Page 9 of When We Were Us
He waits a beat while he eyes me before replying, “So, you’re staying?” He’s asking like he’s just making conversation, but I can tell it's more than that. And he’s still wearing that scowl.
Pushing past him to the bike leaning against the opposite wall of the garage, I can feel his eyes on my back. He moves to the opposite side and grabs the other handlebar.
My mountain bike is still in great shape, albeit dusty, and has been here since I left. Though, I have to admit, I’m more than a bit terrified to ride the three miles into town. I haven’t been on a bike since I was eighteen, and I know my thirty-five-year-old ass is bigger than it used to be. But, seeing as how I have no vehicle, I have little choice but to ride or walk.
I’m stalling. While I can appreciate Timber Forge as an adult, I still have a whole life back in California. I had no plans to stay. So, why had I all but told him I was?
Dodging the question that I don’t even know the answer to, I hit him with one of my own: “Do you know what happened to the Chevy?”
He answers without looking at me. “Vern sold it a few years back.”
He crouches down and fiddles with the chain lining things up.
“He never mentioned it.”
“Don’t you have some big, fancy job in the city you have to get back to?” Yanking the tire from my hand and rolling it into place, he keeps his eyes on his work.
And there it is. Barely contained disdain simmering just beneath the surface after all these years.
I drop my eyes and press my lips together. I hate that I’m so emotional, and that his words hit me so hard. I hate that all I seem to do lately is cry. This most definitely isn't the caring, humble Hank from my youth. This is anger and irritation, and it is directed entirely at me. Because of the past. Because I hurt him and us.
And without knowing it, he is digging around in a very fresh wound. It’s not his fault, but I will die before I try to explain my situation to him right now. He has no idea that a big, Tracy-shaped light has been shone on it all, and that I can finally see that my relationship has been missing something for a while now. Probably from the very beginning. It’s not even that I am so heartbroken over Derek; it's that I was so completely blind to it all. I don't think I have ever felt so lonely in my life than I do right now.
“I’m taking some time off,” I say, fighting to keep the tears back.
He doesn’t even look at me, just huffs a sound out through his nose. After a couple of seconds in which I don’t think he’ll respond, he says, “Why come here?”
I stare at him. How can he even ask that question? Whywouldn’tI be here?
Almost as if he’s read my thoughts, he says, “You don’t have to be back here to sell this place, and you obviously hate Timber Forge.” He works a bolt into place with his fingers. “So, why come back?”
I don’t hate Timber Forge, but truthfully, Idofeel a strong pull back here. It was definitely unexpected, but when I woke up in my childhood bedroom this morning, I’d suddenly felt like Iwas truly home for the first time in years. Like I could breathe. Like I didn’t know what I was missing until I was here again, under the familiar roof of my childhood home, and surrounded by years’ worth of memories. It could just be nostalgia, but whatever it was, it felt safe and right.
“I don’t hate it. It's just always been so…backwater,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. My posture isn’t a defensive one, and I hadn’t meant it as an insult, but he takes it as one.
“When did you become such a snob?”
“I didn’t mean anything bad by it. I just meant that nothing ever happens in this town. It’s…” I trail off, not sure how to describe what I mean.
“Not what you want. Like I could forget.” He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it.
I had anticipated the possibility of this being awkward. Maybe some residual saltiness. But this—his irritation—is next level. I shake my head and turn to go. “As much fun as this is, I think I’ll leave now.”
“Yeah, you always were good at that,” he bites out. Corded muscles bunched with tension; he doesn’t look at me.
“You’re an ass.”
“I’m aware.”
“What is your problem?”
He looks up at me, cocks a dark eyebrow, and makes that noise again. The one that could be a laugh but isn’t.
I blow out my own frustrated breath and roll my eyes. Irritation begins to simmer in my veins.
“Can we not do this?”
The second the words are out, I realize this isn’t the first time I’ve spoken those exact words to this man. It wasn’t intentional, but I can see the way the words hit him like I’ve just punched him in the gut. I immediately wish I could unsay them.
