Hold My Breath(31)

I don’t turn to watch Will walk up the shore, but I hear the crunch of the leaves under his feet as he steps closer, and from my periphery, I see him lift his own shirt in his hands. I pick up my shorts and feel in the pockets, panic hitting me unexpectedly when I don’t feel the photo inside. My eyes begin to dart around, and I turn in circles until Will’s hand wraps around my arm, causing me to look up at him.

“Here,” he says, his eyes on the photo of a much younger me and him. I look down and take it from his hand.

“Thanks,” I say. “It must have fallen out.”

He breathes in slowly.

“Must have,” he says, his voice quiet, but the swallow that follows is loud.

I stand frozen while he moves to a large stone, sitting and pulling on his shoes. I choke on everything eating me up inside, coughing as I step into my shorts, keeping the photo in my hands to protect it from getting wet.

“You ready?” Will asks, his eyes moving away from me the moment I look at him.

I nod, even though he can’t see me. He doesn’t wait to hear my words and begins to walk up the slope to his car.

This walk isn’t as hurried. There’s nothing to win at the end of this journey. If anything, I would be running away.

We both climb in quickly and buckle our belts. Before Will shifts the car in reverse, he turns the radio on, stopping at a classic-rock station. The Eagles tell us to take it easy, Bruce begs for glory days, and by the time John tells us a little ditty about Jack and Diane I start to laugh uncontrollably. Will turns his head just enough, curious.

“Even the classics want to make me crazy,” I say, not really to anyone at all. Will turns back to the road. He doesn’t respond, and after a few minutes, I quit smiling about it. Nothing about it is funny anyhow.

We ride the rest of the way without talking, and my hand reaches for the handle, ready to rush toward the safety of my own car, the second Will’s tires grip the gravel of the club house driveway. When he pushes the car into park, though, neither of us move. Will’s hands run along the steering wheel, and he leans forward, folding his palms on top of one another, resting his chin on them, his eyes staring at the building where we first met.

So many years ago.

I leave my hand on the door latch, but my eyes center on Will. My mouth itches to frown, the taste inside acidic. Nothing is fair, and I hate this confused feeling. I don’t understand why I have it. My pendulum swings from missing him, to feeling relief that he’s here, that he’s home, to wanting to hit him in the chest so hard that it empties the air from him. I want him to hurt, just like I hurt. And I’m terrible for wanting it, but that’s our thing…we’re honest with each other, aren’t we?

“Why did you leave Indiana?”

My voice breaks the silence, but nothing follows. I breathe. My chest in and out. My pulse quickens.

“You transferred to Michigan with one year left. You never came back here. You were…gone.”

Will’s body rises with a long slow breath, and his head rolls to the side, his cheek flat against the back of his hands, his blue eyes opening on mine.

Crystal. Honest.

“I couldn’t be here…because you were here,” he says.

I swallow hard, sucking in my lip to keep it from trembling. It’s both what I wanted to hear and what I dreaded. His words make me afraid and angry. Through it all, he never looks away. I force myself to stare right back through him. I read him. He couldn’t possibly have been more sincere with what he just said, and it breaks me.

“Why did you…come…back?”

My breath grows heavy through those last two words. My chest hurts, and fear starts to snake its way around my body. Will’s eyes remain fixed on mine. Seconds pass before he finally blinks. His head shakes the tiniest bit, and I know it’s coming.

It’s going to hurt. There’s a slant to his eyes. A souring. Regret.

“Because you were here,” he says.

The same honesty laid bare before me, my heart drops to the depths of my chest, and my head grows light. My mouth begins to water with sickness, and within seconds, my forehead rushes with heat.

“No,” I say, breaking our stare and pushing hard on the door handle, rushing from the small space I was trapped in—with him—to my own car nearby.

“Maddy, wait!” he yells. I hear the sound of his door slam closed and his feet pound along the ground, so I walk faster.

“Let me go, Will,” I say, fumbling with my keys, clicking the unlock button just as I reach for the door. I open and slip inside, trying to close Will off.

“Maddy, stop. Just…please, Maddy,” he says, grabbing the car door just as I try to shut it.

“Let go, Will. I shouldn’t have come here. You and me, we need to focus. This…digging up the past, and all of these memories, it’s…none of this is good for either of us, Will. Just let me go, and let’s go back to being friendly in the pool. I’ll root for you, Will. But that’s it. I can’t…”

I stop when he kneels down just outside my door, his hands taking mine, grappling and pulling them toward him. My eyes sting with tears, and I lose my grip on everything. I give over.

I’m weak, and I don’t care.

“I can’t do that, Maddy,” he says, his hand lifting my chin, his thumb swiping away a tear. He leans forward, sitting on his knees in the gravel, until his head falls to my lap in the driver’s seat and his arms circle around me. My hands shake as they hover above his head, his hat on the floor of my car, near my feet. I’m locked, fingers rigid, afraid to let myself touch him.