Not Your Fault

by Cheyanne Young

  “You mean Jerry?” he says. I’m not even looking at him and I can hear the smirk in his voice. “I met that guy. He’s old enough to be your dad.”

  I shrug. “Even better.”

  Kris’s arms stretch across the countertop until his fingers grab around the edge of it, just inches from where I stand on the inside of the front counter. He leans in on his elbows. “I didn’t know old and balding was your type.”

  I meet his eyes now. “Nothing is sexier than old and balding.”

  He laughs. “Oh how I’ve missed you these last two weeks.”

  An unbelieving snort escapes my nose before my common sense can stop me. “Yeah right, Mister I’m Never at Work Even Though I Own the Place.”

  His head cocks to the side. “Um, okay, Miss I Can’t Stand When My Boss Is Around.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “I’ve never said that.”

  “You sure act like it.”

  My brows knit together. I’m not sure if there’s a hidden meaning behind our banter—if our joking with each other is our way of admitting what we wish we could say, or if it’s just pointless chitchat between boss and employee. I could continue with the joke or say something honest, letting him know how I feel and risk the embarrassment of a lifetime if he doesn’t feel the same way. But something has to give because you can’t just make out in a public shower and then never speak of it again. Or can you?

  Kris breaks the silence. “So I know I’m not nearly old enough or bald enough for you, but I’ve been thinking…”

  My chest turns to ice in his split-second of hesitation. The realization of what he’s saying and the anticipation of what he’s about to say sends my heartbeat way past the fat-burning zone. My fingers are clammy on the keyboard and thank god I haven’t eaten anything in a while.

  Kris’s voice shakes and his masculine face seems twenty years younger. “We should get together, outside of work sometime. And talk.”

  “Talk?” My voice sounds dry and I swallow.

  He rubs the back of his neck and all the cocky, arrogant masks he wears leave his face. “Yeah…like, talk and maybe get dinner or something?”

  In this moment I know our jokes weren’t just jokes. Kris Payne feels what I feel. We can’t keep going on pretending we don’t have a past that isn’t resolved. The coldness in my chest melts into butterflies. It’s been thirteen days since make out day and this is my sign. I have to swallow again before I can find my voice to tell him yes.

  Chapter 15

  My hands shake as if I’ve drank the entire pot of coffee and not just the single cup that’s sitting still half-full in front of me. I try to focus on the book on my Kindle, but after reading the same paragraph three times and still not knowing what it says, I sigh and drop it to the bed. Kris is supposed to pick me up at six for our dinner and, whatever the hell else we’re supposed to do tonight. It’s 5:55 and I’ve been ready for an hour.

  Cat sits at the foot of my bed, painting her toenails with a bottle of polish she found in my bathroom. “I bet you never in a million years would have imagined Kris Payne coming to your house to take you to dinner.” She caps the nail polish and wiggles her toes to admire her masterpiece. “I mean, it’s Kris Payne.” She says his name as if he were Jack the Ripper. “It’s crazy, huh?”

  “Do you ever go home?” I snap, wondering why I haven’t already taken away her key to my house or at least installed some kind of deadbolt.

  Her shoulders straighten in defiance. “Actually, I was at home all morning, planning your freaking birthday party so you can drop your little attitude.”

  “You were what?” I ask. I’m turning twenty-eight this year, not thirty. There’s no reason to have a party, because twenty-eight isn’t some significant milestone.

  She nods with this smug look on her face. “It was Mom’s idea. I’m helping her plan it. You’re gonna love it.”

  “Ah,” I say, now that everything makes sense. If my mom wants to throw a party, it’s for her own benefit, not mine. Ever since she and Dad dropped fifty thousand dollars on their back yard oasis, she looks for any excuse she can find to invite her colleagues over to eat their heart out at her amazing life. I’m pretty sure her desire to be better than everyone else is the only reason she’s getting her PhD.

  I count the days in my head. Only a few more days until my twenty-eighth birthday. I don’t ever think of the date as my birthday. I think of it as the date of Tyler’s death, in which case, it’ll be ten years since I lost my brother.

  I check the time and pull my cell phone off the charger, shoving it into my purse. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to celebrate my birthday, since that day isn’t exactly a happy day.”

  Cat shakes her head. “You’re the only one who thinks that. Everyone else knows that Tyler would have wanted you to celebrate being alive, even though he isn’t here to celebrate with you.”

  I grab the nail polish bottle and put it back where it belongs in an attempt to take my mind off the uneasy pains now shooting through my heart at the memory of my brother. I know Cat has good intentions, but sometimes she should just shut the hell up.

  When the doorbell rings, my legs suddenly forget how to be legs. The melodic chime echoes through my tiny house, paralyzing me where I stand, which is by the television only a few feet away from the door. My heart thunders under my ribcage and I can’t seem to move. All it would take is a few steps forward, one arm reach to the doorknob and another twist to get it open. But because of some sudden medical emergency, I can’t bring myself to do it.

  Because Kris Payne is on the other side of that door.

  Memories flood into the forefront of my mind, and suddenly I’m sixteen again, back in the foyer of my parent’s house. Kris stands on the other side of the door but he doesn’t stand there long because the moment I hear the doorbell, I’m dashing through the hallway and around the corner, practically slamming into the heavy wooden front door in my haste to see him. I throw open the door and leap into his arms, wrapping mine tightly around his neck where they belonged.

  This happened every single day when Kris and I dated; the only differences being the clothes we wore or the weather outside. I used to love welcoming him into my house.

  I’m still me, and he’s still him, but everything is different now.

  “Oh, come on,” Cat says, walking straight up to the door. She grabs the handle and swings around to face me before opening the door. “You need to grow some balls, Delaney, because I won’t always be here to lend you mine.”

  Kris looks up when the door opens and I don’t miss how his hand hovers over his pocket, slipping his phone in there right before he smiles and says hello to my sister. I guess he’s already anticipating how boring this dinner will be and is scheduling an alarm to go off in an hour in case he needs an excuse to bail out early. Not that bailing is something he has difficulty doing, or anything.

  Ugh. I can’t believe I just thought that.

  “Hey,” I say in reply to his hello. My sister and I stand in the foyer while he stands on the welcome mat for about ten seconds, which is ten seconds of ridiculously awkward silence.

  Finally, Kris nods to Cat. “Hey, Catherin. How have you been?”

  “Every day that I haven’t succumbed to quitting my job and being a couch potato is a success for me,” she says. Kris nods as if he understands. He probably doesn’t.

  “Would you like to come with us?” Kris asks, and it even sounds genuine, despite the fact that I’m chanting no no no in my mind. “We’re having dinner on the island tonight.”

  Sterling Island is a small city just off the coast of Texas, known for his historical architecture and ridiculously good restaurants. Cat loves eating on the island. I hold my breath, waiting for her answer.

  “Thanks, but I’m busy tonight. I have a date with my ex-boyfriend,” Cat says, lying through her teeth. She flashes us a smile as she runs a hand through her auburn hair. “Turns out he got really hot after we broke up, so, I’m
gonna give him another chance.”

  She winks at me as she turns to leave, chuckling to herself when she sees my deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. If there’s one thing Cat loves doing, it’s fucking with me.

  The scent of soft leather seats and chemical-infused new car smell engulfs me as I climb into Kris’s brand new truck. He doesn’t hold open the door for me the way he used to in high school, but I definitely didn’t expect him to do that tonight. I’m not even sure he and I are at the point of chivalry yet. Slightly past the line of boss and employee, yes, but not quite to romance or good old fashioned southern hospitality.

  “I haven’t been to the island in a while,” I say as we drive over the mile-long bridge that joins Sterling with the mainland.

  “Only the best food ever,” he replies. I watch him from my place in the passenger seat, which in this massive monstrosity of a truck, it feels like we’re yards apart from each other. He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other one resting on the center console. His chiseled jaw is relaxed and he smiles when he catches me staring at him.

  “What kind of music do you like?” he asks, pressing the radio button. “This thing has a million satellite stations.”

  “Same kind of music I’ve always listened to,” I blurt out without realizing the weight of what I’d just said. This is the first time I’ve mentioned any sort of reference to the very painful fact that we used to know each other. I watch with anticipation as he clicks through the multiple stations on the radio. There’s no reason he should remember what kind of music I like, but I wonder if he does.

  He stops flipping stations when he lands on a Sublime song. He glances over at me and I smile when our eyes meet. He remembers.

  Dinner is interesting. As far as dining with your boss goes, everything goes smoothly. We chat about the gym and his plans for building the business into something greater than Judy and Dwayne could have done in their old age. He mentions Susan and her on the job drinking, and I play the part of loyal friend and assure him that she drinks very rarely, and never to the point of being very drunk. I mean, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and all that.

  The food is delicious and it would be even better if I could quell the butterflies in my stomach long enough to finish my meal. As it is, I spent all my time drying my sweaty palms on the cloth napkin in my lap and concentrating on keeping up with the pointless conversation. We talk about everything two professional adult acquaintances could possibly discuss. We even slip into the friend category, talking about his dog’s tendency to eat inedible things around the house and my sister’s plans for life since she never graduated college.

  I smile and sip pink lemonade and take a bite or two and things are going well. Still. The massive imaginary black hole that sits between us is painfully getting in the way of me having a good time. What are we even doing here? Why haven’t we mentioned the shower make out session?

  Am I completely going insane here? I did not imagine that. It happened.

  The seafood restaurant Kris chose is right on the seawall, a lengthy sidewalk that runs along the beach on the south side of the island. When the waitress brings the check, Kris grabs it without hesitation, slipping his debit card into the black folder and handing it back to her. “Want to go for a walk after this?” he asks me, leaning in on his elbows.

  “Where?” I ask like the idiot that I am. We’re right next to the beach. Where the hell else did he want to walk?

  Kris doesn’t point out my stupidity, luckily. “I was thinking we could take a walk in the sand. We can drop our shoes off at my truck, if you want.”

  Right now I kind of want to go home, crawl into my bed and roll up in the fetal position so I can be alone with my thoughts for however long it takes to get over this weird night with my boss. But a walk would give him another chance to bring up the topics we should have talked about a long time ago. This could be his chance to finally apologize and explain himself. Maybe he’s nervous too. Maybe we need this walk.

  Warm sand wraps around my toes as I step off the final concrete stair on the seawall, landing on the plush white sand of the Sterling Island beach. The sun sets on the horizon and the warm ocean breeze dances across my face, sending my hair whipping around my neck. I know from experience that attempting to wrestle with the wind and my unruly hair will only make my head hurt, so I leave it alone. A few people remain on the beach, some sleeping on beach towels or chasing children through the water.

  Kris joins me, stretching his arms out to the sides with a satisfied groan. His fingertips touch my shoulder before he drops his hands and shoves them in his pockets. “I freaking love the smell of the beach,” he says, inhaling the salty air as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. I wish I could feel that relaxed. Right now I’m a bundle of nervous anxiety. I want answers. I want an apology.

  I want to hold his hand.

  I draw in a long breath of air, hoping to clear my head of those nonsense thoughts, but an emotion that feels a lot like depression takes over my body and I let out the breath in a sigh that sounds entirely too unhappy. I immediately wish I could take it back out of embarrassment, but Kris looks over at me, the sunset reflecting off his auburn eyes, and I know that this is my moment to talk to him.

  “Kris…” I say in a voice so quiet, the sound of the ocean drowns it in the air. He must hear me, because his hand grabs mine a second later. My toes tingle at the touch of his rough fingers holding mine, but his grasp only lasts a moment. We stop walking and he lets go.

  “I know,” he says, glancing down at our feet before meeting my eyes. “We need to talk.”

  “Why has it taken so long?” I ask, letting a tiny nervous smile land on my lips. As much as I want to hate him for what he did to me ten years ago, all I want right now is an apology.

  He runs a hand through his hair. “You just looked so beautiful…”

  What?

  “What does that have to do with anything?” My voice startles me with how loud it is over the roar of the ocean waves.

  Kris lifts an eyebrow. “That day,” he begins, speaking slowly as if I’m too dumb to understand. “You were so amazingly beautiful. I mean, you always are but with paint all over you and…” he trails off, taking his hands out of his pockets and shoving them back in again. “That’s why I did what I did. I’m sorry if it was inappropriate. I couldn’t help myself.”

  My mouth falls open. I did want to know his reasons for kissing me that day, but that’s not what I thought we were here to talk about.

  “You look upset,” he says, reaching an arm out to touch my elbow. I look down at his fingers as they graze across my skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps. “We can forget it ever happened, if you want. I’m really sorry, Del.”

  A jab of pain pierces my heart when he says my name. He always called me Del, even before my sister started doing it. It took years for me to hear that word without cringing from the bad memories. I shake my head. “That’s not why I’m upset.” My lips move to the side of my mouth and I play with the ring on my left index finger. “That day in the locker room was…memorable…but that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

  Kris’s dark blond eyebrows draw together. “What do you want to talk about?”

  I lift my shoulders and let them fall hard as I let out an aggravated sigh. “What the hell do you think I want to talk about, Kris Payne?” I walk forward, my toes catching ripples of water as they crash onshore. I’m practically yelling now, and the few people around don’t need to hear it. “You left me, Kris.” I turn and look at him over my shoulder, ignoring his confused expression. “You left.”

  Kris rushes forward and keeps pace with me as I march angrily through the sand. “What are you talking about?” His voice is pained, on the verge of desperate. If he wasn’t such an asshole I might feel sorry for him.

  I roll my eyes, refusing to believe that he’s truly unaware of what he did. “You watched me climb into that ambulance and then you left and never came back again.”
Tears fill my eyes as wind whips my hair wildly around my face. I wipe my hand across my cheek, pushing back strands of hair so I can look him in the eye when he grabs my arm for the second time. My teeth grind together. “You disappeared and never talked to me again. I loved you, and you walked away.”

  His fingers dig into my arm, urging me to stop walking. With a weary sigh, I slow my steps and let my toes dig into the sand to anchor me. I blink away tears and look at him, shocked to find his face contorted in as much pain as I feel. “Delaney,” he says, gently tugging my arm around so that my body faces his in the warm summer air. His hands clasp my elbows, holding me tightly. He swallows. “I didn’t want to leave you,” he says. Chills prickle down my arms. “You told me to leave.”

  Chapter 16

  Disbelief and anger compete for my attention as I look at Kris, whose usually cocky expression is now childlike and innocent. “I never told you to leave,” I say with a hardened jaw with clenched fists at my sides. My emotions make me want to yell, but I hold back. I refuse to believe that he has an acceptable excuse for what he did.

  “You didn’t have to say anything. You made it perfectly clear in your letter.”

  I throw my arms in the air. “What fucking letter?” Now I’m yelling.

  Kris studies me, mouth open slightly. The whole world seems to move in slow motion now, and if there’s anyone left on the beach, I don’t notice. He takes a step closer to me, lowering his head as he points a finger in my direction. “You wrote me that horrible letter and you left it under my windshield wiper in my parent’s driveway. It said you hated me—” His voice breaks and he swallows before continuing, “—you hated me for what I did and you never wanted to see me again. Don’t tell me you don’t remember that, Delaney because I sure as hell do.”