“I’m so sorry.”
It’s noteworthy how surprised I am to hear those words from Alec. We’re sitting in his car in the back of my apartment parking lot, and he’s holding my hand in a way that feels much more sincere than the cloying affection he shovels out at church.
Still, I struggle to contain my anger. My emotions have been all over the board tonight.
When I arrived at the party, I was looking forward to a night off from relationship issues. Then Noah and Jamie showed up together, and I actually felt jealous. Of nothing. Or something. Either way, I have no right.
That dissolved when he joked with me—Noah! Joking!—about the pizza and brownies, only to be replaced with shock when Alec grabbed me.
I’m ashamed to say, I was not happy to see him.
Or his net.
As usual, he bulldozed my objections and guilted me into playing when I should have been—wanted to be—with the group.
He did go out of his way to spend time with me. How could I not humor him?
If only he had texted to let me know he was coming, I would have had time to prepare myself—and my objections—before he arrived. Maybe then I would have been able to withstand the force of his personality.
I was furious when the match ended—coerced into neglecting my duties, blamed for nearly every point we lost, condescendingly “instructed” throughout—and when I’d finally worked most of the frustration out on the poor tables, I saw Jamie hugging Noah in the parking lot.
I was still convincing myself I didn’t care, that I was happy for them, when Alec accosted me again, wrapping me up from behind and laying a kiss on my neck.
Sometimes I feel like I’m dating a well-meaning tornado. I wouldn’t mind if he occasionally opened with “Hey” instead of trying to sweep me off my feet. He was pretty shocked when I didn’t just melt into his arms after that.
But apologizing? Completely unprecedented.
“It was selfish of me to give you a hard time about not getting the day off, and I wanted to make it up to you tonight.” He watches someone get into their car a few slots away from us. “I thought volleyball would be fun—it was fun! You’re a good partner!” He looks at our hands with a sad smile. “But I let myself get too into the game.”
“It’s okay,” I say.
“You’re still irritated.”
I’m working on something to say that isn’t cutting. It’s difficult.
He sighs heavily and stares out his side window, his free hand wringing the steering wheel.
Several snide remarks are stewing on the tip of my tongue when he turns back. They die of shame when they see the emotion in his eyes. I may have managed not to lash out, but I’ve hurt him with my silence.
Idiot.
“Grace,” he says, holding tighter to my hand. “I screwed up.”
I take a deep breath and look at things from his side. He made a big effort to be here with me tonight, and I’m sure it didn’t feel great that I wasn’t thrilled with his surprise. “It’s okay.” I mean it this time, but he shakes his head.
“I know I have a lot to work on.” He blinks a few times, clears his throat. “I don’t want to mess this up. You’re . . . different from other girls I’ve dated. This will sound cocky—I don’t mean it that way—but I never really had to work for a girlfriend. The thing is, it was always so shallow. I feel like this”—he lifts our entwined hands—“we—could be different.”
Different? Is he saying what I think he is?
“Look, this trip Chris is planning—I want to come with you. I’ll get Monday off, and we can have two whole days together. What do you think?”
I’m processing, debating, when he lets go of my hand, cupping my chin gently to turn my face to his.
“Please, Grace. Give me another chance?”
Noah hugging Jamie replays in my head, and I realize that—whatever Ivy’s questions made me think—I need to give Alec another shot. I’ve been holding back, daydreaming about something that is never going to happen with Noah. All we’re ever going to be is friends.
I want more than that.
And so does Alec.