Maybe Once, Maybe Twice(59)

“How’s it going?” I asked her, breathless.

She tilted her head at my sandy face with squinted eyes, then looked sadly down at her hoofs.

“Yeah, me, too.”

I wiped the sweat from my temple, my cheeks red hot, my fingers tingling, and my insides racing. I clenched my eyes shut, and my chest pounded harder as I heard his heavy footsteps echo on the barn’s concrete floor.

“Fence hopping?”

I peered up to find Garrett panting in front of me. He caught his breath with his hands on his knees, then shook his sweat-soaked head at me as he leaned the back of his neck against the stall opposite me. I was grateful that he wasn’t coming any closer, terrified that if Garrett set one wingtip shoe inside my personal bubble, it would break me. At the same time, I longed for him to come the fuck closer and throw my body against the stable doors.

I wiped the fresh sand off my arm, biting my lip, choosing to be passive-aggressive. His blue eyes apologetically searched my face as he took deep breaths in and out.

We stared at each other for a tense minute, until a beautiful black mare poked her head through the opening in the stall next to Garrett. He turned toward her to tenderly pet her nose. His eyes stayed on the mare as his lips opened.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you. Not like that,” he said, just low enough so I could barely hear it.

I waited for his eyes to find mine. They steadied on me as he loosened the tie around his neck with an exhale, clearing his throat and standing up straighter.

“You followed me all the way here to tell me you shouldn’t have kissed me?” I asked, incredulous fire on my tongue. “You’ve had weeks.” I held up my phone. “It works, you should try it.”

“It was a mistake. I made a mistake that night, and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You showed up to my birthday and let me kiss you when you had no intention of changing the state of our relationship. And not for nothing, we talked about showing up on my thirty-fifth birthday when it would mean forever—not as a way of gifting me emotional turmoil.”

Garrett began to pace in a tiny circle, as if he were tortured. I stared directly at him, my eyes cold, my chest pounding with fury. He didn’t have a right to be the one clenching his fist. He had me in the palm of his fucking hand—he always did, and he knew it.

“I don’t know how to lose you, and I don’t know how to be with you,” Garrett finally said.

I shook my head, narrowing my eyes onto his. “What does that even mean?”

He shifted uncomfortably, placing one hand in his pocket and opening and closing his mouth.

“Just say it, Garrett. Just fucking say it.”

He stared at me for a long moment.

“Maggie, it’s not like you haven’t turned me down.”

I felt my diaphragm expanding with anger, with words fighting to escape from my lungs. Finally, they lost a battle with civility.

“Fuck you,” I said, tears making their way from my throat to my eyes. “You’ve only hovered around my lips when it’s been conveniently the most inconvenient time for one of us. You never go all-in when the timing is right, you just dip one toe past the line when you know the outcome can’t be successful.”

“That’s not true. And you know it,” he said.

“You can’t hold my thirtieth birthday against me. That doesn’t count—”

“IT COUNTS FOR ME! I WAS IN LOVE WITH YOU.”

The words left his mouth forcefully, so loudly that they echoed against the dark stable walls, bringing surrounding horses up to their feet. The horses poked their noses through the open stall windows, wide eyes darting between myself and Garrett, as if they were waiting for my reply.

Garrett’s body tightened, like I was weaving it in a knot and pulling harder and harder. His face went red, and he threw his hands in his hair, exasperated.

“We—you and I—we should have happened years ago. But…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

I took a step toward him, anger in my throat.

“Finish the sentence.”

The vein on his neck was pulsing and he studied me as if he were staring down the barrel of a gun.

“But what, Garrett? You could have had me. Fuck”—I threw my hands in the air—“you could have me. I’m standing right in front of you telling you that I’ve been in love with you for twelve years,” I cracked, tears falling. “Even when I couldn’t be with you…I loved you.”

He opened his mouth, with anguish pulling his face down.

“I’ll never be enough for you.”

He said it so softly that it took me a moment to piece the words together.

“That’s…that’s a bullshit excuse. It’s like…like telling someone they ‘deserve better,’ when really, you don’t want them the way they want you, and you’re trying to be nice about it.”

“Goddamnit—MAGGIE, I WANT YOU,” he exploded.

Garrett stepped toward me, now inches from my shaking body, his wet eyes meeting mine. “I hate that I’m not enough for you. I hate that I’m not more like you—you know I’m not what you want. I gave up the things you love—and I know you look down on me for it.” I shook my head desperately to argue, but he kept going, pain wrapped around every vowel. “I hate that we’re not together. I hate that I can’t be brave enough to just reach out and grab you and never let go. Every moment I spend with you, I love you, and then I go home, and I hate myself.”