Page 67 of Someone Just Like You

I vaulted off the bed, genuinely surprised and hurt by the accusation. “No! Absolutely not. You have to believe me. Seriously, Jude. I’m not cruel!”

His eyes refused to meet mine this time.

“Not that it excuses me, but why did you ride it anyway? Why didn’t you call a friend to drive you to the school when you realized it was flat?” Neither of us had our own cars in high school.

“I didn’t notice it until I was on my way, and I was already late for the game. Scouts from Northwestern and Florida State were coming to see me. I had to get there. Besides, it was only one tire and it wasn’t completely deflated. I thought I’d be fine. I’m always fine.”

“Exactly why I was so mad.” I winced.

“But I wasn’t fine.” His voice was so resigned, it killed me.

“I’m so sorry. I’msosorry.” I pleaded with him to see inside my soul…to know how deep my remorse ran. “I felt horribly guilty, but I was so afraid to tell you the truth. Then we graduated and…my God, Jude, I never thought we’d be here.” I pointed between us. “Like this.”

“So it was okay that you crushed my dream as long as we weren’t fucking?” His tone was even, but his fists were clenched.

My breath hitched. “Of course not! I’ve carried the guilt with me always. I’ve tried so hard to stay out of your way since then. It’s not easy, because you’re relentless. But I took comfort in how mean you always were to me…even years later…I told myself you asked for it. You’re the one who started up the pranks this time.”

I paused to catch my breath. “And then everything changed. We stopped fighting and became friends. You brought me soup! I fought catching feelings for you. How could I share your bed—touch you intimately—after what I’d done? But you’re kind of irresistible.” I attempted a smile and walked closer to him. “You never complain about your job or talk about your baseball glory days. You said yourself you had no regrets. I convinced myself you were happy and telling you would only open an old wound. I didn’t want to risk losing you over something we couldn’t change.”

Jude ran his tongue along his lower lip. “Why are you coming clean now?”

“Because you deserve to know, and honestly, keeping the secret is killing me.”

He walked to the window with his back to me.

What was he thinking? “Jude. Say something.Please.”Please let us be good.

Finally, he turned around, and I knew immediately we weren’t good in any way, shape, or form.

“I hope you feel better now that you’ve gotten it off your chest.”

“I don’t. I’m so sorry—”

He put his arms up as a shield…a shield against me. “Please just go, Molly. I need to be alone.” Then he opened the door of his bedroom to show me the way. When I didn’t leave soon enough to suit him, he walked out first, leaving me behind with my unwanted apologies.

Chapter Thirty

He couldn’t avoid me forever.

Could he?

Perhaps two days was too premature to think aboutforever;yet, here I was, approximately forty-eight hours since my confession, unable to focus on anything but Jude: how he was feeling about the truth of his injury and about me. Aboutus.

After leaving his apartment, I’d gone straight home, undressed, and slipped immediately under the covers for a pity party of one. I wanted to honor Jude’s request for space, but I still needed him to know how remorseful I was. I sent one last bordering-on-groveling text, then stared at the screen waiting for the dancing ellipses that never came. I woke up the next morning with an indentation from the phone on my chin and no response from Jude. He had to know I hadn’t purposely caused his accident. And there wasn’t a grain of truth in his accusation that I was subconsciously happy he got hurt and lost everything. He’d said it in anger. But eventually he would understand and forgive me.

Eventually wasn’t soon enough for me. I was unable to take the silence another day. After work that night, I jumped on the 6 train two stops to 28th Street and walked the one block south to Hillstone. I wasn’t even certain he’d be working, but based on his response rate lately (0 percent), asking first was unlikely to provoke an answer. Best-case scenario, his eyes would light up at the sight of me, and he’d jump over the bar and dip me in a Hollywood-style kiss. Worst-case scenario, he’d dump me on the spot. But at least I’d know.

With my pulse in my throat, I approached the revolving doors of the restaurant. It was an ever-popular venue; several others were doing the same. “After you,” I said to two smiling women who appeared significantly less anxious about entering than I was.

Breathe in. Breathe out.The hard part—the confession—was over. The ball was in his court now.

I raised my palms to push the door for my turn only to step back again to allow another group to go ahead of me as my last thoughts reverberated back at me. Not knowing if Jude’s need for space was temporary or permanent was killing me, but it wasn’t fair to confront him at his place of business and force him to talk beforehewas ready. He’d reach out in his own time, the operative word beinghis. I turned on my heel.He’s probably not even in there.

Was he? I tapped my shoe. What was the harm in taking a peek through the window?

A moment later I had my answer when the sight of Jude behind the bar sent a burning pain through my heart. He was pouring a glass of wine, his hand wrapped around the bottle. Oh, how I’d missed those hands. What were the thoughts behind the easy smile he shared with his customers? Were they of us? Of me? He’d shaved and combed his hair.Whatever that means.A fresh wave of sadness crashed through me. I didn’t want us to be over. I wasn’t ready…not by a long shot.

Jude stilled.

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