A Kiss to Keep

“Really?” she asks, seeming surprised. “Well, he has a lot of respect for you and for Sebastian. He speaks really highly of you two. And he seems really happy to have you two back.”

Guilt is what makes my smile slip the way it does. I feel it falter and I can’t stop it.

I know why we left, even though Sebastian doesn’t know that I know.

I know what happened when we took off too. What happened to Carter specifically.

“He’s a good guy,” I tell her and try to ignore the regret. If I’d known everything he’d go through at only sixteen and have to face alone because his best friend left, I would have made Sebastian come back. It’s ironic that I can admit that, yet coming back now, the thought never occurred to me.

“So, how far along are you?” I ask her, trying to hide everything I’m feeling, but she sees it just like Sebastian does, if her wary expression is anything to go by.

“Not far at all,” she tells me and offers a small smile as she touches her lower stomach. “We only just found out.”

With a nod, I acknowledge what she said, but new words fail me.

“You okay?” she asks with hesitancy.

“I just wish Sebastian would tell me why we’re here,” I blurt out the truth. “Why now?” I don’t bother keeping my voice low as I spill the truth to a perfect stranger.

“It’s funny how they keep things from us,” she says a bit lower, a bit more serious than she’s been, “as if we aren’t going to find out.” The small eye roll and shake of the head are meant to add humor, but I can see how she really feels in her eyes, in the way her smile struggles to stay where it is.

“Carter too, then?” I ask her, feeling the race in my pulse.

“He tried; I think he knows better now.” The moment the words leave her, she bites down on her lower lip and peeks over her shoulder at the door, as if he could come in any second. For a moment I think she’s worried he’d come here, worried he’d see her talking to me about him. But then she mutters, “He better know better now,” in a tone not meant to be negotiated.

“He’s an asshole sometimes,” she tells me, playing with the nonexistent ring missing from her finger. “He’s rough around the edges and difficult at times. But he loves me, and I told him I want to know what’s going on. Even if he thinks I shouldn’t know, not knowing makes it harder on me, you know? Which makes it harder on us.”

She’s saying every single thing that I could say right back to her.

“I told him, I’d let him know if I didn’t want to hear.” Again she looks over her shoulder, this time as if summoning him, but the man doesn’t show himself. “And if I want to know something, he answers. And I do the same for him.”

“Right.” I nod in agreement.

Her last sentence is spoken with finality. “Being raw and open is scary as fuck, especially in this life, but it’s the only way I know how to survive.”

Those words, each and every one, settle into the very marrow of my bones. “I don’t think I can stay here if Sebastian doesn’t tell me what’s going on,” I confess to her. Bastian isn’t anywhere to be seen or heard; I have no idea what he’s doing, but he needs to hear those words. “I’m afraid he’s going to choose this place over me, to be honest.” There’s the truth. The heart of the matter. He’s wanted to come back since the day we left, and now he’s done it, without my permission. If I say I don’t want this, I am certain he’s not going to choose me.

“Why would you say that? You’re all he talks about.”

“Because he’s been waiting for me to leave him for years. He’d let me walk away if he thought it was the right thing to do by me.”

“Do you want to walk away?” she asks.

“No,” I say, and the answer is easy. “I don’t even mind this place. It’s not what I was thinking when I told him I’d never come back. This isn’t Crescent Hills and I could be happy here. The only thing I really care about is that he’s not telling me what’s going on. And with the history of what happened before, I want to know. I don’t want to go crazy worrying.”

“I know that feeling,” she mutters beneath her breath. “What did he tell you?” she asks me, and I shake my head along with giving her a shrug.

Swallowing and feeling my dry throat tighten, I answer, “He said he wanted to come home. He said Carter needed him.” Every word feels drier and drier in the back of my throat. Like it’s suffocating me to tell this woman and admit how little he tells me. “I know something’s wrong,” I confess to her.