Page 44 of Catching Our Moment
When I came back, she was gone.
Her father claimed she was nauseated and went back to the hotel. He encouraged me to take in the entire experience, telling me that Kelcie would want me to enjoy every minute. I called her, texted her, and was about to head back to the hotel to find her a few times, but was caught up with interviews and meeting people. Eventually, I got a short text saying how proud she was of me but that she was going to bed, and I should enjoy myself.
The next day, I found the now dog-eared envelope slipped under my door—the one I’d carried around for the last twelve years. This fucking “Dear Shaw” note said nothing except that James had shown up and wanted to marry her. She was proud of me and wanted me to be happy, not tied down with her. It said that she was doing what was best for both of us. Finally, she told me she loved me and couldn’t wait to see me reach all of my dreams.
If she loved me, she wouldn’t have left.
If she loved me the way I loved her, she wouldn’t have left.
But the envelope…I couldn’t throw it away. It was like a scar that hadn’t faded or smoothed out. It reminded me of the hit I took and never quite recovered from.
If I…if we were going to try to regain the friendship we once had, I had to let this go because, like she said, it was history.
We were back in our hometown. Hell, we lived next door to each other. But it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same. We were completely different people. It had only been fourteen years, but it had seemed like almost a lifetime of growing. Yet, she was still Kelcie, and I was still Shaw, and deep down, that connection was still there. It still felt necessary. Her tenderness with Aaron, laughing with me, scolding both of us…
I stared at the trash can on the other side of the room and stuck it back in the drawer, placing it gently under the gray rock. I still couldn’t throw it away. And I couldn’t give headspace as to the reasons why.
16
Kelcie
Shaw and I traveled to Baltimore a few days later to visit the doctors at Hopkins and to move him onto the next stage of his recovery. Things had been tense since our showdown the other night, and we both knew we needed to clear the air. But neither of us wanted to revisit it with Aaron around, so we tried to let it go and act normally.
But with Aaron not in the car, there was no need for the pretense, and we drove in almost complete silence on the ride there. Shaw pretended to sleep while I played chauffeur.
The good news was he was cleared of the concussion, which wasn’t a surprise. The bad news was what had him quiet, bitchy, and brooding even more on the way home. His shoulder was going to take another six to eight weeks to heal, and the verdict was still out on the herniated disc in his neck.
Since he was cleared of the concussion, he wanted to drive home. I had to point out that he was still only operating with one arm, and we were in my car. That didn’t go over well. Thankfully, though, he dropped it. We didn’t argue often, so we didn’t exactly know how to make up.
With me in the driver’s seat, he sat with the chair pushed back to accommodate his long legs and stared out the side window as the city changed into suburbs, and the tractor-trailers and cars kept us company all the way home. As if tuned in to his mood, the heavens opened, and it began to pour.
“How are you doing over there?” I was out of practice getting him to open up to me, and it felt awkward.
“Fine.” The universal answer for, “Of course I’m not fine, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I wouldn’t worry about anything they said today. Let’s just concentrate on your recovery and?—”
“It’s not something I can ignore,” he said, his tone deep but flat.
Okay.
“I’m not suggesting ignoring it. I’m just?—”
He lifted his hand to me. He obviously didn’t want to talk about it.
I let out a quiet sigh. “Okay, well, we have your new treatment plan. I will get my work schedule, and we can figure out a routine together,” I said. “I can hardly wait to get my hands on you,” I joked.
“Yeah, okay. Whatever you think. It’s not like I have a busy schedule, so whatever works.”
My shoulders dropped slightly. We were dealing with wallowing Shaw.
His phone rang. He picked it up and hit a button, cutting off the ringer.
It rang again. He stared at the screen. “Shit.”
“Is everything okay?” I said, pulling the car off the interstate at our exit.
He scowled at the phone as if it was about to pick a fight with him. “It’s my agent.”
