The Art of Losing(54)

I nodded, my heart thumping.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just didn’t want to talk anymore. And you were . . .” I let my voice trail off because the things I was thinking were not things I was prepared to tell him.

“Yeah, no, I got that,” Raf said. He sounded tired now, fed up. “I assume you used to do that with Mike? Use sex to avoid talking?”

I looked at him sharply. It was none of his business. On the other hand, I knew deep down that he was right. I hated that he looked disappointed by it. A little angry, too.

“I should go,” I said. I didn’t look at him as I headed for the door. I couldn’t. I was too humiliated.

“Wait.” He bolted upright. “Am I going to hear from you, or are you going to go back to ignoring me?”

I turned back to him. “I’m sorry about that,” I said. “I just didn’t . . .”

“You didn’t want to talk,” he finished for me. “But maybe I wanted to talk to you.” I glimpsed the vulnerability in his eyes, but it vanished quickly.

“I did want to talk to you,” I admitted. “And I like hanging out with you. I was avoiding you because apparently I can’t be trusted to be alone with you. But we both need to be single right now, so . . .”

He got up from the bed. When he stepped closer, I thought—hoped—that he was going to kiss me again. Instead, he walked past me to his desk and handed me the copy of Watchmen that I’d loaned him. My shoulders drooped a little.

“I really liked this,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Yeah?” I said. I tried to sound enthusiastic. “Do you still want to watch the movie?”

He paused, and I could tell that he was considering saying no. That he was still pissed. And I couldn’t blame him. But after a few seconds, he nodded.

“Yeah, sure. Sunday?” he said.

I nodded.

“Can you keep your hands to yourself?” he asked with a sly smile.

I knew he’d already started to forgive me.

“I’ll try,” I said, returning the smile as best as I could.

“I’ll walk you home,” he said.

The cool night breeze felt good against my flaming cheeks. My pulse was still racing. As we neared my front door, under my window, a memory shoved its way rudely into my mind.

“Hey,” I said, stopping on the bottom step. “How come you never showed that night a few years ago? We were supposed to sneak out, remember?”

Raf blinked. He stared sheepishly at his sneakers. “I’m sorry about that.”

“That’s not an answer,” I said. “You stood me up! Aren’t you supposed to make amends in AA?”

He sighed. “Fair enough. Remember my friend? Paul?”

I nodded.

“He liked you.”

“Really?” I tried not to smile. It was always nice to be liked, and I remembered thinking Paul was cute. It was part of the reason I’d agreed to sneak out with them in the first place. I waited for Raf to go on, and when he didn’t, I said, “So?”

“So.” His eyes met mine, full of regret. “I was jealous. I didn’t want him to hook up with you.”

Had I been that blind? Apparently, yes. I’d thought Paul was cute, sure, but Raf had been the one I was willing to follow down the dark streets of our neighborhood.

“We were hanging out in the basement,” Raf went on, “and I made him take shots until he was too drunk to go out. And then I kept drinking so I wouldn’t feel guilty about ditching you. The next day, I was too embarrassed to even apologize.”

“You were drinking that much at fourteen?” I asked. I knew I sounded judgmental. I couldn’t help it. But I was trying, anyway.

“Yeah. So . . . rehab was maybe a good idea after all.”

“Yeah, maybe it was,” I said and turned around to unlock the door. “Thanks for telling me.”

“That’s it?” he said. “You forgive me?”

I glanced back at him. “If that’s the truth, then I do. It’s sad, maybe, but understandable. You’re not the same kid you were then. So, yeah.”

Raf was almost disappointed, like he’d expected a bigger reaction. But we’d both had enough embarrassment for one night. Even as hope built like tiny champagne bubbles in my chest, I knew I couldn’t act on it. Not again. I didn’t want to go another four years without speaking to him. But then those dark eyes brightened.

“Honesty. It feels pretty good, right?”

I tried to keep a straight face. “Don’t ruin a nice, awkward moment with your therapy talk,” I said.

I opened the door and walked inside, closing it on his quiet chuckle.

I went to the diner with Cassidy the next morning. Audrey was being moved to her new rehab facility. I could have helped—Mom had asked me to come with her to get Audrey’s stuff from her hospital room—but I told her I needed to eat first and would catch up with them at the rehab center. Out of guilt, I ordered pancakes to go for Audrey. She’d appreciate that more than the pile of new nightgowns Mom was bringing.

I waited until our breakfast arrived before telling Cassidy about what had happened with Raf.

“You’re telling me he stopped you?” she said.