Page 75 of We Thought We Were Invincible
I called Jamie on the way home to throw some dry clothes on, but he didn't answer. I had to tell him. I was wrong when I told him he didn't love me. It'd been months, and we hadn't talked about it since. I hadn't been myself, or maybe I'd been too much myself. I didn't know.
Leaving my wetsuit in a sopping pile on the floor, I pulled on some jeans and a red cotton shirt.
No one answered the front door when I rapped the large brass knocker against the wood. I rang the doorbell and still no such luck. About to leave, I caught the faint sound of a guitar coming from the backyard. Taking the steps two at a time, I leapt off the pillared porch and ran around to the high wooden gate. It was stained black, contrasting with the light house and standing as a warning to any uninvited trespassers.
The latch was old and worn, rarely used, but I pushed it open and stepped into the backyard. Jamie sat with his back to me, guitar resting naturally on his thigh. His head hung low, eyes tracking his fingers as they worked the complicated song.
The music washed over me, full of sadness and desperation. Not the typical kind of song Jamie was known for. It wasn't an original; never was. He claimed he wasn't smart enough or good enough to write.
I'd known Jamie most of my life, but never understood him, never known anything about his life. Now that I did, my heart broke for all those years.
I walked up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning in to kiss the side of his head, not wanting him to stop.
He flinched away from me, the music crashing to a halt.
“Sorry,” I murmured, stepping in front of him. “Didn't mean to startle you.”
He sighed in relief upon hearing my voice and looked up at me, breathing heavily.
I sucked in a breath when I saw his face, a swirling brown and red bruise stretching the length of his cheek.
“What happened?” I reached out to touch his face.
He turned away from me and set his guitar down.
“Did you see the news?” he asked, back still toward me.
“Haven't had a chance.”
He pulled out his phone and turned back around, typing on the screen. Angling it toward me, he nodded for me to watch the video that was coming up.
Jamie's dad appeared, but the clip was only the end of the press conference. I saw him go off on the reporters and couldn't help the laugh that escaped. Or the ones after that.
“Don't fucking politicize it,” I wheezed. “You said that to a freaking reporter.”
He gave me an amused smile. “I know. I was there. It got me this bruise and disinvited from today's interview.”
I slapped my leg, bending over to catch my breath. “Oh my gosh, if I wasn't already in love with you, I sure would be now.”
His wry smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “If what?”
“Huh?” That was not how I wanted to say it. No. Definitely not.
“You're in love with me.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You know, it's just the grief talking. You aren't actually in love with me.”
I couldn't believe he was throwing that back in my face. “Ass.” I stomped off the deck.
“You love this ass.”
I stopped, laughing once again. “I do. It's the boy attached to the ass I'm not so sure about.”
“No take backs,” he sang. “Does this mean I can finally tell you I love you without you cutting off my balls.”
“Jamie!”
