Love Me Again (Stonewall Investigations Blue Creek 1)

Except, what if I already had done something? What if talking about this dug up old emotions and screwed up the magic that was beginning to spark between us?

“You didn’t want me anymore,” Austin said with brutal honesty.

“What? Really?” I turned to him, feeling as if he had slapped me. That was at the bottom of the list of things I thought happened between us. I had tossed around infidelity, dumb arguments that grew larger, a difference in where we saw our futures headed.

But that I didn’t want him? I just didn’t see how that could be possible.

So Austin explained it for me. “That’s what you said on the last day we were ever together. We’d been secretly hooking up for three years by then, almost every day. We started sleeping over, too. Things were getting really serious except for the fact that you didn’t want anyone ever finding out about us. I was applying for jobs, most of them in Maine so that I could be a drive away from you, except for one job I applied for in New York. So I gave you a deadline: tell your parents about us before I had to choose a job. I thought they were the biggest hurdle to get over, underestimating how much control you gave to your own self-hate.

“You blew up when I told you. You cut things off right then and there. Said you didn’t want me anymore and that—well, we don’t have to get into specifics.”

My stomach twisted into a pretzel. “I want the specifics,” I said through a dry mouth.

“Seriously, we don’t need to get into it. I’ve moved on since then, and it’s obvious that you’ve changed immensely. I don’t consider those the same people who are sitting here now.” Austin looked at me with a small sparkle in his eyes. It allowed me to breathe a miniature sigh of relief. Bringing up our past didn’t set us on a course toward disaster like I was scared it would.

“I wasn’t in the right mindset back then.” I shook my head, drinking more of the whiskey, wondering how much of this Scottish gold I was going to need to get over this shit. “I honestly can’t imagine saying something like that to anyone, much less you. It’s really difficult to explain, considering that technically I just met you, but fuck, Austin, I feel really close to you. I don’t need my memories to feel that there’s something between us, and it’s something I can’t ever imagine throwing away like that.”

Austin seemed to digest my words for a moment. I needed him to know I meant every word I said. I put a hand on his arm, as if the physical touch would be some kind of signature on the dotted line. “I’m sorry,” I said earnestly. “For everything I said. I know I can’t remember any of the actual things I said, but seriously, I’m so fucking sorry for hurting you.”

Maybe one day I’d remember everything I said to him, or maybe I wouldn’t and Austin would be the only one with the full history of us, but that didn’t matter to me in this moment. All I cared about was making sure Austin knew I felt sorry down to my bone marrow. If it meant I had to get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness, then I would, in a heartbeat.

Thankfully, no kneeling was required. Austin smiled and said, “Thank you. I accept your apology, Char.”

The use of my nickname sent sparkles of glitter and gold through my veins, pushing away all the anxious threads. “I’ll make it up to you,” I said. “Not sure how, but I’m gonna try. What kind of cake do you like?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he answered with a laugh. “But I like German chocolate cake.”

I filed that away for later. A cake wouldn’t magically make everything better, but I’d at least make sure it tasted bomb as fuck. And the cake wouldn’t be the only thing I did for him either. It was just the start.

This was all just the start.

I drank another sip of the whiskey, letting it warm my throat on the way down. Austin stood and went over to a record player sharing a shelf with a pair of beautiful trailing plants, letting their Swiss cheese–like leaves fall down in a green waterfall. He put on an artist I didn’t recognize, the soft jazz tones of the music instantly transporting me to a different place. He walked back to the couch and sat, kicking his bare feet up onto the coffee table.

“Who’s that?” I asked, pointing to a photo of Austin and another man, both of them smiling wide in front of an elephant at the zoo.

Austin put his feet back down on the rug, fisting his hands and resting them on his legs as he leaned forward. It was as if my question struck a raw nerve, like I was a dentist drilling into a molar without any anesthesia.