Page 9 of Only You
“I’m sorry I crashed dinner.”
“I’m not,” he says almost instantly, and it takes me aback for a moment. The raw honesty—that’s definitely Tatum.
I smile. “You seem to be doing well.”
“I am.” He says it confidently. “You too.”
It’s awkward, and I hate this feeling. I want to ask him so many things. I want to know without a doubt he’s doing well and how he got here. Where he’s been. But it’s all too raw and painful. I should just walk away, but I can’t seem to do it, so I settle on somewhere in the middle. “We should get together sometime. Just us. Catch up.”
When he hesitates, it feels like my chest bursts wide open. I’m about to call it back when he says, “I’d like that.” He unlocks his phone and hands it to me. “Your number?”
I take his phone with a shaking hand and then type my number into his contacts before handing it back. He does something, and I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.
“Texted you so you’ll have mine too.”
I nod dumbly, blinking up at him. Unable to believe we’re really standing here all these years later.
“I’ll be in touch.”
He’s quiet for so long, I think that’s it, so I pull open my car door. But his voice stops me—so soft, I barely hear him. “I hope you will.”
With that, he turns and walks back to the house, and I climb into my car, my heart thundering in my chest.
I should stay away, but I know deep down, that’s impossible.
FOUR
Cason is a little shit. I should be angry with him—inviting Remy to dinner and catching me off guard like that—but for some reason, I just can’t seem to be all that angry.
I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to see him again until he was right there. I told myself to stay away, but how am I supposed to do that when he shows up for dinner?
I sit in my truck and stare at the quaint and small blue house on the corner of the street—the address given to me by Remy earlier this week when we made plans to hang out tonight after work.
I took what felt like the world’s longest shower after I clocked out at the mechanic shop where Kellan and I both work—but I still feel the grease under my fingernails.
I wonder if it’ll bother him.
He’s so well-put-together now. A far cry from the small kid, who was often in dirty, ripped clothes I once knew. I decide to quit stalling and climb out of my truck, heading up the walk. I take in the neatly trimmed grass and the small flower bed in front of his porch.
I smile to myself as I ring the doorbell. Remy answers a moment later. If I had to guess I’d say he’s dressed in the same clothes he wore to school today—a nice button-down and gray slacks.
He kind of reminds me of Phillip a little, which really makes me laugh for some reason. “What’s so funny?” he asks nervously.
“Oh nothing,” I say with a grin. “Just kind of wild that I’m here.”
His smile seems to brighten at that, and it’s reminiscent of that smile I used to know before whatever happened, happened, and he seemed to lose it. I have a huge sense of relief when he smiles.
“Hi, come on in.” He seems a little jittery as he moves out of the way to let me step into his home. I walk inside, my eyes taking in the clean, minimally decorated house as he closes the door behind me.
“This is nice.”
“Thank you,” he says politely and leads me into the living room. We sit down on the gray sofa, each of us on one end.
We sit there in a totally uncomfortable silence, his back completely straight and stiff. I don’t know what to do with my own hands—something I’ve never encountered before, but seriously?Where should I put them? On my knees?That seems weird.Tucked under my thighs?
No. Definitely not that.
What the hell is wrong with me?
