Page 29 of Honey Pot

I closed my eyes, letting her voice wash over me, and ground my teeth together because I knew she was right. Our being apart had never been her fault. It was easier to take it out on her because I had been beating my fist against the brick wall of my father’s office for seven long years.

“You didn’t come to the funeral,” I said.

“I didn’t know about it until after it was finished,” she sighed. “That should have been the first sign that something was wrong. Mr. Cody called Momma a week after the funeral to tell her it had happened.”

I turned to look at her and, as I’d predicted, the world’s colors were mute compared to the blush of her cheeks and those big, devastated, brown eyes.

Please don’t cry.

If she cried, all bets on what I might do next were off the table. It had forever been my weakness. I would cave—I always did.

“Don’t,” I said out loud, as the water welled in her eyes.

I caught the tear that rolled down her cheek before it hit her jaw and sighed.

“I’m sorry you and your Mom didn’t get to say goodbye to her,” I said, trying to control my own volatile emotions. Keeping them in check with the smell of lavender suffocating me was proving difficult.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said quietly, pushing my hand away. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?” I could feel myself leaning into her. That invisible string tugged so tightly that it left raw abrasions in my throat.

“Pretend like there aren’t still thousands of miles between us. Even now.”

“You’re sitting in front of me, Clem.” I bit down on my tongue.

“Mary,” she corrected, and the string went slack.

“I already told you I won’t call you that,” I said slowly. She wasn’t that fake persona she wanted so desperately to hide behind. She was Clementine, and she was mine. “Especially not when we’re alone.”

“You’ve changed,” she notedagain.

I chuckled quietly. “I’m exactly the same, Clementine.”

I wiggled my fingers at her and her eyes caught the frayed bracelet on my wrist. Her brows scrunched together in confusion as she looked from it to me.

“Is that?” She danced her fingertips across the disgusting thread.

“Same boy,” I confirmed. “Same bracelet.”

“No.” She shook her head as she dared to let her palm press against mine.

They fit together like they were made that way: two halves into one.

Together again.

“Samebracelet, different boy.”

“You’re wearing yours too,” I said.

“Same bracelet, different girl.”

“I don’t think you’re that different,” I whispered, inching closer to her. I just needed to feel more of her skin. “Sure, you’re louder, but you were always loud.You were just never loud for yourself. It was always in the defense of someone else.”

“For you,” she corrected me. “Always for you.” Her voice was tight as she spoke. She looked down at the bracelet like it was made of thorns.

“I was selfish back then.” I swallowed tightly thinking about Dean. “I’m selfish now. I’m sorry.”

I just wanted to kiss her, to feel her lips on mine again and remember how sweet they tasted. Leaning closer she breathed me in, her eyes trailing to my lips with slow precision as my fingers cupped her chin and tilted it toward me.

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