Page 36 of Faking Summer
"Why can't we?" He asked softly, but there was something else beneath it. Something that made my pulse stutter.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to remember. "We need to stickto the plan," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "We have to make it to my sister’s wedding, and I've heard rumors about you.”
The rumors everyone knew, that I’d become another name on his stupid R&R list. A list that forever ruined you for anyone else after him.
His thumb never stopped as he exhaled a quiet laugh, but his eyes, dark and unreadable, stayed locked on mine. "Do you believe them?"
“I have no reason not to.” I admitted, but I didn’t know. Iwantedto. Because believing them was easier than admitting the truth—that I was already losing this fight.
He flashed a dimple, narrowing his eyes on my lips now. "We'll make it to your sister's wedding," he assured me. "You'd just be more satisfied when it happens." His close proximity felt like an intoxicating danger. "And those rumors?" he added, "they’re all true."
"There’s a possibility you don’t really live up to all the hype," I said, not able to give his ego the satisfaction.
Reese's gaze didn't waver. His eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that felt like it could set the air on fire. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "You wanna test that theory?"
sixteen
Reese
I slouched in the booth, fingers tracing the sleeve on my coffee cup while I tried not to focus on her intense eyes, the same ones that sort of reminded me of my own. I took my time with each sip, waiting for her to start the conversation.
"Reese," she finally began. "Oh, hunny, I never get tired of seeing your beautiful face." Her kindness was almost suffocating. "I am still in shock that you came to the diner the other night, and that you're willing to meet me here."
I knew my dad hadn’t been completely honest with me when it came to her, but none of that did anything to dull the sting of her absence.
"You've been coming to the games, waiting for me at the diner most of the summer. Figured I'd hear you out."
She fidgeted with a sugar packet on the table. "I'm so sorry it's taken this long for me to come around," she whispered. "I'm sorry I haven't been around most of your life."
"It's fine," I murmured. But it wasn't fine, and we both knew it.
"For so many years, I just felt so helpless. I was told that I had no chance against your father, that I was nobody compared to him… after a while, you start to believe it," she whispered, sorrow in her eyes. "I didn't have the money that your father had, Reese. I didn't have the justice system in the palm of my hand like he did."
I looked away from her, focusing on the steam rising from my cup, unable to look at the sadness in her eyes any longer. I’m not the person who feels remorse, I’m not the guy who comforts people, but maybe it was because at the end of the day she was still the person who birthed me.
"Look," I said, my voice hoarse with the effort of keeping it level, "I didn't know any of that. I just know I was a kid who needed his mom, but you... you weren't there." I was searching for something—anything—that might help me with the animosity I felt from years spent wondering if she’d ever come back for me. "I appreciate this, you coming to me now, now that I'm an adult who can sort of understand. But understanding doesn't erase anything."
There was a silence then, punctuated only by the soft clink of silverware from a nearby booth and a distant cash register.
"I know." The words were barely louder than the sound of sugar packets still being shuffled by her anxious fingers. "I'm sorry for that, Reese." She folded her hands on the table, knuckles whitening with the grip of her own regret. "Every single day I wondered how I could rewind time, rewrite our history. How I could have changed it all." Her voice cracked.
The ache in my chest tightened knowing there was nothing either of us could do now. But it all still fucking hurt, every missed birthday, game, and milestone in my life. I was who I was now because of all of it. I was hardened by it. Somehow, I found a way to channel that pain and inadequacy into baseball. I made sure I wasn’t just good enough but the best pitcher there was, and I’d gotten where I was because of her in some twisted way.
The silence stretched between us. Too much time, too many years were now lost. She waited for some sign of forgiveness—a sign I wasn't sure I had in me.
"Time travel," I said finally, “it’s the only way." The cornerof my mouth lifted upward in a small smile because sarcasm was clearly the best option in these situations.
She caught the smirk and, surprisingly, she let out a gentle laugh. It was what we both needed in such a heavy moment. Her eyes crinkled at the edges, reflecting back a history of pain that we were both carefully trying to navigate.
A warm smile spread across her face. "You're funny. I should have known." She leaned forward slightly, her gaze softening as she took in my features. "Not just that, but you’re handsome. And those dimples..." A hand fluttered to her chest, fingers brushing the gold necklace she was wearing. "I'm sure you have every woman in the world after you."
I swirled the remnants of my coffee. "Women," I chuckled, "they haven't exactly been my area of expertise." The steam rose from my cup, disappearing into the void above us—much like the years we'd never get back. "Might be the abandonment issues I have," I added, letting the dig at her slip before I realized it.
Her reaction was a soft sigh. She fumbled with a napkin, twisting it between anxious fingers. "Reese," she began, still sounding strange coming from her. "I can tell you this..." she paused, searching for the right words. "I've spent so many years wondering how to get you back. And if you allow me"—her breath hitched—"I will be in your life every day until the last day of mine. In any capacity you allow."
For a moment, I considered the possibility of letting her in. Could I forgive her? Could I trust her? I wasn’t sure, but I knew the feeling of not having her in my life, and having the choice to allow her back in, and how much, had to be better than that.
"Alright," I murmured, giving a slow wary nod. "I guess coffee is a good start then."
