Page 55 of Wild Obsession

I can’t even find whole sentences. My throat is too tight.

“Thank you,” Tim says. “I didn’t know what to do. I froze up. If you hadn’t shown up…”

A fresh surge of anger wells within me as I imagine those men getting to beat Tim down without any interference whatsoever. Tim wouldn’t have fought them. It’s not who he is.

The anger loosens my tongue, and words spring out on their own.

“No one gets to mess with you except me.”

Tim pauses, eyebrows rising. Then he laughs, short and loud and genuine.

“No one but you?” he says. “Sounds a bit possessive.”

“Yeah, maybe it is.”

That stops both of us dead in our tracks. There’s a confession lurking beneath the stupid banter, a confession both of us have been avoiding this whole time.

“He called you my boyfriend,” Tim says quietly.

“That’s the part you’re worried about after almost getting your ass kicked?”

I’m trying to be sarcastic and lighten the mood, but it doesn’t work. Tim looks me directly in the eyes.

“Yes,” he says. “Actually, yes. When he said that, I was expecting you to deny it, even in a moment like that, but you didn’t.”

My throat is closing up again, but I manage a quiet, “I didn’t.”

“So then what the hell is going on between us, Keannen? You started by wanting to mess with me, but I don’t think that’s what this is anymore. It changed along the way before we ever had a chance to talk about it.”

“There’s a lot to talk about.”

“There is,” Tim says. “If we had met on tour, maybe it would be different, but we have too much history between us. I know that’s what’s getting in the way. I understand. I get that you hate me for what happened in high school. Butcan we at least talk about it? We were kids, Keannen, and you don’t know everything that happened.”

I don’t. All I know is that he left. Perhaps that’s why that phone call with his parents scared me so much. It suggested a whole other side to the story that I’ve never known about, a side that might have changed how I reacted even as a crappy teenager with a grudge against the whole world.

“You don’t know everything either,” I say.

“I don’t,” Tim says, “but I’d like to.” He steps closer and takes one of my hands, prying the clenched fingers open so he can hold it. “I would really like to know about you, Keannen, if you’re willing to tell me. We could start right now. The bartender owes us a drink. Can we go talk? Please? This is eight, almost nine years overdue, I know, but I can’t go back and fix that. All I can do is try to listen now. Besides, we’re stuck here in the middle of nowhere until morning. What the hell else are you doing tonight?”

“I was going to get a drink and not think about you,” I say. It lacks the bite it should have. Of course I was going to think about him, and we both know it.

“You’re not as good of a liar as you think,” Tim says.

He keeps holding my hand and watching me, and something inside me cracks. His gentle touch is like a sledgehammer against a pane of glass. I’m scared of what lies beyond that wall. There’s a scared, lonely, hurt teenager lurking back there, a kid who felt like everyone in his entire life abandoned him when he needed them the most.

But Tim is right. We can’t go back. He can’t undo leaving. I can’t undo hating him for it. Either I live with this festering wound for the rest of my life, letting the infection spread to the rest of me, or I take a chance on healing it right here and now.

For the first time in my life, I give myself that chance.

“Fine,” I say. Tim starts to smile, and I add, “That doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“I know. You don’t have to. I just want a chance to explain. And to listen to you, too.”

“Okay,” I say, and he leads me into the bar, not dropping my hand even when we step through the doors.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Tim

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