Page 11 of Only You
Skirting around how I met Kellan and anything real, but I find myself more than okay with that. I don’t want to revisit the past, and it seems Remy doesn’t want that either.
We’re both content just making conversation about his job at the school and my job as a mechanic. We chat a little bit about a particular pain in the ass client I had this week who insisted we’d said her car would be finished in one day, when in fact I’d run down the probability that it would likely take three days with her before she handed her keys over.
When the lasagna is done, we move into his kitchen, and I make quick work of setting the small dining room table while he gets the lasagna out of the oven and a quick salad prepared. We sit down together, and the conversation once again is light and easy.
Like we weren’t two broken kids at one point, desperate to hang on to one another. Like the past hadn’t torn our friendship apart and I hadn’t been living with guilt for over a decade for leaving him behind.
It’s all very normal. Effortless.
I find out that he’s a vegetarian when I bite into the lasagna expecting beef and only finding cheese, but it’s fucking delicious. So when he starts to apologize, I wave him off and ask for seconds when I finish with the first plate. It doesn’t surprise me that he didn’t say anything about the chicken at Kellan’s place. He’s always tried to keep the peace—not make waves. I suppose it’s the same now. But I make a mental note to let Kellan and Phillip know, in case he joins us for dinner in the future.
I wish I could say I was relieved when it starts to get late and he walks me to the door, no serious discussions brought up. No tough subjects whatsoever.
It was just a nice, normal, quiet dinner.
And I realize just how badly I hate the fact that we haven’t talked about anything from the past. How I didn’t ask him if he hates me. Or, if he’s forgiven me, just how he did that because I can’t forgive myself.
I want him to tell me what happened to make him lose that smile and if it’s really back or if he’s faking it for me.
I want to tell him how sorry I am that I pushed him so hard. That I didn’t come back for him when he pushed me away.
But I didn’t do any of that, and I’m left feeling empty as I reach for my keys in my pocket and try to stall. I don’t want to leave yet. I don’t want tonight to be fake or some kind of act.
“Can I see you again?” I ask. His eyes immediately grow large, and I run over the words to see what part of it seemed to freak him out. “I mean, unless this was enough of a catch up and you don’t really want to hang out again,” I add, playing with my keys in my hands that have once again gone all twitchy and nervous, not knowing what to do.
“Um, of course I want to hang out again, Tatum. I um...” I wait for what he’s going to say, but he seems to stop himself and pivot, a quick laugh falling from his lips. “I’d love to hang out again.”
“Yeah?” I light up at that, realizing I hadn’t blown it. That maybe after all these years, I might just get my friend back. “I’ll see you around then.”
He just smiles that beautiful smile at me.
“Can’t wait,” I say honestly before bouncing out to my truck, feeling pretty damn satisfied with the way the night went.
Cason may have been trying to be a little shithead, but I think his meddling may have been one of the best things to ever happen to me.
I might finally get Remy back after all these years.
FIVE
“Carrie is a wonderful student, Mrs. Sutton. And I understand and sympathize with her over this whole situation, but she cannot throw a basketball at Katie’s head.”
“Well, you do know that Carrie is the head cheerleader at your school and extremely popular. She’ll be missed more than most during her suspension.”
I try to do breathing techniques as I talk to the parent of one of my most vapid students. It’s honestly not even Carrie’s fault—I can say that after meeting with Mrs. Sutton last week, when Carrie threw a basketball at what was her best friend for kissing her boyfriend the night before, according to Carrie. Katie, the other student, vehemently denies it ever happened. But like I said after meeting with Mrs. Sutton last week and explaining that Carrie would have to be suspended for a week and talking to her on the phone today, I’m not sure Carrie even had a chance.
Vapid creates vapid.
“But Katie should have been suspended too. No one would even miss her!” the grown woman screeches in my ear, and I find myself staring at the clock on my office wall, wondering how long I need to stay on the phone to placate this woman.
“Several witnesses to the incident claimed that Katie did nothing to provoke Carrie, nor did she react physically in any way. So unfortunately, Carrie will be suspended for the full week, but she’s welcome back after that, as long as she doesn’t resort to physical violence again.” I’m quickly losing my patience but rein it in. “If we have another incident though, she’ll be expelled.”
“I cannot believe you! Do you know who my husband is?”
And here we go. She tried this at our in-person meeting too. Her husband owns a local car dealership, and yes, they do donate to the school occasionally, but that doesn’t mean they get to rule my school. I let her rant for a little while longer before finally, politely hanging up.
I let out a heavy sigh just as I hear a slight knock on my door. It’s not closed at the moment, and when I look up, I see Tatum’s large body standing there. He’s holding up a paper bag with two drinks in his other hand, a sly smile on his gorgeous face.
The warmth I feel just seeing him is a little unsettling. I remember the first time I saw Tatum. I was terrified and hurting from the abuse I’d suffered at the hands of my mother’s boyfriend. I wanted my mom—even though she wasn’t much of a mother—but was told that I might have to stay at the group home they brought me to for a little while. A little while turned into years in the system, but I didn’t know that yet.
