One More Time(43)

“Meh. It’s okay.”

I shove him, hard enough to make him wobble a little too close to the edge of the dock. He grabs for my waist to stabilize. His touch warms my body instantly, and I hold him for a moment before our bodies separate to continue walking.

“Well I’m going to name my boat The Squan,” I say, as our hands clasp again.

“Oh, cool. Like the town where your family has a beach house,” he says.

“Wow. You remember that?”

“Of course.” He stops walking for a second. “Is that where you went after?” The tone in his voice has changed, and I notice a heaviness in his eyes.

“After what?” I ask, but there’s a knot in my stomach, and I already know the answer.

“After you took off.” He’s serious, and it makes my chest tighten.

This is not a conversation I’m prepared to have right now. Or ever. If I ever decided to move forward with him, it would mean a necessary forgetting of the past, a revisionist history in my mind and heart. It’s the only way I could get over his indiscretion. Not by rehashing it.

But Tanner seems set on talking about it. “We had an apartment together. You took all your things. You were gone so fast. I had no idea where you went.”

I drop my hand from his and wrap my arms around myself. “Does it matter?”

“Yes. It does.” He pauses, waiting for me to say something, and when I don’t he adds, “Please.”

That’s the word that kills me. I owe him this.

Sighing, I glance off in the distance, unable to look at him while I dredge up the past. “I moved into one of the apartments that the modeling agency keeps for the girls, until I could find my own place,” I confess, softly.

“No, you didn’t. I called the agency, and they had no idea.”

“They lied for me.” I drop my arms and turn and face him. “And you know what? You only called them once, so it wasn’t exactly hard to do.” Now I’m getting serious. If we’re going to be telling the truth, then Tanner should remember his own.

“I should have called more times,” he admits. “I took off to Australia, and I didn’t try hard enough to explain the truth to you. And that’s my fault. I still haven’t told you, and I should have the first day of our shoot.”

Those words hit me hard. They’re not what I expected, but they’re what I need. Still, I don’t know if I’m ready to hear it. I try to brace myself, but I’m shaking and I can’t look at him when I ask, “The truth about Natalia? You loved her, didn’t you?”

“Oh, Jenna.” His tone is so gentle that I do look up, and so the tenderness in his eyes catches me, and I can’t tear my gaze away, no matter how painful his next words will likely be. No matter that my own eyes are already watery.

“The truth is that kiss wasn’t real,” he says. “An asshole with a film crew pretending to be a big publicist approached Natalia. He told her he was putting on a big celebrity charity kissing contest. I should have called you, of course I should have. I know that now. But at the time, I didn’t think it was any bigger a deal than an acting job. I put on a performance and never expected to hear about it again, unless I got a notification that a check was being delivered to the children’s hospital in my name. But there was no charity. The crew sold the footage to TMI, and I never saw you again.”

And because I’m looking in his eyes, I can see that the words he speaks to me are absolute truth.

And my heart breaks all over again as I raise my trembling hand to press against my mouth.

“It wasn’t real,” I repeat, my voice cracking.

“It wasn’t real.”

It feels like a seven-ton boulder has been lifted from my chest, a weight that has pressed against me from the moment I first saw that stupid video. I can breathe deeply for the first time in years. Tanner never cheated on me.

“But then why didn’t you try harder to tell me?” I’m confused. Such a silly misunderstanding could have been cleared up easily. Even if I was avoiding his calls, he could have found a way to reach me.

He lowers his eyes. “Honestly? I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what? That I wouldn’t believe you?”

“I was afraid you were giving up your dreams for mine.” I wrinkle my brows in question, and he asks, “Why did you turn down that audition for that Judd Stow movie?”

That came out of nowhere. I shrug, not remembering right away.

“What about the Zanetti series?” he asks next.

“That conflicted with my schedule for Marisa’s Closet,” I say, defensively.

“You would have nailed the part for the new Supergirl if you’d gone for it,” he says, confidently.

That one I do remember. I’d canceled that audition because I’d wanted to go to an award show that Tanner was hosting.

Wait.

My eyes sting as I start to put together where his questions must be leading. “I wasn’t good enough for you. You didn’t try to come after me because you were embarrassed by me. You wished I was an actress instead. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”

I try to step away, but Tanner pulls me closer. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. If anything, you’re too good for me.”