“Modeling?” Dylan asks more than an hour later when we have left the house to close the horses in the barn.
“Cool, huh?”
“I always said you were the prettiest girl in town.”
“You never said that!” I laugh, pushing against him with my shoulder. He bumps into me, and I laugh some more. Slipping backward in time. A smile spreads his lips. This is home.
“I did,” he insists. “Just not to you.” His words echo and dance in my mind.
“Why didn’t you ever ask me out, then?”
He chuckles. “It was complicated. You were complicated.”
“Life is complicated,” I agree.
“Yes, it is.” He lets out a long breath, and there is something new in him, some defeat, some weakness.
“Tell me about you.” We’ve almost reached the barn, and the wind whistles across the flat of the yard and takes my breath.
“Studying business.” He shrugs. I tuck my hand into the hollow of his elbow and walk close, letting him block the wind with his height.
“What are you going to do with that?” I ask.
“Anything I want,” he says, and I hear apathy in his voice again. “I could do sales or start my own company.” He shrugs again, an easy, boneless movement that has the pit of my stomach dropping. In my mind’s eye, I see him several years younger, shoveling out the stalls with those joints that always seemed somewhat unhinged.
“Of course you’ll do anything you want,” I say with confidence. I mean to say that he is capable, but what he hears is judgment—me saying that of course he will do anything he wants because it’s all been given to him.
“I’m working really hard,” he says.
“Oh, I know.” I slide my hand down his forearm and lace my fingers through his. I didn’t mean to hurt him.
“Not everything is handed to me,” he continues, and I see all of those times he had come around and I had judged him for what his life looked like. He had come to the apartment the day I’d really opened my wrist, and I had closed him out, like he wasn’t a person who could handle my garbage.
“I’m really sorry,” I say, and a weight lifts off my shoulders. I hadn’t even known it was there. “I don’t think that, you know. I mean I did at one time, I guess, but I was really messed up and bitter.” I realize there is magic in the gift of an apology—he is feeling hurt, like I don’t value how hard he works, and all that hurt just rolled away with a simple apology. I have to remember that. Is that why my mother never went home? Could she never admit she was wrong? Could she never say she was sorry?
“I know,” he says and squeezes my fingers
“I’m still kinda messed up.”
“You don’t seem messed up.”
I glance up and meet his eyes.
“I am. But I’m getting better. Figuring it out, you know?”
I look down and away from him.
“Good. Me, too.”
I almost laugh but catch myself, squeezing his hand instead. His life has not been easy. There should be a brother blazing the trail here, but he is dead many years since. Dylan has not had a pain-free life.
“I’ve missed you,” I say. We have reached the barn, and he holds the door open for me. I step past him, and he wraps his arms around my waist as the door falls closed behind us, putting us in shadows. I turn in, facing him, and tuck into him. It is the most natural thing in the world to tilt my face and find his lips on mine. It happens without any thought. My head is so full of all the scents of the barn, this familiar place that harkens home for me as much as anything, that there is no room left for thought. I kiss him, my hands on his face, against the stubble of his beard, his hands diving past the arch of my back and resting on my hips. This kiss is different from the night I came to him out of the rain, trying to seduce him. The hunger is still there, the need, but it is more mature, subdued. Has he changed, or is it just me? Maybe I am less desperate and broken? His lips on mine are soft, his breath passing, a whisper, a hint, then touching me again. The air around us is so cold that a shiver passes through my body as our breaths cloud in small puffs and whispered words.
My heart swells until I think it will burst. Mine. Mine. Mine.
His head bows, our foreheads resting together. His lashes are crescents on his cheeks, and a long, shuddering sigh escapes him. “I have missed you, too” he says, low.
What am I in your world? He calms me, in my world; he settles all the chaos in my head and makes things quiet. What do I do in his?
I stretch up again and kiss him, and his hand rises up my body, cupping my face, until I feel I will melt into him, my heart ricocheting off the cage of my ribs. He takes in a deep breath, as if he is breathing me in, and slides his arms around me, resting his chin on the top of my head. I close my eyes and listen—the rapid thumping of his heart beginning to slow, the shifting of the horse down the hall, my own breathing. I feel his breath shudder out of him, and his shoulders drop, his face turning to the side.
“I’m sorry,” he says and steps away.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” I move back toward him, feeling cold now where he had been. His eyes slide across my face in the semi-darkness, and I recognize that guilty movement of his hand through his hair. “What?”
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, the way a horse does, and doesn’t look at me. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m sorry.” There is agony in his voice, a sound like rending metal.
“It’s all right,” I say, chuckling softly. “I shouldn’t have kissed you, either. We aren’t the people we used to be. I get that.” My voice is calm, unfazed, but all the chaos is back, all the turmoil in my heart. I feel heat rising, remembering Trey and his uncomplicated love. I turn and walk away from Dylan, toward the horses.
“Yeah, I guess.” I glance back but can’t see his face, where he still stands in shadow. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Hmm.”
“Are you dating anyone, out there?”
I shrug, turning back to him, but think about Trey. “Yeah. I’m seeing somebody. How about you?” My voice sounds flippant and easy.
He steps out of the shadows and nods.
“Of course you are.” Irritation wells, irrational and jealous. “So what’s her name?”
“Amanda.”
I hate him just a little bit for being so predictable, for being such a guy.
I kick a little extra swish into my hips, annoyed that I am upset. “You’re always dating somebody.” I laugh, just a small, angry chuckle.
Why can’t he ever just wait for me?
“I can’t believe you’re here,” he says from behind me, following me down the hall. “I haven’t even heard from you in two years.”
“I know.” I glance back over my shoulder. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”
“I know. It’s not like we were . . .” I let the sentence fall. The scent of the horses is so much stronger now that I’ve reached the open area of the barn. Heat rolls off of them.
“Dating, you mean?” There is an edge in his voice, and I fight against the urge to face him.
“Yeah. You were never interested in me like that.”
The puff of air behind me isn’t quite a laugh, but there is bitterness.
“What does that mean?” he asks.
I turn to face him, giving him a cold, assessing look. It is a Cici look. I’ve got his number. I know the score.
“What do you want from me?” His voice still has that rending metal quality, but there is frustration behind it, and something else, anger? I’m not sure.
We look at each other for a long minute in the dim light of the barn. There are so many things I have wanted to say to him, but now that there is a chance, I can’t seem to find any words. What did I expect?
The horse nudges against the small of my back, and I turn away from Dylan to face Chessa. She nickers, her nostrils flutter, and she raises her head. She blows hot breath across my face. The fringe of hair around my face quivers. She steps forward and drops her head over my shoulder. All the emotion of the day springs forth, and I let the tears well and fall, silent, dripping from my nose, making small, round drops on the ground. I didn’t come here to fight with Dylan, but there is too much water under the bridge between us, and crossing that bridge is treacherous.
I hear him behind me, opening the bin where the oats and corn are kept, filling the feed buckets. His irritation is as thick as my own, but he gives me time with Chessa. I try to steady myself, not wanting to betray the tears sliding down my face. Why am I crying? Is it because I want him, and he always wants someone else? Is it because I would have betrayed Trey in a heartbeat had Dylan not stopped? Is it because Kelci gets to keep her baby? Is it because Chessa remembers me and still gives the best hugs of my life?
When I hear Chessa’s bucket fill, I slip out from under the warmth of her neck and step back. Dylan is there, and I bump into him. I straighten, not wanting to touch him when he is angry at me. I push my hair back from my face.
He drops the lid on the feed bin and turns to lean against it, staring at me with hard eyes. “Seriously, why are you here?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“Why? I haven’t seen you since your mother died.” He looks away from me, his jaw clenching, releasing. “Why now? Why are you here now?”
“I don’t know. I guess I shouldn’t have come.” I turn, looking toward the door that will take me out of the barn and his life.
“Alison!” Exasperation rings through the air, and Pride, the high-strung Arabian, snorts his displeasure. “You are so frustrating.”
“I’ll go.” I move toward the door, but his hand closes on my forearm and he stops my progress.
“Can’t you just talk to me? It’s been two years. Two years and not a word. Then you show up here, like something out of a movie, and you can’t even tell me the truth.”
“I told you the truth,” I snap.
“Why did you shut me out?” The pressure of his fingers increases on my forearm until it hurts.
“Let me go.” I pull, and he releases my arm, his face contorting.
“You are such a narcissist.” His disdain is thick, his judgment of me feels heavy and unwarranted.
“What does that mean?”
“Look it up. Webster’s will have your picture there. One of your fancy Hollywood pictures.”
Our eyes lock, and our angers burn against each other until I finally look away.
“Why are you so mad at me?” My voice is small, all my own anger waning.
He tilts his head back, releasing the tension in his neck before looking back at me. His eyes are less angry but still guarded.
“I was so in love with you.” He shakes his head.
I laugh, a clear ringing note into the still echo chamber of the barn. “You were never in love with me.”
He holds my eyes, and I see sadness welling in the darkest reaches. “That night, you came to my house, when your mom had thrown you out . . . do you remember that?”
“I remember.” I set my teeth, feeling the muscle of my jaw clenching.
“I still have dreams about that night.” A small, sharp knife cuts against my ribs, seeking my heart. “I wanted to tell you how I felt, but I just . . .”
“But you just didn’t. Instead you went downstairs and reassured them that you weren’t getting involved with me, that I was just so ‘messed up.’ Do you remember?”
He nods, slow, stunned. It apparently had never occurred to him that I would have overheard. “They’re my parents. What did you expect me to say? Tell them we’d just about had sex on the sofa?”
“No, I didn’t expect that.” My smile is sad, dropping down on one side. “But I expected you to say something . . . not just that I was the trashy kid from down the road.”
“I never said that.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, so he can’t see my chin puckering. It's what you meant, I think but what I say is, “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.” I blink back tears, and he reaches out, putting his hands on my arms. I shrug free of him, wanting him to fight for me, wanting him to prove that he cares.
“Yes, it was.” He drops his hands back to his side, lowering his face. He isn’t going to fight for me.
“I guess I shouldn’t have come.” I will him to say he wanted me to come, that he is glad I am here, he doesn’t.
He nods. I want to reach out and draw him back to me, to make him hug me, but his countenance is set and unfamiliar. “Probably not.” It’s not what I expect him to say, it’s not what I want. A tear slides down my cheek, following it’s companions to the dust.
I try to figure out how to pull him back, but I have nothing to offer. All the beautiful pictures can’t make him forget who I am. What good is it to pull him back only to leave? We aren’t going to be together. We were never going to be together. I’m going back to Trey, and Dylan is going back to whatever girl he is currently dating.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I came.” I touch his arm because I can’t go without touching him one last time. I turn, walking down the hall to the door with my shoulders straight and my head high. I half expect him to follow me out, to catch me, but I make it to the truck, and the door stays closed. I get in the truck, taking my time, and the door stays closed. I start the truck, and the door stays closed. I back down the drive, and the door stays closed.
The door is closed.
