Page 91 of Versions Of Us

He breathes a heavy sigh. “I thought about you every day. When I couldn’t see the stars, I thought of you then, too.”

“Henley, you aren’t making any sense.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a half-laugh. “Nothing makes sense anymore.”

His eyes close, his head rolling to the side. If he passes out on this bench, he’ll have to stay here. There’s no way I could carry him back to the loft.

“You need water,” I say to him. Then I reach into the small bag I’m carrying and pull out the still almost full bottle of water Chase had purchased for me at the carnival.

He doesn’t respond when I tell him to drink it. He’s well on his way to passed out cold. I unscrew the cap off the bottle and pour a stream of water over his face.

His body shoots upright into a sitting position and he almost topples from the bench. “What the hell?”

“Well, you wouldn’t drink it.” I stand in front of him, my arms folded across my chest.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

There’s a hint of a smile on his lips. His words are still slurred but I don’t think we’re in danger of him passing out again any time soon. He lifts the hem of his shirt up to wipe the water from his face and I try to pretend that his abs are doing absolutely nothing for me.

I sigh and then flop down on the bench next to him. I can’t help but think about the very different experience I had with him on this bench a little more than six months ago.

“Contrary to what you may think, it’s not my only life’s mission to get revenge on you,” I tell him.

“Why not? I hurt you. I deserve it.”

“Something tells me you’re already in enough pain.” I don’t feel right taking advantage of his drunken state, but I feel like this is my one opportunity to get some information out of him. “How did you get that scar?”

“What? This one?” He points a thumb over his shoulder to where I’d seen that silvery pink, jagged line running from one side to the other. “Got shanked with a toothbrush.”

I sigh, my eyes rolling back in my head. “I should have known I wouldn’t get a serious answer from you while you’re this drunk.”

He shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head, the trace of a smile disappearing.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”

“I don’t want you to be disappointed in me.” He doesn’t look at me when he speaks.

“You think I would be?”

“You already are.” He leans forward and puts his head in his hands. “I wish I could be more for you, Kristen. But I’ll never be enough.” He straightens himself and then turns to me, his eyes a turbulent ocean of blue. “I can’t take any of it back.”

A loud boom fills the air, and a series of coloured sparks rips through the sky. Midnight fireworks. The sound sends Henley cowering behind his fingers again, his head slumped toward the ground. It’s not until he feels the weight of my hand on his shoulder that he looks up.

“You’re shaking,” I whisper.

“I don’t do well with loud noises. In case that isn’t obvious,” he mutters.

I don’t need to tell him I’ve noticed. He reacted the same way that night in the Haven when the car tyres screeched on the street outside.

“Pretty ironic for a drummer,” I joke.

He laughs and it’s a real laugh. For a second, I see the old Henley, relaxed and fun. Then a shadow falls over his face and he’s replaced with this sullen version.

“What happened tonight? On stage,” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

He shakes his head. “It was nothing. I thought I saw something. The stage lights were in my eyes.”

I nod, although I don’t believe him. I know that this is the only explanation I’m going to get right now. I’ve known Henley long enough to know when to push and when to let things go and if I push right now, he’s going to lose his patience with me. And regardless of how hurt I am by the way he’s treated me, I don’t want to leave him out here by the river all alone.

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