I woke late the next morning, my body aching as if I’d run a marathon, throat scratchy and eyes puffy and raw. Leo and I had stayed up until almost dawn. We’d talked a little, but were both so drained from the emotions we expelled outside the bar that, mostly, we just existed together, like neither of us could believe we’d found our way back to each other.
I knew I couldn’t.
I never considered telling Leo about what happened. To me, that ship had sailed, and I’d firmly put him in the box of assholes never to be trusted again. I knew he didn’t realize who I was now, that I’d lost weight and fixed my teeth and cleared up my skin in a way that made me look like a completely different person.
But last night, when the truth did come out… I never expected him to say he hadn’t known it was me all those years ago.
I’d considered it, once, that night he cooked tostones for me. But it had been such a brief, stupid thought that I’d shoved it away as soon as it made itself known.
I couldn’t believe I was right.
My head still spun with everything he’d revealed to me the night before as I winced and pushed myself up to sit against the headboard. I didn’t remember Leo even leaving the room. What I did remember, what I’d never forget, was the look on his face when he swore to me he didn’t know it was me the day I’d thought he rejected me.
All this time, I thought he knew.
I thought he took one look at me and was disgusted.
So I’d blocked him, burned him, removed him from every inch of my life and made sure there wasn’t so much as a crack for him to weasel his way back in.
I felt sick now that I realized if I’d have just talked to him, if I’d have just asked him to explain why he blew me off… I would have found out that he didn’t. Not really.
What would have happened then?
What would our lives have been if he’d known it was me?
Maybe he still would have rejected me. Maybe he was lying last night when he said he would have held onto me and never let go. How could he say that, when he didn’t even really remember what I looked like or who I was?
But maybe…
Maybe we would have been together.
Would we have dated, held hands in the hallway? Would I have worn his jerseys at the games and had his jacket wrapped around me late at night?
Would we have broken up, gone our separate ways after a young love burned out as it so often does?
Would we be together still?
I groaned, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes and pulling my knees up to my chest. I was so nauseous I didn’t want to chance moving any more than that.
There was a soft knock on the door, and then before I could answer, it creaked open just enough for Leo to look in. He paused at the sight of me, something unreadable in his expression before he nudged the door the rest of the way open.
My heart surged in my chest, a mixture of longing and warmth combatted by fear.
His hair was an absolute mess, likely from the amount of times he ran his hands through it last night. Even with his eyes red and swollen like mine, he looked like a cozy dream in his sweatpants, sleeves ripped off the old, tattered NBU t-shirt he wore, his rib cage visible through the gaping holes and his necklaces gleaming around his neck. He had a mug of coffee in each hand, the liquid steaming as he carefully walked over and handed one to me.
My stomach settled just by having him near, by seeing that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he knew who I was now and he didn’t run.
“Thank you,” I whispered, voice still raw.
“Figured you had to be as tired as I am,” he said, hesitantly sitting on the edge of the bed. He watched me take a sip, my eyes closing on a hum.
The coffee had hazelnut creamer in it.
“I hope you like that flavor,” he said. “I remembered you mentioned that you missed the creamer your dad always had at home, but I couldn’t remember what it was.”
“Toffee,” I said. “But this is wonderful. Thank you.”
My heart squeezed at the thought of him waking up early and going to the store to get creamer for my coffee.
“Did you get any sleep?” he asked.
“A little.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I didn’t get much either.”
I stared at where my fingers curled around the mug, and the realization that he also knew just how I liked my coffee — more creamer than anything else — made me want to smile as much as it made me want to curl up in a ball and sob.
“I wish I could crawl inside your mind right now,” he said softly.
I let out a breath of a laugh. “It’s not a pretty place.”
Leo watched me for a moment longer before he set his cup on the bedside table, taking mine next and doing the same. He wrapped my hands up in his, the warmth of his skin defrosting my icy digits.
“I’ve thought of a million things I want to say to you,” he said. “But I feel like none of it is enough.”
I stayed quiet, letting him work through the fog in his head that I knew had to feel as thick and heavy as mine. Just the fact that he was here gave me more hope than it should have. I wanted to curse myself for being stupid, for believing him, but then I realized that was the part of me that convinced myself Leo was this pig-headed asshole for the last seven years.
Now that I knew the truth, it felt like trying to untangle a web so thick and sticky it latched onto my soul every time I tried to sift through it.
His eyes skated back and forth between mine. “I wish I could tell you what you meant to me back then without sounding like a complete psychopath.”
I chuckled. “Hey, I held a grudge against you for seven years. I think it’s me who’s the crazy one.”
“I haven’t felt for any girl the way I felt for you.”
His words simmered like warm honey in my veins, but I laughed them off, looking down at where his hands intertwined with mine. “Oh yeah, none of the hundred or so?”
“I’m serious,” he said earnestly, and he dipped his head until I met his gaze again. “I… I can’t believe I hurt you.”
I had to look away again at that.
“All this time I thought…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, and when I looked up at him again, he was watching where his thumb drew a line on my wrist, his brow furrowed, a deep line etched into his forehead.
“How do I prove to you that I’ve changed?” Leo lifted his eyes back to mine. “That I’m more than what you think I am, what I used to be.”
My heart twisted, the force so powerful I squirmed beneath it.
When I thought back over the past few months in this house with Leo, I couldn’t think of a single thing I wanted him to change. His kindness was more than I deserved, even when I tried not to see it or to convince myself it was all for show. I wanted so desperately to believe he was this awful human being… and I’d successfully convinced myself of it for so long.
But now, to know the truth…
I sucked in a breath, desperate to lighten the mood, to bring back the ease with which we used to tease each other.
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess you can start with tattooing my name on your chest,” I joked.
But when I looked at Leo again, his face was dead serious.
“Okay.”
I barked out a laugh, shoving him away playfully. “I was kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re not getting a tattoo of my name.”
“I don’t care what it is. Ink me with whatever you want.”
I licked my bottom lip in amusement, folding my arms over my chest. “Do you have any tattoos?”
“Not one.”
“You realize they’re permanent?”
“Yep.”
“And that they hurt?”
He sucked his teeth at that. “Come on, now — I get thrown to the ground and pummeled by three-hundred-pound defensive linemen on a regular basis.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, watching him for a sign that he was bluffing — but found nothing.
“You’re really serious.”
“I really am. Come on,” he said, standing and holding his hand out for mine. “Let’s do it.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
I barely got another laugh out before he was hauling me up out of bed.
