Not Your Fault (12 page)

“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.”

I shake my head, feeling the world swirl into nothingness as my vision focuses solely on a button on his shirt. “I never sent you a letter. Why the hell would I do that?” My hand presses against his chest, flattening my fingers into the smoothness of his sternum. I don’t know why I do it, but I don’t really care. Tears trail down my cheeks and I don’t care about that either. “I loved you, Kris. I came home from the hospital expecting you to be waiting for me on the front porch. You weren’t. You didn’t call and you didn’t come over and you didn’t say hi to me at school. You left. I needed you and you left.”

I suck in a deep breath and swallow the lump in my throat as more tears burst from my eyes. “I loved you and I needed you and it wasn’t your fault that Tyler died—”

Strong arms pull me into his chest, clenching me so tightly it shoves the air out of my lungs. I suck it back in a moment later when another burst of tears pour out of me. Kris’s hands wrap around my back, tangling in my hair as his fingers hold onto me for dear life. I press my face into his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin and taking comfort in the beating of his heart. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this hug from him, this resolution that things were going to be okay. Closure from that horrible day ten years ago.

“You should hate me,” he whispers. “It’s all my fault.”

I squeeze him tightly and lift my head to place a kiss on the side of his hair. “No, it’s not,” I whisper back. “It’s not your fault.”

Hours later, the sun has set but the ocean hasn’t fallen silent. I sit between Kris’s legs on a beach towel he swears was only coincidentally in his truck, leaning my back against his chest as I look out into the water that glows under a nearly full moon. We haven’t stopped talking.

He tells me about the inheritance he received from his late grandfather that allowed him to buy the gym, and how he only bought a new truck after driving his old one until the wheels fell off. He worked as firefighter after college and quit recently to run the gym. Yes, he’s saved people’s lives and, sadly lost some. He doesn’t talk about that ex-girlfriend, but I guess I don’t want him to.

Somehow it’s easier to talk like this—bodies touching in a familiar and long overdue way, but in a position that makes us not have to look at each other. Kris may be gorgeous, but the ocean is a more beautiful sight when you’re talking about your dead brother and digging up skeletons that have long since been buried.

“Tell me again what the letter said.” I lay my head back against his shoulder and he presses his cheek to my forehead. He draws in a deep breath and slowly lets it out.

“It called me a murderer…an asshole…It said you never want to see me again and if I ever talk to you, you will call the police for harassment.” Kris sucks in another deep breath. “I really don’t like reliving all of this.”

I glance back at him. “I know, I’m sorry. I was hoping there would be some kind of hint that would tell me who sent you that letter. I just don’t know why anyone would do that to us. They had to know where you lived,” I say, pointing to my finger as I try to come up with ways to narrow down the vast list of people who could have done that all those years ago. “But, your brother was crazy popular so everyone knew where you lived.”

Kris thinks for a moment. His warm breaths tickle my hair. “It was written with a quickly scribbled handwriting that looked a lot like yours. The second I saw the note I knew it was from you. I mean, no offense Del, but your handwriting sucks.”

I don’t bother getting offended because he’s right—I have the penmanship of a thirteen-year-old boy. “You have no idea how badly it hurt me,” I say. “Whoever wrote that letter should die.”

Kris runs a hand through my hair. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. It took me years to get over Tyler’s death, and even longer to get over the hurt of knowing you hated me.”

“Years?” I ask incredulously, before feeling a little guilty for thinking that way. Of course he was just as affected by Ty’s passing as I was. Tyler may have been my brother, but Kris accidently killed him. That’s a level of guilt I will never understand. 

Kris nods. “When I went to college I had two roommates, so of course I had to be the big man in front of them every day. I waited until they were gone so I could get in the shower and cry. It was the only place I could deal with my guilt and pain—somewhere private where the water would drown out my tears.”

“Wow,” I breathe, remembering how many times the shower has been my crying sanctum.

“I’ve thought about it a million times over the years…wondered if I should look you up and apologize. I wanted to call you and beg for forgiveness, but I’m a coward and I never did. That day at the gym orientation, I seriously thought I was going to drop dead when I saw you.”