“Dammit!” he says again and then I look at the back of his truck as he drives away. I’m hit with disappointment and I realize I wish he had kept trying. Back then and maybe even now. I wait for his taillights to disappear from my sight, for him to leave my life like he did senior year, but they don’t. Instead, I see his car pull over a few feet away. The driver side door to his truck opens and he steps out of it.
I slow my walking. I don’t want to get to his car. I want him to drive away and leave me alone, like he did before. If I ignore him, he’ll go away.
Instead of standing by his car, Christian starts running toward me. Although his car is parked all the way down the road, it takes him what feels like seconds to reach me. I take him in as he closes the distance between us. The rain falls over him, wetting his hair and clothing. He’s wearing a Bragan High School Football jacket that’s now clinging to his body.
He comes within mere inches of me. “Amari,” he says, already soaked. I wonder what I look like. I know for sure that my hair is sticking to my face. Luckily, I know there’s no makeup smudged because I didn’t wear any today, so I know there’s no mascara tears.
“What?” I ask, sidestepping him and moving along. I pick up speed. The faster I walk, the sooner I’ll be home. The faster I can get away from him.
His hand touches my arm and I flinch. I stop in my tracks then turn to face him. “Please,” he says it again and the way he looks at me makes me want to give him anything he asks for.
Even with the cold water hitting my body, his hand feels hot on my skin. “Please what?!” I snap out of my reverie. I push his hand away and start walking away again.
He moves quickly and is in front of me within seconds. We both stand there on the side of the road facing each other. It’s a duel of wills. He’s not backing down and I’m not giving in. Not again.
“Amari,” he starts then closes his eyes. When he opens them, I feel like he’s trying to give me a window to what he’s feeling. “Just let me take you home.” I can hear the vulnerability in his voice. I can see the intensity in his eyes.
“I can walk,” I reply, trying to keep up the resistance he’s slowly tearing down.
“It’s the least I can do after…” he starts but can’t bring himself to say the words.
I take a step back, adding some space between us. “You seriously think that taking me home can make up for all the damage you’ve done?”
He runs his fingers through his wet hair. “No, I don’t believe that.”
I try to reason with him. “I’m not far from home. I can walk the rest of the way.”
“I’ll be relieved if I know you made it safely, if I take you. I can even help fix your car,” he insists.
“When did you become a mechanic?” I don’t know why I ask the question, but the smile in his face feels rewarding, even though it shouldn’t.
“I’ll always be anything you need me to be,” he says with a sincere tone. But his words won’t fool me.
“That’s funny…” I tell him sarcastically, shaking my head.
He takes an exasperated breath. “Just let me take you home.”
I cross my arms in front of me, the water running down my face. “How about this? Why don’t you do what you’ve done before and leave me?”
I don’t miss the way my words cause him to flinch. Internally, I find I’m proud that I can hurt him too, even if just a little. “I promise I’ll stop bothering you if you let me take you home.”
I side step him once again.
“Amari,” he says from behind me and the agony in his voice breaks through the ice in my heart… or the ice I wish enveloped my heart. Truth is, when it comes to Christian, I can’t stop feeling. I can’t block him out completely. It’s like I’m in a cage, where the door is open, but I refuse to escape.
I can only fight him for so long.
“Can’t you just leave me alone?” I ask, my voice breaking, betraying all the strength I thought I’d armed myself with.
“I don’t want to. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I turn back to face him. “I already got hurt.”
He nods, listening to the words I leave unspoken. Closing his eyes, he takes the deepest of breaths and when he opens them back up, I wonder if he’s crying. Then I shake that thought out of my head, why would he cry? He’s not the one who’s broken. I am. “I’m sorry about that. About everything…”
“That’s not enough.”
“If I could go back—“
I cut him off. “You can’t.”
“Let me give you a ride home.”
“And then what?” I ask.
“Then, at least I’ll know you’re safe.”
“You didn’t know if I was safe these last six years. Why start to care about me now?”
“I knew you were safe, Amari. I’ve never stopped caring about you.” Those last words aren’t true. Cleary he didn’t care about me. I know that now.
“How did you know I was safe? How’s it possible that caring about me, as you say, you did what you did to me,” I question.
“It doesn’t matter how I knew you were safe, just know I wouldn’t have been able to go to sleep at night if I thought you weren’t. I know you don’t understand, and partly it’s because you don’t want to let me explain, but I care about you more than you think.”
“I don’t need your explanation.” I don’t want it. It’s been six years. Telling me everything now would be too little too late.
“Then can you at least let me take you home?”
“If I say no, will you leave me alone?”
“If you say no,” he says and then cracks the slightest of smiles, “then I’ll be forced to pick you up and throw you in the truck myself.”
I hold back a smile. But I do give in. He can tell the moment I shake my head. Seconds later, we’re walking together to his truck.
I hesitate when we reach his truck and I wish my house was closer. Because he’s right, it’s unsafe for me to be out in the dark with this rainstorm on this street. Then again, if I hadn’t spent the last twenty minutes fighting with Christian on this same street, I would already be home.
When I don’t move, he swears in exasperation. Then, unexpectedly, his hand grips mine and he speaks again. “You can hate me all you want. That’s fine, I deserve that. But I will take you home. We can either go in my truck or I’ll walk there with you, next to you, behind you. Amari, it’s pouring out here. You’re cold. You’re not even wearing the right shoes for walking.” I look down at my work heels which, for some reason, I had forgotten I was wearing until now. The moment he points them out, I feel the pain shoot up my feet. “The choice is yours,” he finishes.
“I’ll only get in if you don’t talk to me anymore.” I tell him.
He nods. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”
I know he won’t give up, so I do. When Christian Cole has something in mind, when he has a mission, he doesn’t quit. That’s how I know he didn’t love me. If he loved me, if he cared about me as much as he claims to have, he wouldn’t have given up on me.
Even if he cheated, which he denies, I would’ve listened to him. I may have even forgiven him, despite how much that went against my nature. We could’ve gotten over whatever together. But he gave up on me.
I walk toward the passenger door and he steps forward from behind me, opening it for me. Getting in, I shiver the moment I take a seat. I’m drenched in water, but it’s not until I’m finally shielded from the pouring rain that I start to feel the heaviness of my clothes, the dripping of the water from my hair, and the goosebumps on my body.
I guess the goosebumps could also be from how my body reacts to Christian’s proximity as well. He once made me feel safe. He made me feel loved. Now, seeing him is a reminder of brokenness. A part of me I could never fix. A part of me time and distance could do nothing about.
Putting on my seatbelt, I face forward and don’t acknowledge him when he gets in on the driver’s
side.
“Thank you,” he says, turning on the vehicle. I ignore his words. We’ve said enough already, I’ve said enough. “What happened to your car?” he asks and I realize he’s trying to make conversation despite him agreeing not to talk to me.
I shrug. I don’t know what happened to my car. It just didn’t work, like most things in my life. I should’ve never moved back here. I knew running in to him was always a chance. I knew it was possible he never left. I guess I wanted to find out for myself. But I got way more than what I’d bargained for.
Finally coming to peace with the fact that I wasn’t going to talk, we drive the rest of the way in silence and I’m grateful for it. I lean my head against the window and wipe the tears that stream down my face quietly. I hope he hasn’t noticed. I don’t want to give him the privilege of showing him my wounds. Showing him how fresh they are. I don’t want him to win.
In what feels like an eternity later, but was probably only a few minutes, we arrive at my parents’ house, my house.
“How did you know I lived here?” I ask and regret it immediately, I guess I couldn’t stop myself from saying something, anything, to him. Me living at the house I grew up in makes sense.
“I figured if you were back, you’d be here. I confirmed it a couple of days ago.”
“You confirmed it how?”
“I stopped by. I wanted to explain, to make things better.”
I try not to linger on his admission. “It’s too late to make amends, Christian.”
“I’m alive. You’re alive. So long as we’re breathing, it’s not too late to fix the things that are broken.”
“The things you broke can’t be fixed,” I tell him then step out of the truck and shut the door.
16
CHRISTIAN
I step out of the car too and walk purposefully toward her. I’m hoping she’s wrong about fixing things, but I won’t push anymore, not today. “Well then, can you let me at least fix your car?” I ask, knowing she’ll likely say no. I don’t blame her though. Not for a single thing. I’m the one who’s at fault here; I did the wrong thing. And regardless of how much I want to fix that, she doesn’t want to hear it. Not yet. I’ll talk to her when she’s ready. I’ll keep insisting until she either hears me out or shuts me down.
I notice the hesitation in her face. The exhaustion behind her eyes. The tears she tried to hide as I drove her home. The tears I felt right in my soul as she shed them. Every ounce of pain she feels, I feel too. Nothing hurts more than knowing I’m the cause of her pain, the cracks in her heart. The brokenness she feels.
She was pure and innocent when I met her. She was sarcastic but also filled with hope. She was a beautiful story that I marred. I didn’t want to ruin her. I didn’t want to bring her down.
I didn’t want to destroy her.
But looking at her here, in front of me, with no strength or desire to fight anymore, I realize I did more damage than I expected. I made things worse by leaving her when I should’ve stayed. I thought she’d get over me, over us… I thought she’d be back to the girl she was before I entered her life. I was wrong.
She gives me a look that can only be described as defeat. “Knock yourself out,” she says after a few seconds and her words give me more hope than I’ve felt in years. To her, they may not mean much, but to me they mean she’s letting me in. In some small way. She didn’t turn my help down. I know it’s probably because she’s tired of arguing with me, but I don’t care. I want to help her in whatever way I can. She says it’s too late to fix things, but I don’t believe that. I don’t want to believe that.
“Can I have the car keys?” I ask, my words measured. I don’t want her to close the small window she’s opened up for me.
She grabs her keys from inside of her bag then extends her hand to me. I close the distance between us, my hand moving toward hers. The moment we touch, I feel a rush. The big falling portion of a rollercoaster ride is the best way I can describe the feeling of her hand in mine, but even that pales in comparison. Holding on to her for a few seconds too long, I pull away. If I hold on any longer, I know I’ll lose the last bit of control I have left. I’ll give in to my desire of having her in my arms. But I won’t do it if that’s not what she wants. Despite how much I want to embrace her. How my body aches to show her how much I care about her; how much I love her. I won’t until she forgives me. Until she asks me to.
I love her more now than ever, but I know she won’t believe that. Not when she sees me as the cause for all her suffering, as a cheater who betrayed her in the worst of ways.
I open my hand and she drops the keys into them. I’m relieved that she’s not fighting me on this.
She takes a couple of steps back, turns around, and opens the door to the house she was raised in, a house I snuck into many times before. I’m reminded of how different things were before. How easy things were.
I messed them up, but that mistake gave me Ari, so I’ve gotta be grateful to it in a way.
I lost Amari and gained Ari.
I thought I could live with one and not the other, but the reality is I want them both.
I’ll fight for the happy ending I didn’t allow myself to entertain when I was in high school. I made the decision a boy would’ve back then. I’m a man now, so I’ll do things differently. I’ll do them better.
“I’ll bring the keys and car back later,” I say to her back.
She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t turn around to face me again. Instead, Amari walks inside the house and closes her door.
I look down at the keys and notice they still have the keychain. The one with the heart. The one I gave her when I told her I loved her for the very first time. I stand there in the rain smiling down at the keys for a couple of minutes. Hope grows within me. She keeps a piece of me with her at all times. Maybe her mind’s given up on me, but her heart definitely has not.
Walking over to my car, I get into the driver side door and my hands go to my keys hanging from the ignition. Putting the keychains together, I see that the arrow still fits in its place on the heart. Cheesy as it may be, I’m hoping that the same applies to Amari and me.
17
AMARI
I wake up to the sun shining on my face. Opening my eyes, I wait until I adjust to the light. I take a little longer than usual to get up from my bed because I’m exhausted, physically and emotionally.
I unplug my phone from its place on the charger and look at the time. It’s 6:00 am. The sun that enters my room betrays the real time. You’d think it’s 2 pm with how forceful the rays are… that’s the thing about living in New England. Doesn’t matter that it’s supposed to be fall, summer is extended and the sun is always anxious to make an appearance.
I sit up and take a deep breath. When I get up from my bed, I walk toward the window and look outside. There, on the side of the road, I see my car.
In my fogginess, I had hoped that last night was a dream—a nightmare. Honestly, I wish everything had been a product of my imagination. That I hadn’t actually run in to him or had agreed to let him drive me home. I can’t believe I even went as far as giving him my keys so he could bring my car back. Despite how much I wish it weren’t, yesterday was real.
As real as his hand touching my own. As real as the emotions that coursed through me as the rain fell over us. As real as the intensity in his eyes as he begged me to say yes to him taking me home. I wish he’d had that same intensity, that same drive, back then. I wish he’d asked me to stay then.
Shaking my head, I push those thoughts out of the way. I can’t forget the real reason he left me. He didn’t ask me to stay. Didn’t want me. He had a child with someone else. He got someone else pregnant while he was with me… that’s the only explanation that makes sense to me. I wasn’t the only one.
Still wearing my pajamas, I leave my room and head downstairs. The moment I reach the door, I notice the keys are on the floor right below the mail slot. I pick them up and open the door. We
lcoming in the breeze and warmth, there’s no sign of yesterday’s rainstorm. It’s all already been forgotten, washed away. Except it’s still fresh in my memory.
Taking the steps down slowly, I recall how he stood here next to me like he had many times. This time he didn’t kiss me goodnight while hoping my parents didn’t catch us. He wasn’t going to climb the tree on the side of my house and knock on my window. He wouldn’t hold me all night while we slept.
While he followed me to my door last night, it wasn’t the same. How could it be?
When I near my car, I realize there’s a sheet of paper being held in place by the window wipers. It’s not wet or smudged, which tells me it was probably put there early this morning. I wonder how long it took him to get the car here.
I lift the wiper and remove the piece of paper. Without focusing on the words, I unfold the sheet of paper, look at the handwriting, and instantly recognize it. Christian.
I walk back toward my front door and sit on the steps before reading the letter.
Amari,
Your car is going to need a new battery. Your safest bet is to not drive it until it’s been replaced; otherwise, you’ll be stranded again. I’m happy to get one and replace it for you so you don’t have to worry about the costs. Thanks again for letting me help. Honestly, it’s the least I can do after all I’ve done.
I stop there, realizing that I’m going to be stuck figuring out a ride to work today since I won’t be able to just go and buy a battery right now. Maybe Hannah will give me a ride. The thing about small towns is that Uber doesn’t exist. There are buses, but those things take forever and I’ll probably be late.
Something inside of me tells me that my concerns about transportation are just my excuse to not continue reading his words. In defiance, I proceed.
I know you’re probably wondering how you’re going to get to work and here’s where I come in again. I work at the high school now as a football coach. That’s not too far from you. I figured as principal you have to be in early. I’ll be outside your house at 7:15 am. You probably won’t want to get in the car with me again but I’ll still be there. You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to. You can ignore me the whole way like you did last night.
Just Because of You Page 8
