Miss Me Not

"I could have changed his mind."

"How? By reverting back to a friendship that died years ago?" I said harshly, needing him to understand that he didn't hold the cards.

He reared back at my words like I had sucker-punched him. "Maybe," he finally answered.

"It wouldn't have fixed the hole in him," I said, suddenly agitated as I stood up and started pacing back and forth.

"How do you know? It might have helped. At least he would have had someone he could talk to," he said almost angrily, jumping to his feet also. "Having someone to lean on has to help."

"Having someone to talk to doesn't help the hole if you're not the cause of it," I said, turning on him. "You can't fix something you didn't break!"

"I can help," he pleaded.

"I don't need to be a pet project of yours," I said in a voice dripping with venom.

He didn't deny my accusation. All the wind was knocked out of my sails and I forgot to breath. I wanted to be wrong. I had actually hoped it was something else.

Without another word, I turned and stalked away. He reached out and snagged my arm with his hand before I could move more than a few steps.

"You're not a project," he said through clenched teeth.

"Really," I said sarcastically, trying to ignore the hurt that raced through me.

He sighed, dropping his hand down so that he held my hand loosely in his. "It might have started that way. I've watched you over the last few years. I know you're a loner like Mitch was. I made halfhearted attempts to include Mitch over the years. Halfhearted asshole attempts. I knew he didn't fit in with my normal group, but I didn't care enough to make the time for him. Everything else was so much more important. I hate myself for that. I'm the selfish jerk who couldn't take the time to find common ground for an old friend until it was too late," he said earnestly, finally releasing my hand. "When you showed up for tutoring, I felt it was a sign. I could redeem myself. But with you, I didn't need to search for common ground, you intrigued me from the moment you sat down."

I stood like a rock, listening to his confession of guilt. I wanted to move, to be indifferent, but his words kept me anchored in place. ng the paper in half, I slid it into my textbook so I could add it to all the rest. I was more than certain that it bordered on mentally deranged to keep all the "hate" notes I'd received over the years, but in truth, they kept me centered. It was almost comforting to get one now. I was forgetting all my unspoken promises. Dean was tempting me and the note in my book only highlighted that. I'd ride with him to the service today, but that was all. He didn't have a place in my life, and God knows I didn't have a place in his.

***

Dean was waiting for me at the end of third period by the entrance to the student parking lot as promised. The rain was still steadily falling, so he was waiting for me off to the side under a small awning. He looked at me somberly when I joined him.

"I didn't bring an umbrella, so we'll have to make a run for it," he said, looking at me for my input.

"I like the rain," I said simply, stepping out from under the awning. The rain cascaded down on me as I dashed across the parking lot, headed for his jeep. Dean caught up easily and grasped my hand in his as I leaped over a puddle in one of the countless potholes that littered the student parking lot. I skidded to a stop after clearing the puddle and looked down at our joined hands before looking up at him. I should have protested the contact. He knew I didn't like to be touched and yet that hadn't stopped him. His eyes held mine. Neither of us flinched as he held my hand loosely in his. I could have pulled away. I could have stuck to my resolve earlier. Instead, I wrapped my fingers around his and held on like I never had before. He smiled slightly before pulling me toward his jeep with my hand safely enveloped in his.

By the time we made it into his vehicle, I was soaking wet and shivering.

"The heat will warm it up in here in a few seconds," Dean said, cupping my chilled hands in his. He blew on them gently while never taking his eyes from mine.

"You know you're seriously breaking my 'no touching' rule," I stated.

"I figured since I'd broken the rules yesterday, I was now exempt from them," he said balefully, finally releasing my fingers so he could put the jeep in reverse.

I looked out my window, biting my lip so I couldn't break yet another rule. Being around him and sticking to my resolve were becoming more and more difficult.

We drove the rest of the way in silence. I was surprised and thankful he didn't ask about the touching thing. He could have. I knew I was a freak of nature. People didn't usually walk around with an invisible shield around them.

"Are you warm yet?" he finally asked, pulling through the open iron gates at St. Frances Cemetery.

"Yeah," I said, pulling a grey sweater out of my bag for the graveside service.

"At least they have tents set up," he said, indicating the two oversized tents filled with white folding chairs that bracketed a smaller tent holding a closed casket that was resting on a stand in the center of the tent. Mourners were already filling the wooden chairs that sat on the sodden grass. A couple that looked to be my parents' age sat in the front row, sandwiched between a set of elderly people who were obviously grandparents. The woman in the middle, most likely Mitch's mom, sat sobbing as she gripped the hands of those beside her. It was Mitch's father who hit me like a punch in the gut. His grief was evident as he sat with drooped shoulders beside the sobbing woman, tears coursing down his own cheeks. I had never seen a man cry before.

I gulped silently, looking at the living proof of Mitch's last decision in front of me. If Mitch hadn't beaten me to the punch, this could have been me. It would have been me. The moment seemed so final. A box was all that remained of him.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Uh, yeah," I answered, realizing I had stopped in the rain ten feet or so from the enclosures.