: Chapter 13

Okay. So about that context…

I kind of, sort of, throat-punched Fairhope’s MVP back in the day.

When I was twenty-four and Cruz was…what? Twenty-six? And had just come back to town from med school.

There were a few different ways to tell this story, but the main facts remained as follows:

Jerry & Sons had been closed for the day, so I’d let my parents take Bear downtown for the festivities while I’d stayed home, nursing a Costco tub of ice cream, a beer, and my never-ending fountain of self-pity.

It was the first time I’d ever missed a Fourth of July celebration. Even at the height of my scandal, these parades were so deeply nostalgic and sweet to me, I couldn’t refuse them.

Problem was, I’d known Cruz was going to be there, and I really hadn’t wanted to face him. He was a constant reminder of the fact he and Rob had gone and built lives of their own while I made unfair sacrifices and paid my dues for my reckless behavior, even if it had given me the most precious thing in my life.

It was probably nine in the evening, just before the fireworks had started, when I’d heard a knock on the door downstairs. Weirded out (my parents and Bear wouldn’t be there until well after ten and Trinity was out with her friends until the next morning), I’d gone to answer.

“It better not be a serial killer,” I’d muttered as I’d jammed my feet into my father’s checked slippers and swung the door open.

And there he was.

Cruz Costello.

Looking gorgeous, muscular, chosen, and…

?

On second thought, a serial killer wasn’t unwelcome considering the alternative.

“Your tits are great,” he’d hiccupped, his dusky cobalt gaze sweeping over my chest.

It was summer, hot as sin, and I wasn’t wearing a bra under my white tank top. Odd thing to say, only the last time we’d seen each other, I think I’d been breastfeeding. Luckily, I was done nursing Bear. My nipples were no longer the size of a family-size pizza each, and the blue veins as thick as sausages were long gone.

For a while there, I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to mess with Bear’s buffet. And every time I got into a hot shower to massage said breasts (because I had a ton of milk ducts), I would cry out in pain and my breasts would cry with me, leaking yellowish milk.

Truly, parenthood was a wonderful thing.

“What can I help you with, Costello?” I’d sighed, wanting him gone.

It was hard to believe I used to have a crush on this guy before Rob had asked me out. Cruz was so nauseatingly perfect. In a totally off-putting way. Like, the way a professionally-made cake was so perfect and smooth you didn’t want to cut it.

Though I did want to cut Cruz Costello, sometimes.

“You cuhn let me in and ass-plain to me whad Rob had dat I didn’t.”

Dang, he was three sheets to the wind.

“A general grasp of the English language for a start,” I’d deadpanned.

Was he here just because he couldn’t tolerate the fact I hadn’t flung myself at him years ago when all the other girls had?

Talk about fragile male egos.

Behind him, the night parade had passed through, banging on drums and singing.

Cruz made a disgusted face. “He used to kiss and tell.”

“Real classy.”

I’d rolled my eyes, but tears prickled the back of them, making them sting. I’d paid so dearly for my mistake, it seemed so unnecessarily cruel to bring it up again and talk about the intimate details.

How many times could I atone for it?

I did everything right now. Or as right as I could, anyway, considering the circumstances.

Cruz took a step forward. He smelled like bonfire and amber and sandalwood. Woodsy and musky at the same time. I had to remind myself he wanted what all the others did before him—to get me in bed, because apparently, that was the easiest task within Fairhope limits.

“Get away from me,” I’d warned, stepping backward.

“Not before you give me what I want…”

“What you want?” I’d asked, incredulous.

“Yes. What all-weeze belonged to me.”

He was going to take another step, I could tell, and in that moment, the only thing I thought about was what it was going to look like.

Slutty Messy Nessy, letting Fairhope’s minted doctor-slash-quarterback into her house while her parents (and son!) were away.

Of course she’d have asked—begged him for it.

It would be the golden boy’s word against the jezebel’s.

I’d swung my fist and gone for his cheek, but he was tall, and I’d ended up slamming my knuckles against his Adam’s apple.

I must’ve underestimated my strength, or maybe Cruz had been too drunk to abide by the rules of gravity, because he went down like a sleep-deprived toddler, falling flat on his butt on my parents’ front lawn.

He’d groaned in pain while the parade marched past with drumlines and trumpets, and it had occurred to me we were drawing attention and that I was going to be toast.

“Shut up, Costello. Get up and dust yourself off,” I’d hissed, stepping outside to ensure he heard my warning.

This, of course, had only made him moan louder.

Seriously, why did I even bother?

I should have just grabbed Bear, shoved him in the car, and moved to another state. There was no way Fairhope was going to let me be.

“She assaulted him!” Mrs. Underwood had cried from the other side of the street.

“Punched him in the throat!” Mr. Thomas had whimpered.

People had begun rushing from the parade toward my front lawn. I’d retreated, feeling my cheeks flush.

Great.

Now I was getting into trouble without even leaving my doorstep. I really was a lost cause.

They’d helped pick Cruz up and asked him if he was okay. I’d rushed inside and closed the door, peering through the peephole, my face so hot with mortification I’d thought it was going to explode.

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, honey, what did she do to you?”

“I’m so sorry. She’s always been a hellion!”

Cruz just nodded and sulked, staring at my door like he’d known I was behind it.

So, you see, this was the infamous throat-punching incident.

Totally called for.

Now let’s move on, please.

“A chance.” Cruz rubbed at his square stubbled chin in the maintenance room.

“What?” I asked.

“What I deserved, what I came to talk that night, was a chance. The chance you gave him instead of me. Not a kiss. And not anything beyond that. A simple chance.”

For a moment, I just stared at Cruz, stunned. I thought he’d wanted the chance to bang me, not the chance to…ask to bang me?

He stared at the floor as he rubbed at his cheek, continuing, “I wasn’t trying to pull any funny business with you. Truth was, I’d always had a bit of a crush on you.”

“Umm, what?”

“I’d been waiting to tell you at the Fourth of July parade when I got home from med school. Thought you’d be there, since you’d never missed it, no matter what. I didn’t really care about your reputation at the time. Figured I couldn’t let a bunch of strangers dictate what I could or couldn’t do with my life. At first, I’d waited for you to show up. I had a beer, and then another one, and then another. The fourth was overkill, let me tell ya, because that’s when things began to go sideways, and I moved to shots. The road to finding myself slurring something offensive on your front porch was short from there, and we all know how it ended. But at the time, I came to you because I wanted to see if you’d have dinner with me. And I wanted to see if you’d have dinner with me not because I wanted to embarrass you, but because the entire time I was away, in med school, every time I kissed a girl, I always thought to myself—

?”

I’d thought he’d come for the one thing the town hadn’t offered up on a platter—the one thing his friend had gotten that he hadn’t—me.

“You didn’t say any of that. You said I had great tits,” I accused, tears prickling my eyes.

He bit on his inner cheek. “I take it back.”

“Oh?”

“They’re not great. They’re .”

“You expect me to believe you really wanted to ask me out?” I cried out, emotional all of a sudden, and not the good kind.

I’d have said yes in a heartbeat, my anger and hurt toward him be damned. But now, now too much water had gone under that bridge, and it was no longer an option.

All the women he’d dated.

All the rumors I’d been subjected to.

All those years.

He used past tense.

Not present.

Dating was no longer on the table.

“I’m not expecting you to do anything. This is the truth. Do what you will with it.”

Yup.

I was crying now.

The first hot, fat tear rolled down my cheek, making its way into the corner of my mouth and exploding its saltiness all over my tongue. It was horrible, because somehow, I’d managed to keep myself from bawling even after we found out I’d messed up the cruise tickets.

“You bastard,” I hissed.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded genuinely apologetic.

“Why’d you never try again?”

“You physically assaulting me that first time kind of put a damper on my plans—not that I remembered everything.”

“That means nothing!”

“No means no.”

“No means maybe, depending on the context. I had no idea what you were offering, only what it looked like you were trying to take. So that ex you told people about in med school…”

He shook his head. “I didn’t want to come back and see you with Bear. It was too much, after crushing on you all throughout high school. But ultimately, sometime after the throat-punch and my third serious girlfriend, my feelings subsided, and I’d gotten over you.”

“Good to know. Thanks,” I muttered, two tears chasing one another, skating over my cheek. “Now we can never be together. Our siblings are getting married, and I’ve been Lot’s wife for far too long. There is no way the town is going to let me get away with dating someone like you. Let alone our families.”

And then there was the other part.

The part where I truly didn’t think I deserved him and, anyway, never wanted to have sex again in my entire life. Or have other kids. That sort of fun stuff.

“I agree,” he said, taking a cautious step toward me. “But we still have this trip, and I suggest we make the most out of it.”

He squeezed my arms, looking deep into my eyes. I shouldn’t feel insulted, considering this was exactly what I’d been hoping for when we entered the maintenance room, but somehow, everything had changed in the last few minutes.

I felt like I was starring in my very own, messed-up movie. Only I wasn’t Gwyneth Paltrow and Cruz wasn’t…well, I forgot who else starred in that movie, which meant he was definitely not hot.

More pieces added to the puzzle that was Cruz Costello as I digested the new revelation.

“Question.” I stepped out of his embrace again.

“Shoot.”

“Why did Gabriella start hating me extra hard when you two started dating? What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t tell her anything.”

There was a pause.

“But she catch me looking through your Instagram account one day.”

“I don’t even update my account. It’s all pictures of landscape and desserts and John Lennon quotes.”

“It’s pretty depressing,” he agreed.

We stood in front of one another. It seemed like there wasn’t much more to say after that.

And yet, nothing had been resolved.

Cruz rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, but if you’re not planning to do something about my hard-on, at least put me out of my misery and let me go make the bald man cry in the shower.”

“There’s a bald man in our shower?”

“Masturbate,” Cruz said flatly. “I need to take care of my blue balls.”

“Right!” I stepped aside, feeling myself blush. “Of course, of course. Don’t let me stand in your way.”

“A little too late for that.”

A few seconds later, we both evacuated the room.