“And they call me overly dependent…”
She smacks me in the arm. “Shut up. What if Declan and I come to visit you? I’ve always wanted to see the lake after all your stories, and you’re the one who said the summers were always the best.”
“Uhh…”
“Try to look a little less horrified, will ya?” She pinches the skin between my ribs.
“Let me get settled first and then we can talk about you visiting. Okay?”
“Fine.” She lets Merlin go before dropping on to my couch. “What was it like being back?”
“I’m still processing all of it.”
The gold beads at the ends of her braids clink together as she tilts her head. “That bad?”
“I knew Lana was angry at me…”
“But you ran before you had to deal with it.”
I tip my chin. “Exactly.”
“Well, you have to face your past eventually.”
“It feels like I’m being slapped across the face with it repeatedly.”
She laughs. “Maybe all of this will be good for you. It could help you get some closure.”
I fall on to the leather chair across from her. “Who says I need closure?”
“The fact that you haven’t been in a romantic relationship for six years.”
A rare frown crosses my face. “I haven’t been interested.” The lie slips out easily, perfected after mastering the art of pretending not to give a fuck.
Of course, I am interested, but that doesn’t make it possible. At least not when I’m still a screwed-up mess.
Iris stares at me with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Could have fooled me with the way you asked me out on a date.”
I launch a pillow directly at her face. “That was a joke.”
“Says the man who kissed me.”
“And then proceeded to throw up afterward.”
She shivers. “Don’t remind me.”
I’m not sure whose drunken idea it was, but our kiss was a mistake the moment it happened. Our lack of romantic chemistry was a dead giveaway that Iris and I would never be more than friends.
She shakes her head. “Putting me aside, you’ll never be able to move on to someone new if you’re still holding on to the memory of someone else.”
My stomach churns. “I’m not holding on to the memory of someone else.”
“Really? Then give me your wallet.” She holds out her hand.
“No.”
She crosses her arms against her pink T-shirt. “Exactly like I thought.”
My eyes narrow. “Holding on to a photo isn’t a crime.”
“It’s not the photo but what it symbolizes that matters.”
“And what’s that?”
“That a part of you will always love a part of her, no matter how hard you try to deny it.”
“It’s impossible not to love her.”
Iris leans forward. “So you admit that you love her.”
“I never denied it in the first place. Those kinds of feelings don’t just go away, as much as I wish they did.”
“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” She rubs her temple.
“No need to worry. I know that there is no chance in hell that we are ever getting back together.”
I made sure of that the moment I walked away from her, turning her fear of abandonment into a reality.
And I’ve never forgiven myself.
It’s not until Iris leaves for the night that I pull out my wallet and search for the picture she spoke about. The edges of the small photo are worn from years of wear-and-tear and countless wallet transfers.
It’s been over a decade since the photo was taken, but I remember the day like it was yesterday. Lana’s mom took it of us the summer after I came back from rehab. Both of us are on the dock, drinking cholados Colombianos to celebrate my twenty-first birthday. Lana stares into the camera lens, eyes bright and face beaming, while my focus is solely on her.
It’s obvious I loved her, even back then, although I never acted on my feelings. I was happy to stay friends while we were both figuring out our lives. Lana had just turned eighteen, and I was fresh out of rehab and still struggling with the stressors of my life. And then I got drafted into the National Hockey League when Lana wasn’t even twenty yet. Neither one of us were ready for the sacrifices we needed to make to be together, so instead, we kept things platonic. It nearly killed me inside, but I knew she was worth the wait.
At least until you fucked things up for good.
I flip the picture over and trace the words she wrote on the back.
Get drunk on life, not alcohol.
Love,
Lana
She gave it to me as a parting gift that summer, and I have kept it ever since.
At first, it was the push I needed to stay sober. Any time I was tempted to drink, I’d pull out her message and stare at it until the demons left me alone. It helped me stay on track for a few years despite all the temptations surrounding me. But then I tore my ACL and lost my hockey career, making it easy to slip back into destructive habits.
Truth is, I lost more than my job that year. I lost myself. My life became a series of bad decisions as I tried to fix the gaping hole in my chest.
It took Grandpa’s accident to get me on the straight and narrow. But by the time I got on the right path, it was too late. The girl who promised me forever had her arms wrapped around someone else, and I…
I was too late.
10
CAL
My neck cranes as I take in all three stories of the lake house. In broad daylight, there is no way to hide the imperfections plaguing the home. The chipped paint and rotting wood siding doesn’t bode well, especially when paired with the tarp covering a majority of the roof. Most of the windows look outdated and their wood frames decrepit from old age. Vines crawl up the exterior walls, completely out of control as if they want to swallow the house whole.
Maybe that’s for the best.
The house is a wreck. In its current state, I’ll be lucky if I find a buyer willing to purchase the place.
All you need to do is find one person willing to take a chance. That’s all.
I release a tense breath before ringing the doorbell. It takes Lana a whole minute to answer the door, her eyes barely open and her hair a wreck as she steps out on to the porch wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt that barely reaches her mid-thigh. The material falls loosely over her curves, accentuating the shape of her breasts.
Blood rushes through my body, directly toward the source of my newest problem. I wipe my face with my palm. “Please tell me you don’t make it a habit of opening doors dressed like that.”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” She looks down.
“The fact that you’re barely wearing any.”
She crosses her arms, which only pushes her boobs up. “You’re the one showing up on a Saturday morning without an invitation.”
“I need the keys to the guesthouse.” My molars smash together.
“Oh.” Her lips press together. “Give me a second.” She disappears into the house before coming back a minute later with a key ring.
I reach to grab it, but she clutches it against her chest.
“Hold on.”