throat.
“Look, about that night at Finnigan’s five years ago—”
“You’ve already apologized, Clay.”
“I know. I know I apologized that you got hurt, but—”
“You weren’t the one who threw the punch.”
“No, but if you hadn’t been trying to pull me out of a bar fight, you wouldn’t have gotten hit at all. Look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry I didn’t come see you in the hospital.”
Reese bit her lip. “You were in jail. And I was only there a few hours. It was just a broken nose.” She hesitated, wondering why he’d brought it up at all. “You kinda disappeared after that. Just left without telling any of us where you were going.”
“I know. I’m sorry about that, too. And I’m sorry you guys couldn’t visit. I had to get my life together, and I needed to distance myself to do that.”
“I understand. I appreciated the call from rehab so at least I didn’t worry.”
“Step nine,” he said softly. “That’s the one about making amends. I owed you a lot more of those than I could fit into one phone call.”
Reese nodded, remembering the call. Remembering the stupid, traitorous way her heart had leapt into her throat, fluttering like a drunken butterfly. She and Eric had been divorced for a few years by then, but they’d still been best friends. She’d never asked him if he heard from Clay, too. If he got the same sort of phone call late on a winter evening with Clay’s voice echoing down the line like it came from another planet. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to know. Maybe she’d wanted to believe the call was something special, something only she and Clay shared.
Reese bit her lip. “You never told me what the fight at Finnigan’s was about.”
It wasn’t exactly a question, but she held her breath anyway as she waited for a response. On the other end of the line, Clay was quiet. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded a few octaves lower.
“Just another drunken bar fight. You know how it was. How I was.”
“That one seemed different.”
“It’s what finally landed me in rehab, if that’s what you meant.”
That wasn’t what she’d meant, but she wasn’t sure what she did mean. All she knew was that the night at Finnigan’s had been the final straw. The only time she hadn’t tried to bail him out of jail. The moment she’d really, truly given up on him.
She cleared her throat. “It’s okay, Clay. My nose healed up just fine. It’s not even crooked.”
“I noticed,” he said. “You’re still beautiful. Maybe more now than you were then.”
Reese felt tears sting the back of her eyes, and she balled her hand into a fist, willing herself not to cry. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her voice came out so quiet she wasn’t sure he heard her.
On the other end of the line, she could hear his breath in her ear, the scrape of his chin against the phone’s receiver. At last, he sighed.
“Goodnight, Reese.”
“Goodnight, Clay,” she repeated, and closed her eyes as fifteen years’ worth of stupid longing came surging back.
A few hours later, Clay stared at the glowing green numbers on the hotel clock radio and wondered how hard he’d have to squint to rearrange them in an order that would let him get more than a few hours of sleep.
Midnight.
Back in his drinking days, the party would just be getting started, even if there was no party. Even if it was just him sitting alone in his kitchen with a half rack of beer vanishing before it had a chance to grow warm and bitter on the table.
Not that he was bitter now. About anything. He’d made bad choices, and he was making better ones now.
If only you’d done that fifteen years ago, Reese might not have married Eric, and you might have—
“No.”
He startled himself by saying the word aloud, but it felt right, so he said it again. “No!”
He didn’t turn to drinking because he lost out on the girl of his dreams, though maybe he lost out on the girl of his dreams because of the
“Look, about that night at Finnigan’s five years ago—”
“You’ve already apologized, Clay.”
“I know. I know I apologized that you got hurt, but—”
“You weren’t the one who threw the punch.”
“No, but if you hadn’t been trying to pull me out of a bar fight, you wouldn’t have gotten hit at all. Look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry I didn’t come see you in the hospital.”
Reese bit her lip. “You were in jail. And I was only there a few hours. It was just a broken nose.” She hesitated, wondering why he’d brought it up at all. “You kinda disappeared after that. Just left without telling any of us where you were going.”
“I know. I’m sorry about that, too. And I’m sorry you guys couldn’t visit. I had to get my life together, and I needed to distance myself to do that.”
“I understand. I appreciated the call from rehab so at least I didn’t worry.”
“Step nine,” he said softly. “That’s the one about making amends. I owed you a lot more of those than I could fit into one phone call.”
Reese nodded, remembering the call. Remembering the stupid, traitorous way her heart had leapt into her throat, fluttering like a drunken butterfly. She and Eric had been divorced for a few years by then, but they’d still been best friends. She’d never asked him if he heard from Clay, too. If he got the same sort of phone call late on a winter evening with Clay’s voice echoing down the line like it came from another planet. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to know. Maybe she’d wanted to believe the call was something special, something only she and Clay shared.
Reese bit her lip. “You never told me what the fight at Finnigan’s was about.”
It wasn’t exactly a question, but she held her breath anyway as she waited for a response. On the other end of the line, Clay was quiet. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded a few octaves lower.
“Just another drunken bar fight. You know how it was. How I was.”
“That one seemed different.”
“It’s what finally landed me in rehab, if that’s what you meant.”
That wasn’t what she’d meant, but she wasn’t sure what she did mean. All she knew was that the night at Finnigan’s had been the final straw. The only time she hadn’t tried to bail him out of jail. The moment she’d really, truly given up on him.
She cleared her throat. “It’s okay, Clay. My nose healed up just fine. It’s not even crooked.”
“I noticed,” he said. “You’re still beautiful. Maybe more now than you were then.”
Reese felt tears sting the back of her eyes, and she balled her hand into a fist, willing herself not to cry. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her voice came out so quiet she wasn’t sure he heard her.
On the other end of the line, she could hear his breath in her ear, the scrape of his chin against the phone’s receiver. At last, he sighed.
“Goodnight, Reese.”
“Goodnight, Clay,” she repeated, and closed her eyes as fifteen years’ worth of stupid longing came surging back.
A few hours later, Clay stared at the glowing green numbers on the hotel clock radio and wondered how hard he’d have to squint to rearrange them in an order that would let him get more than a few hours of sleep.
Midnight.
Back in his drinking days, the party would just be getting started, even if there was no party. Even if it was just him sitting alone in his kitchen with a half rack of beer vanishing before it had a chance to grow warm and bitter on the table.
Not that he was bitter now. About anything. He’d made bad choices, and he was making better ones now.
If only you’d done that fifteen years ago, Reese might not have married Eric, and you might have—
“No.”
He startled himself by saying the word aloud, but it felt right, so he said it again. “No!”
He didn’t turn to drinking because he lost out on the girl of his dreams, though maybe he lost out on the girl of his dreams because of the
Similar Books
