster than before. “You only have to say it once, otherwise sorry becomes just another word, and the entire point of it is lost.”

“Okay.”

Rook kept to himself for the rest of our short walk. Nodding at a few people as they passed, I wanted to reach out and take his hand in mine like we used to do. His touch had always centered me, and I thought mine had done the same for him. But being near him now, his proximity, it made me dizzy, made my heart race with regret, and I didn’t know how to find a way to make everything stop spinning. It made me feel sick. I fucking hated it. Hated that it was all my fault.

“Hey, Rook.” A pint-sized ball of sunshine beamed up at him as we walked into Two Trees Tavern. She couldn’t be more than five-feet tall, but her energy made up for her lack of height. Her brunette ponytail swung from side to side as she bent over to grab two sets of silverware rolled up in napkins from a bucket next to the hostess stand. The V-neck shirt she wore plunged low enough to expose her ample cleavage, and if it wasn’t for the giant rock on her left finger, I might’ve hated her on sight. “Who’s this cutie?”

“This is Luka, Dr. Abrams’ son.” The formality of his tone cut through me like a knife.

It wasn’t ahey, Harriett, this is my friend, Luka. It was cold and to the point, and I guessed I deserved it. I wanted the smile he’d given this stranger, this woman who’d just moved to town last summer. I wanted his high praise. I wanted to be sweet too. All of these things were reminders, little sticky notes, whispering,this is why you left, this is why you stayed away. When I had Graham, it wasn’t this hard. Everything didn’t sting as much. All the things I could never have had become things I might’ve never needed. But here. Now. I realized I’d always needed Rook.

“Oh,” she said, her sparkle dimming around the edges. “I’m so sorry about your dad. I can’t imagine—”

“Thanks,” I snapped even though she didn’t deserve it. “But he’s not dead yet.”

“Luka,” Rook sighed and shook his head. “She didn’t…”

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” she said. “If that sounded like… I didn’t mean it like…”

“No… I’m sorry,” I said as Rook’s disappointment filtered through me, making it hard to breathe. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. It’s been hard… with everything. But thank you… for thinking of him.”

“Of course,” she said, and guilt settled inside my stomach for stealing a bit of her shine.

I wasn’t allowed to be jealous of pretty girls, of the people in Rook’s life. I’d made the choice to stay away. I was the one who put that empty look on his face. The look that asked me,who are you?

Harriett gave us both a quick smile before leading us to a table by the front window. From here we could see the entire marina, the small boardwalk that led north to the Edgewater Inn. The ever-present sea mist swirled around the rocking boats, the vacant vessels left behind for the winter. The dreary gray ocean water slapped against their hulls and spilled over portions of the dock. I stared, wishing I would have brought my camera, wondering if I’d be able to capture the loneliness of it all.

Rook kept his eyes on the menu in front of him as he spoke. “The clam chowder here is pretty good.”

“Oh… good to know.” God, we were awkward. The remnants of our friendship lost inside the small talk. “Rook, I—”

“I swear to God, if you say sorry again I’m leaving.” He set his menu down, his glare piercing straight through me. “I don’t know how to do this with you. I want everything to be okay, but I’m angry. And your dad—”

“My dad being sick doesn’t give me a pass. It didn’t when we found out, and it still doesn’t now. I get it. I stayed away. I messed everything up.”

He didn’t say anything.

I chewed the corner of my lip as he stewed in his thoughts. Rook was the strong and silent, still waters run deep kind of guy. I had to wait him out. Once, when we were thirteen, he’d gone a whole week without speaking to me. I’d started hanging out with some of the troublemakers at our middle school, trying to get in good with the cool kids. Because even then, I’d known, known that I was different than Rook, than most of the boys in my class, and I’d thought if I’d been able to hang with the right crowd, me liking boys wouldn’t matter. I hadn’t come out to Rook yet, or anyone, and he didn’t understand why I’d want to be around the guys who had bullied us the entirety of our sixth-grade year. I’d told him it was the whole, keep your enemies close thing, but he hadn’t bought it. It had only taken a couple of days for me to find out hanging with those guys had been a bad idea. Eventually, Rook had forgiven me, and we’d spent that weekend camped out in our fort, planning our next big D&D campaign.

“I need time,” he said, and I forced myself to hold his gaze. “I feel like a jerk for saying that because of everything with—”

“My dad.”

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