The Truths We Told

by Blair, E. K.

  As the hour passes, storm clouds roll in from the south, which have the waves ramping up. I decide to call it a day, and as I start packing up my gear, a couple of cars pull into the lot. It isn’t surprising that people are showing up. The promise of a storm always brings out the surfers, so it’s good that I got my time in when I did.

  After slipping out of my rash guard, I towel off, throw on an old T-shirt over my bikini, and head toward my car. As I’m loading my board, a rumble catches my attention, and when I look over my shoulder, I see a Jeep turning into the lot.

  I toss my backpack through the opened hatchback window before getting in. The Jeep pulls around and parks one spot away on my left. When I glance over, my stomach coils when I see Trent in the driver’s seat.

  Shit.

  I shove the key into the ignition and turn it, but my engine only gives a pitiful groan.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me?” I mutter as I crank it again to the same result, and I know my car battery is dead.

  Trent gets out of the Jeep and approaches my door.

  This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid.

  With my heart thumping, I take a rough swallow and slide down my window.

  “Car won’t start?”

  Avoiding eye contact because I’m too cowardly to face him head-on, I respond with, “Battery is dead.”

  Thunder rumbles from overhead.

  Without invitation, he opens my door and leans in across me to look at the gages. The back of his shoulder touches my chest, his over-grown hair brushes along my arm, and I swear my heart just lurched into my throat. It’s been a month since I saw him, since we last spoke, since I threw him out of my condo. There has been so much strain between us, and I hate myself for all the damage I’ve done.

  He turns the key, and nothing sounds this time. “It isn’t the battery.” When he draws back, putting space between us, he says, “You’re out of gas.”

  Looking down at the fuel dial, I cringe. I didn’t even notice that I was running low.

  “Come on. There’s a station down the street.”

  I cannot believe I’m stuck in this situation.

  As he walks back to his Jeep, I reach behind my shoulder and pull my board over the front seats so I can close the rear window before locking my car. Raindrops are just beginning to fall as I slip into his passenger seat, but he doesn’t move to kick it into reverse.

  “Are we going?” I ask as his keys dangle from the ignition.

  Leaning back against his seat, he stares at me, and I’m stuck staring at him. The pelting of the rain against the roof grows to an uncomfortable level that borders on torture.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Wondering when we’re going to cut all this bullshit between us.”

  My head falls.

  “I’m serious, Kate. I’m not taking you anywhere until we talk this out.”

  His voice holds an undeniable sincerity that touches upon a tender spot inside. There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t know how. Trent and I have always had an unexplainable tension within our friendship, something intangible but readily present, yet there’s a closeness that’s been there from the very beginning. Nothing between us has ever been simple, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that the very tension that parts us also melds us.

  “I’m sorry.” It’s as good of a place to start as any. After having time to calm down after our fight, I’ve been carrying around guilt for blaming him for Caleb’s actions. It wasn’t fair of me to put that on him. “I was out of line to accuse you of—”

  “You were right,” he interrupts, his eyes dropping as he does.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “I keep looking back, and I knew . . . I knew something was off with that guy, and when I saw him put his hands on you the first time . . .”

  “Trent,” I say, needing him to stop because I’m not ready to have this conversation. I doubt I’ll ever be ready.

  “I should have tried harder.” His voice cracks, and he quickly turns away from me, looking out of his side window. “I could have done so much more.”

  The heaviness of his conscience fills the air around us, and I hate that he feels like any of this should weigh on his shoulders.

  “I sat back and allowed that fucker to put you through hell because I was afraid that, if I came down too hard on you, you’d run. But you ran anyway.”

  My lids fall shut against the pain my actions have caused. I was foolish to believe that it only existed between Caleb and me, and I have been so blind that I haven’t been able to see what it’s done to Trent too. And if it’s done this to Trent, what has it done to Ady and everyone else?

  “This isn’t your fault.”

  Slowly, he turns back to me with eyes glazed in burden, and it pierces through a pain so complex that I can’t even begin to break it down into digestible pieces.

  “I wasn’t thinking straight,” he reveals. “I had no idea how bad it was, and you’re right, I ignored all your warnings and I made it worse.”

  “You didn’t. I never should’ve blamed you for any of that,” I tell him. “I’m the only one who needs to apologize. All the lies—” The words get stuck, choking me up, but I manage to force the rest of them out. “I could see how mad I was making you with every lie I told, and I’m so sorry.”

  “You think I’m angry over the lies?” he questions as if the idea is absurd. “I forgave all your lies the moment I knew what he was doing to you.” He shifts to face me straight on before adding fervently, “I was never mad at you, Kate. Never.”

  I take an agonizing swallow and hang my head, lost in a labyrinth of confusion and regret.

  He then takes my hand in his, and with worry etched across his face, he asks, “You don’t still talk to him, do you?”

  I shake my head, and I can hear his sigh of relief. A part of me hates that everyone around me feels this way when I’m still so heartbroken—even after all this time. Even when I know I never should have been at all.

  “There’s so much I want to ask you—”

  “Don’t,” I tell him.

  “Have you talked to anyone about this?”

  Again, I shake my head. “I can’t.”

  He leans into me, bracing his elbow on the center console that separates us. There’s a lot I want to ask him too. I want to know how he’s been and how his mom is doing. I miss all the fun we used to have, and I’m scared we’ll never get that back.

  Running his thumb over my knuckles, he questions, “Have I fucked this up?”

  My fingers tighten slightly around his hand, and I give him my honesty when I say, “No, but I’m worried that I have.”

  He slips his other hand behind my neck and pulls me closer to him. Resting my forehead against his shoulder, I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from crying because I feel so undeserving of his compassion. He should be mad at me, blame me, be appalled by me—by the deceitful woman I became when I was with Caleb. More than anything, he should be disappointed in me.

  “You haven’t,” he assures.

  “I’m so sorry.” When I pull back and look at him, he shakes his head.

  “You did nothing wrong. I’m the one who fucked up.” His brows furrow, and I can see the regret he holds festering through his mismatched eyes.

  “There’s a lot I did wrong and a lot that I need to apologize for,” I admit. “It’s really hard for me though.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s humiliating.”

  “Look,” he says as he tucks back a lock of my wet hair that’s fallen out my hair tie. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but I don’t want you to feel like you need to apologize to me, because you don’t.”

  I appreciate him saying that, and if I could just move on and go back to how things used to be without having it constantly hanging over my head, I would appreciate it even more.

  And as the storm rages on, pouring down so hard it obstructs everything
around us, he folds his arms around me in a consoling hug I’m unworthy of, but I don’t dare tell him that. He would dismiss the thought the moment I put it out there. So, I hold on to the hope that this is our turning point, and that mending this fracture between us will somehow help me untangle the knots of this nightmare. Because, no matter how much destruction I caused, I can still clearly see the parts of him I love—mostly his veiled sincerity. The gentle moments of purity . . . those are the parts I’ve missed the most.

  KATE

  “I swear, those lectures are going to be the death of me,” Ady complains as we walk out of class.

  “Tell me about it. The guy talks like a constipated robot.”

  “Thank God spring break is coming up,” she says. “By the way, do you have any plans?”

  “Nothing exciting; just going home for the week to lie low. You?”

  “Micah and I were thinking about doing the same back in Tampa,” she says as we walk across the lawn.

  “Yeah, Trent mentioned possibly going back home too.”

  “So, how is everything between the two of you?”

  “Good. We’ve hung out a couple of times since our talk at the beach.” My phone vibrates from my backpack, and I pull it out to see Trent’s name. “Speaking of the devil,” I say before answering, “Hey.”

  “What’s up? Where you at?”

  “On campus. Just got out of class, why?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “Give me a sec,” I respond and then turn to Ady. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  As we part ways, I head toward my next class and lift the phone back to my ear. “Sorry about that. So, what did you want to talk about?”

  “A party.”

  “Trent.” I sigh, not liking where this is going.

  “Just hear me out before you turn me down,” he says. “It’s Brody’s birthday.”

  I have yet to talk to Brody, and the longer I put it off, the harder it is for me to gear up to make that call. Still, it doesn’t feel right that I’ve mended my relationships with both Ady and Trent, but not with him. So, to know that it’s his birthday sends a wave of guilt through me.

  “He’s having a party tonight to celebrate,” he adds.

  “What kind of a party?”

  “The kind he always throws.”

  Dragging my feet, I hesitate with a heavy, “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, it’s his birthday, and I kind of already promised that I would bring you.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because he’s your friend,” he states. “Stop harshing my mellow and say you’ll come.”

  When I reach the building of my next class, I take a seat on the bench out front and try to calm the anxiety bubbling inside me.

  “I’m not trying to be a buzz kill; I just haven’t been out in a really long time,” I tell him, hoping he understands the gravity of what he’s asking me to do. The last party I went to ended in utter mayhem. It’s been almost a year and a half since that night and, in many ways, I still haven’t recovered from the devastation of it all.

  “It’s Brody.”

  “I know.”

  “He misses you,” he adds, unintentionally throwing me more guilt. “Just make an appearance.”

  Truth is, I miss Brody too, and my not going would only add another nail into the coffin that holds our friendship, so I go against my gut and give in. “Okay, I’ll go. But I’m not staying all night.”

  “I’m finally getting you off your log cutter!”

  “Why do you have to be so gross?” I complain as I stand from the bench and make my way into the classroom.

  “You know you love it. See you at Brody’s!”

  As the day passes, I find myself wrestling over tonight. In a way, I’m motivated to put another fear to rest, but fears are a huge battle for a girl like me. Cowering is easy and safe—I should know, I’ve been doing it for quite some time now. There’s no doubt that, if I bail, Trent will be disappointed in me. Hell, I’ll be disappointed in myself.

  If anything, I need to show Brody that our friendship is worthy of me putting my issues aside for him. He was the first friend I made when I moved here my freshman year, and he deserves better than what I’ve been giving him, which is nothing. I turned my back on him . . . on everyone for that matter, and it wasn’t right.

  The sun set a while ago, and Trent just texted me to let me know that he’s already at the party, so I message him back to let him know I’m on my way.

  Despite all my unease, I head down to my car and make the drive to Brody’s house, blasting music in an effort to drown out the thoughts that try to creep in. When I pull onto his street and see all the cars lining the curb, my anxiety kicks into full gear. It isn’t like I didn’t know there would be a ton of people here, but to see it, to actually be doing this, has me in a bit of a tailspin.

  I’m able to find a spot that isn’t too far out of the way, and as I walk along the sidewalk, I start getting flashbacks of the last party. Visions from that night filter in, and the closer I get to the house, the more my courage wanes. Thumping music echoes, and when I’m only a few houses down, I chicken out. The knots in my stomach twist too tightly. Turning on my heel, I start heading back to my car, feeling like a complete failure.

  “Kate,” Trent calls from behind me, and when I look over my shoulder, I see him jogging my way.

  The wimp in me screams to run, but I’m not bold enough to do that. Instead, I stop in my tracks and stand with my head hanging while Trent catches up to me.

  “Where are you going?”

  In my defeat, all I give him is a shrug.

  “You’re not bailing, are you?”

  I lift my arms and then drop them lifelessly.

  “Come here,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me over to the front stoop of the random house we’re in front of. We sit on the steps before he says, “Talk to me.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  Leaning forward, he clasps his hands together. “Why are you trying to leave?”

  “Because . . .”

  “Because why?”

  Releasing an uncomfortable sigh, I admit, “Because I’m scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of who’ll be there,” I tell him as I nervously fiddle with the delicate bracelet around my wrist. “It’s embarrassing.”

  He shakes his head, refuting my words. “You have no reason to be. I doubt they even remember that night.”

  I give him a side glare. “You’re full of shit.”

  Chuckling under his breath, he defends, “I’m not. I promise you. Trust me, every few days, there’s new gossip or something else that catches everyone’s attention. What happened that night was so long ago.”

  “It doesn’t feel that long ago.”

  “But that’s in your head, not theirs,” he says. “And it isn’t like you have to walk in alone; you have me.”

  I consider what he’s telling me. The thing is that I’ve been trapped inside my head for so long that I’ve convinced myself that my thoughts mirror everyone else’s. That if that night is still so vivid in my memory, then it’s vivid in everyone else’s too.

  “Plus,” he adds, “Brody will have my dick if he found out I let you bail.”

  He then holds out his hand, and despite all the reluctance in me, I go ahead and take it before he stands and pulls me up.

  “You’re worrying over nothing.” He tries to assure me, but I find myself gripping his hand a little tighter the closer we get.

  There’re a few people standing outside the house, and when we get inside, the music is loud and the place is packed. Nervous about catching eyes, I keep my chin tucked down

  “Come on,” Trent hollers over all the noise.

  I bump into people with every step I take, but my hand never leaves Trent’s until we enter the kitchen. Looking up, I spot Brody on the opposite side of the islan
d.

  “Holy shit!” he exclaims loudly, holding his hands up in worship. “I thought Trent was talking out of his ass when he said you were coming.”

  His excitement to see me quells my nerves, and I smile as I walk over to his out-stretched arms.

  “Hey, Brody.”

  He pulls me into a bear hug, whispering in my ear for no one else to hear, “Damn, girl, I’ve missed you.”

  So many words hit my tongue, but I’m too overwhelmed that I don’t know which to choose, so when he draws back, I simply smile up at him.

  “You just made my whole fucking night.”

  “Well, I couldn’t miss your birthday,” I tell him as Trent hands me a plastic cup.

  The two of them hold out their drinks, and when I raise mine, we toast the night. My intent is to take a sip, but I wind up gulping the vodka down because, damn, all this stress I’ve been dealing with today has taken its toll on me and I’m ready to take the edge off.

  “Yeah,” Trent encourages before grabbing the bottle to give me a refill.

  The three of us hang out for a while, and Brody never once asks me where I’ve been or how I’ve been doing. And to my greatest relief, he also never mentions Caleb or anything that went down that night.

  It feels like old times, and I start to think that maybe Trent was right, that I have built things up too high in my head. Finishing my second cup, I’m skirting the line between tipsy and drunk, and after dancing with Brody, I start working on my third.

  Trent slides in close from behind as I dance by myself and leans in. “You having fun?”

  Turning around, I stumble in my footing, and he laughs, answering for me, “Yeah, you’re having fun.”

  It’s at this point that the two of us start dancing in the middle of the room, surrounded by people I might recognize if their faces weren’t all blurred together. When the song switches to one of my favorites, I throw my arms up, spilling half my drink down my arm and all over my top, but I don’t care because I need this. Need the numbness from the alcohol, need the music to deafen my thoughts, and need the reassurance that, although Caleb destroyed me, he didn’t destroy everything else around me.