The moment is perfect. It’s been years since I’ve felt this at ease or right with the world. When he arrives, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, having come on his motorcycle, I jump into his arms. We start at the front door, leaving a trail of clothes to the bedroom. Whatever awkwardness was between us is gone. Hopefully forgotten.
“I’m famished. Want to order delivery? We should get something now before it gets too late.” He rolls toward me smiling, picks up a curl, and brushes it against my shoulder.
“Why do you do that?” I ask. Unfortunately, the move reminds me of Jake and I’m not interested in any reminders.
“What? Play with your hair?” He continues when I nod. “Your hair’s been long since I can remember. Though it’s either whipping me in the face or stuck to your face. I guess I like to touch it.”
I raise up and press a light kiss to his lips. History. We have history. It warms me from within.
“Delivery sounds great. How about Thai food?” I roll toward the night table where I keep my iPad and reach to open the drawer. Hank grabs my arm before I realize what I’ve done.
“What’s this on your arm?” His voice is quiet.
I look at the back of my arm and the fingerprint bruises are clear. Hank moves my pillow to look at my other arm, finding the other set of bruises. I roll back toward him, iPad forgotten.
“It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing. Who grabbed you and why?”
He sets his jaw, his lips thin creases, his brow narrow. This is not a conversation he can be distracted from. I consider making something up, but Hank knows me too well and can sniff out a lie in an instant. I go with honesty.
“Remember the guy who was here the day you showed up, said he was my boyfriend?” I pull the sheet up, covering my chest, and tuck it under my arms before I continue. “It turns out he was interested in me so he could get to Josie’s fiancé Brinn. When I told him I wasn’t going to see him anymore and he wasn’t coming to the wedding with me, he got upset.”
Hank takes one arm and lifts it up to look at the bruises and places his hand over the imprints. His hand assumes Jake’s position.
“He grabbed your arms and what else?” He gently puts my arm down and moves to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Nothing else. Said some hateful things and that’s it.” I reach for him but he gets up and pulls on his jeans.
“Holy shit, Paisley.” He jerks on his shirt and stands, clenching and unclenching his fist. “What is wrong with you?”
“Me?”
He gestures to my arms.
“I don’t understand? I’m not still going out with him.”
“Oh yeah? After how many dates did you decide not to see him again? Because I can pretty much guaran-damn-tee he gave you warning signs on date number one and you still went out with him again. Probably two or three more times. To think he was inside your place while I stood outside and I left you alone with him. And you knew he was capable of this—”
“I didn’t know.” It’s a halfhearted argument. He’s right. I ignored my instinct throughout the whole ordeal. I follow him out of bed, throwing on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.
“Bullshit. You knew. Deep down, you knew.” He stops to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if it helps with regaining composure. “I never imagined your self-esteem was this low, Paisley.”
“There is nothing wrong with my self-esteem,” I shout, more embarrassed, less indignant.
“Is that so?” He stares at me and it’s the first time he’s looked at me with pity.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he says matter-of-factly, shaking his head.
I step back and sink onto my bed. “I knew doing this would ruin everything. I knew it.” It takes everything I have not to say I told you so, not to cry.
He shakes his head, grabs his backpack, and starts throwing his stuff into it. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“I don’t understand....”
He rubs his hand across his brow and shakes his head. “I’ve known you my entire life, and I’m pretty sure I’ve loved you just as long. Remember when you punched Michael Walters in the nose for calling Sarah Grace a bitch, you were ten years old maybe? I watched you ball up your fist and slug him. Watching you do that, I knew for sure. Do you remember?”
I nod. “Sure, but what—”
“Hear me out. You’ve always been sassy and courageous. So sure of yourself and determined. You’re not that person anymore. This person now, I’m not sure I like. Yeah, when we’re together I see glimpses of the girl I fell for as a boy and it gives me hope she’s still in there. But this wishy-washy person, who can’t make a decision, can’t...won’t...know her own mind, infuriates me.”
“Apparently I don’t infuriate you enough because you still slept with me every chance you got,” I say.
He stops and looks at me and shakes his head, “I’ve waited a lifetime for you, and yeah, I slept with you whenever I could. Because I want to be with you. Because I thought if we slept together, you would see me as someone other than Gigi’s brother or your friend. I thought you’d see how great things are when we’re together and want it too.” He looks away.
“Hank, I’m still trying to find my way since my divorce.”
“Bullshit.” He points at me. “You can use your divorce as an excuse for only so long. You know, it amazes me. You can marry the wrong person, go through what he put you through, and come out the other side weaker than when you went in.”
It’s a slap on the face. “You know nothing about being divorced. Nothing,” I scream. “You know nothing about me.” Tears run down my face.
He stops and looks at me; his pack falls to the ground. “You’re right. I don’t know you, or should I say this version of you, at all. The girl I know is lost. I guess you have been for some time. Maybe it started when your dad died. Maybe not. I guess it doesn’t matter because the point is you’ve lost a part of you. The best part of you. The girl I know would’ve never let some jackass grab her. She would’ve never let it go too far. Not after everything she’d been through, but then the girl I know would have never let her sister punch her cheating ex-husband in the face either. She’d have done it herself.”
The disappointment that crosses his face guts me. I know he doesn’t see the person I think I am.
“I’ve always been there for you, Paisley. Ready to bail you out, ready to be your hero, but I won’t be there anymore. I can’t do this anymore.”
“I never asked you to be my hero.” My temper boils.
“No, you didn’t. But you sure came running every time you needed one.”
“Not true.” I point my finger at him.
“‘Hank, I have a flat. Hank, I don’t want to go to this party alone,’” he mimics. “‘Hank, Austin dumped me before prom and I don’t have a date. Hank, my friend’s husband is an asshole, so aren’t all men? Hank, come to my friend’s wedding so I won’t be alone.’”
“You asshole.” I grab some of his stuff and throw it at him, tears blurring my vision. “I thought you were my friend and I asked you to come to this wedding because I wanted your company not because I don’t want to be alone.”
“Right. Good old Hank the friend. Remember my senior year when we were both single at the same time?” He doesn’t wait for a response.
“We hung out and walked the lake, ate ice cream, and had a good time. You asked me why I broke up with what’s her face and I told you some stupid line. The truth is I broke up with her because you were suddenly single and I was leaving for the Academy in the fall. I thought maybe we could start something, maybe you’d finally see me as something other than a friend. But you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not an asshole, I’m a chump.”
My knees are shaking as my mind races. I’m trying to process what he’s saying but can’t seem to focus. I only see the anger and disappointment etched on his face. His words flash through my mind, bring snapshots of our past, my past. He’s walking around my apartment, making sure he has everything. When he does a complete lap, he turns to me.
“I don’t want to be your friend anymore. Everything I did for you I did because I love you. Correction. I love the girl you used to be. I want to be with her more than anything in the world. When I found out you were getting divorced, I couldn’t get back to the states fast enough. Hell, I even had orders to Norfolk, Virginia and changed them to be closer to you. I just wanted a shot to see if we could make something of it. Something good, true, and lasting. But this girl”—he points to me—“she’s a coward, and I don’t have the stomach for cowards, nor the time. I’m all done.” He swings his bag over his shoulder, grabs his helmet, and walks out.
How I manage to walk on such wobbly legs I’ll never know. I make my way to the window, watch him get on his motorcycle, and ride away, never once looking back. It’s not until the night gives way to morning that I turn away and go back inside.