Guilt is a wicked wound to the heart.
I’m a disgrace of a friend.
When I slide into my truck, I recollect my last times with Chris. I don’t remember him acting differently. I slam my fist against the steering wheel, and it blares into the night.
Why didn’t he come to me?
Confront us?
I don’t understand.
He never gave us the opportunity to explain ourselves.
I would’ve welcomed any punishment for lying—an ass whipping, losing our friendship, anything if it meant he’d still be here.
After I dropped off Amelia at her townhome earlier, it took me an hour to gain the guts to read the letter. I read it once. Then twice. Then three times.
Then, I dashed to my closet and found the box I’d forgotten about.
Hell, I didn’t think I’d even put the box up there. My mom must’ve done it when she helped me move in.
The box had Times with Amelia and Friends written across it in my sloppy handwriting. Who knew why I put Amelia’s name on there instead of someone else’s or just Friends? I opened it to find pictures—some of them in good shape, some of them faded, and some ripped into pieces. The only torn pictures were ones of Amelia and me.
I choked out a groan and picked up a sliver of the picture we took the night we lost our virginities. It was a simple picture of us watching TV, and I had my mom go to Walgreens to print off physical copies along with other photos. And my lovesick teenage dumbass self scribbled on the back of it, The night we lost our virginities. Best night of my life.
I also saved stupid messages and notes we’d left on each other’s beds, growing up. All of those were ripped to shreds. He destroyed every trace of Amelia and me.
“Fuck,” I screamed, throwing the box across the room, its contents scattering everywhere.
I drive to my place but instead of going into the apartment, I walk into Down Home Pub. I break through the crowd, finding a deserted stool, and slump onto it like a drunk on the brink of being cut off.
“I slept with her,” I say as soon as my dad approaches me, tossing a bar rag over his shoulder. “I slept with Amelia.” I drop my forehead against the sticky bar.
My father sighs. “I know.”
I lift my head. “How?”
“Her car was here all the time.” He starts counting the obvious reasons off on his fingers. “You hurried her into your apartment countless times.” He shakes his head. “It’s no wonder you were always caught sneaking out as a kid.” Grabbing the water gun, he fills a glass and slides it to me. “Kyle told me about Mick and Sandra showing up at the brewery.”
I glare at the water and then at him. “This conversation warrants a substance stronger than water, don’t you think?”
“Alcohol and heartache don’t mix well, son.” He signals to Frankie when a customer attempts to wave him over.
“As someone who has united them aplenty, I rebuke that statement.” I zero in on the top-shelf liquor. “Give me the strongest you have.”
“That won’t fix the problem.”
“It’ll erase the problem.”
“Temporarily, and then tomorrow, you’ll wake up with the same mess while also dealing with a hangover.” His eyes are stern. “Fix it.”
I slap my hand to my chest. “What do you mean, fix it? I didn’t do anything.”
“Not only are you my kid, but I’ve also bartended half my life. I read people well.”
“Chris left me a letter.”
“What’d it say?”
“That he knew Amelia and I had sex—”
My father draws in a hiss between his teeth. “Jesus Christ, Jax—”
I hold up my hands, my palms facing him. “It was before they were together. We never touched when they started dating.”
A frown creases his forehead. “But you never told him?”
“What was the point?” I run my finger along the rim of my water glass. “All it would have done was hurt him. Amelia and I were sixteen, kids who wanted to lose their virginities. We didn’t want it to be a big deal.”
“And now, you and Amelia have … rekindled?”
“Rekindled?” I shake my head. “Have you been watching Hallmark with Grandma again?”
He shrugs. “It’s the only channel she’ll watch.”
I rub my chin. “I don’t know what to do.”
The longer my father listens, the more concern floods his face. “Do you have feelings for Amelia, or is it just physical?”
I stare at him sullenly. “I’m in love with her.”
“Then, you have a tough decision to make.”
I drive back to Amelia’s.
The windshield wipers squeak as I stare up at her townhome to find all the lights are out. This time, I stay in my car before texting her.
Me: I’m outside.
My text vibrates in my hand at her reply.
Amelia: I’m not home.
Me: Where are you?
Amelia: My parents’.
Me: I’m coming over.
Amelia: I don’t think that’s a good idea.
Me: It’s the only idea I have left.
Amelia’s parents live only a few miles from her, and I lower my speed as I turn into their private drive. Amelia is standing on the porch of their two-story brick home. The dim light shining from the front door sconce doesn’t show much more than her silhouette, but I’d know that body from anywhere.
I kill my headlights, grab a hoodie from the backseat, and pull it over my head. With the hood up, I step out of the car, jog forward, and join her on the porch, keeping us at a distance.
“Hey,” she whispers.
Her cheeks are blotchy, and her face is red. Her eyes are probably just as red and full of pain, but I can’t break myself to look into them.
“Hi.” I lower my hood as the wind whips around us.
She slowly releases a stressed breath. “Why are you here, Jax?”
That’s a good question.
And I don’t exactly know how to narrow all my reasons down.
“Did you read Chris’s letter?” I finally ask.
She crosses her arms. “I did.”
“Then, you understand why.”
“Why what? You need to be clearer.”
“Why you and I can’t see each other anymore.” The words burn my throat as they exit my mouth. “Why this has to end.”
“What was it all for then?” Her voice cracks. “Why string me along?”
I slam my eyes shut. “I didn’t string you along.”
“Bullshit,” she hiss. “You’re the one who kept coming around.” She erases the distance between us and pokes her finger into my chest. “The one showing up on my doorstep, asking”—she mocks my voice—“Amelia, where are you sleeping tonight? Oh, your laundry room? Come to my bed then.”
Her finger stabs at me again, and I accept any anger she wants to throw at me.
The anger in her voice morphs into sadness. “Why, Jax?! Why would you do that to me … after everything I’d already been through?”
She’s right.
I wasn’t fair to her.
I did the wrong thing, and now, we’re both paying for it.
“I …” My words falter until I can’t hold myself back any longer. “Because I fucking love you!” Unable to stop myself, I reach out and skate my fingers along the soft skin of her cheek. “I love you, Amelia.” I scoot closer to her, and our mouths nearly touch, but neither of us crosses that line. “I know it’s wrong, a disgrace to my friend, and I’m sorry. I messed up, and we’re both paying for it now.”
Tears slip down Amelia’s cheeks, stopping at the blockade of my hand on her face. “You don’t have to end things. We can figure this out.”
I stare at her and know what I’m about to say will break us both. “I have to do this. I’m so sorry, Amelia—I really am—but I owe it to Chris. I regret not keeping you when I had the chance. But knowing now that he knew about us … the two people in the world who meant more to him than anything …” I hold back my own unshed tears. “God, Amelia. Can you imagine how he felt when he opened that box? And on the day of his brother’s funeral. I’m the worst fucking friend. I killed him. I fucking killed him!”
I blow out a breath, completely losing it. “I could never betray him all over again. I love you, and I know that I will always love you, but I can’t do this.” And just to drive the point home, I stare into her beautiful, heartbroken eyes. “I won’t do it.”
Without saying anything more, I turn and walk away from the only woman I’ve ever loved.