“Yeah, well, shit happens, I guess. I just couldn’t . . . do those things.” He gulps. “And I took a lot of ass whippings for my failure to step up.”
We walk a little farther, and he points out Haley’s flower shop but doesn’t say anything. I wish I could lay my head on his shoulder or at least wrap my arm around his waist, but I can’t. And not being able to hurts.
I squeeze his biceps in my hand, hoping he feels a little support. “I’m sorry I brought it up,” I say.
“It’s okay. How would you know? Besides, he’s in prison now for a bunch of stupid shit, and Mom is dead. I can do whatever I want without fear of repercussions.”
He stops so abruptly I almost trip. The trees above us whisper in the wind as he holds his arm out.
“See this?” He points to a jellyfish on his arm like it’s the most important thing in the world. Whether it really is or its importance lies in changing the subject, I don’t know, but I’ll go along with it.
I peer at the design on his skin. The tentacles are blasts of color that are breathtaking. My heart leaps in my throat when I see it’s wound around dice.
“I see it,” I say.
“I got the jellyfish after Dad went to prison. They survive using instinct and adapt as the currents take them into new places.” He stares at the ink. “Every time I look at this, I remember to follow my instincts and that no matter where I end up, I can survive.” He takes a deep breath and smiles faintly. “Gotta roll with it.”
His words bring tears to my eyes. I flutter my lashes in the hope that it dissipates the droplets before they fall down my cheeks.
“You’re one of a kind,” I say through the lump in my throat.
He gives me a tight smile. “I don’t like to talk about this. I think I’ve just talked about it more with you than I ever have with anyone.”
“I’m honored.”
“Yeah, well, don’t be. I’m just using you for cheap therapy.” He winks before raising his eyes and looking around. The fogginess in his beautiful blues is gone as he inhales a lungful of air. “I don’t think there’s much else to show you.”
You’ve shown me more than I ever imagined.
I’m unable to make sense of all the sides there are of Penn Etling. Who would’ve thought the guy whom I was sure could speak only in innuendos could be so thoughtful? Smart? Inspiring?
I must be losing my mind.
Turning to ask him where we’re headed now, I catch him staring at me. My cheeks flush. “What?” I ask.
“Am I doing a good job of being your friend?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Because I’m not sure what that really looks like. I’m just doing my best.”
“You’re friends with Claire and Alexis, right?”
I hold my breath because I’m not sure what to expect his reaction to be. I’m not even sure what his friendship with either of them really is . . . and I might not want to know. Although given Claire said I was the only person she’s ever seen shoot Penn down, perhaps that’s my answer. And I really don’t want to know.
Penn grins and drops his chin. “Yeah. Totally the same thing.”
He laughs quietly before raising his head again. His eyes swim with an emotion I can’t quite name, but it makes me smile.
“Now let’s get back,” he says. “I have some fish to catch.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
PENN
I hand Gerald, Mucker’s delivery guy, twenty-five bucks. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks, man,” he says.
“No problem.”
I shut the door and head down the hallway toward the kitchen.
The walls of my rental need to be painted. They’ve needed to be painted since I moved in six years ago. I keep thinking I’ll bite the bullet eventually and just do it, but I also keep thinking that maybe I won’t live here forever.
I’ve had a dream for years now, ever since I was a teenager, of building my own place out by the lake. Building it with my own hands. It would have a big fireplace in the living room and a kitchen large enough for my friends to come over and watch a game or exchange presents on Christmas Eve like we used to do at Grandpa’s.
It would take a lot of money and even more energy, and I halfway think it would be a waste since it’s just me. I don’t need all that. And when I think about other options, like finding someone who would be happy living like that, too, I backtrack really fast and reconsider painting.
“Here ya go,” I say, sliding the pizza box onto the table. “Half sausage and pepperoni for me, half sausage and mushroom because you’re gross for you.”
Matt looks up from his phone. “Dane just sent me a text. He’s coming home early.”