Tiebreaker (It Takes Two 2)

His body stiffens. He scratches his beard under his chin. “We need to talk about the properties––truth?”

“Sure, we can try that for a change.”

“I’ve never lied to you,” he snaps with a hard edge to his voice.

“Where do I even begin––”

“Not once,” he interrupts.

“How about, I love you!” comes charging out of my mouth. I really didn’t want to go there. I really didn’t. And now that we’re there, I can’t get out of there fast enough. “I don’t want to talk about this. There’s no point. Let’s just…pretend this conversation never happened.”

He sighs heavily. A few minutes tick by in silence, the tension building along with it. I can practically feel him rehearsing the words in his head. “I know you’re still hurt––”

Hot blood floods my neck. “This is talking about it. This is definitely talking about it. And on a side note––get over yourself.”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

And I don’t intend to. My ability to forgive only goes so far and it would have to extend beyond space and time to accommodate him.

“I know what I did to you was inexcusable.”

“Yeahhh, you’re still talking about it.”

While I squirm in my seat, he makes eye contact and for the first time I see apprehension. He’s not as confident as he wants me to believe. He’s not as cavalier about this as I first surmised.

“I just––” He breathes out frustration. For a moment he looks worn out, weighed down. “I wish you would stop being so mad at me.”

The problem with getting romantically involved with your best friend is that when it all goes down the crapper you’re left with nothing. The loss is exponentially worse.

I miss my best friend. I miss him so badly I can’t think about it without wanting to cry a river sometimes, and he took him from me. I don’t want to miss him. I hate that he still has the power to affect me. But as difficult as it is to accept, it’s also true.

That’s what feeds the anger. That’s the reason it still burns. And unlike this pull between us, this unwanted attraction that has festered forever, anger is safe. Productive even.

My anger has fueled me, kept me warm, and helped me win as I pictured his face on each forehand I hit at 76 miles per hour. My anger has been a constant companion. Loyal. Something he knows nothing about.

“I’m over it, Noah.” Not really. Not at all actually. “I haven’t thought about you in years.” Completely untrue. “I should thank you actually. You did me a favor.”

I wish that were true. I wish I felt that way. I wish. I wish. I wish.

The soft touch of his hand on my bare knee surprises me. It’s gone before I can move away, leaving behind the imprint of it seared into my skin. I want to cover it, trap it there, but I know he’ll notice and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“That’s not what I meant––”

My iPhone rings. Oliver’s name flashes onscreen and I can’t press the accept button fast enough.

“Hi.”

“I didn’t expect you to answer,” Oliver tells me, his voice a little hesitant. It trips another bout of guilt.

I haven’t been fair to him. Despite all our problems, I need to tell him everything, to come clean about my past. Who knows? Maybe I’m not giving him enough credit and he’ll surprise me, rising to the occasion.

“I have a lot to tell you, but I’m with my grandfather’s business partner right now.” I never told Oliver about Noah. It felt too personal. Which in and of itself says a lot about our relationship and none of it good.

I briefly glance over at Noah. His face is unreadable, save for the hard line of his jaw. “Can I call you when I get home?”

We pull into a dusty parking lot where a number of people work diligently, setting up tents and whatnot for the fair. Noah parks, shuts off the engine, and without a word, gets out of the truck.

There’s a beat of silence before Oliver answers, “Later then.”

* * *

Dumping the phone on the bench, I watch Noah talking to two employees. I let him get a rise out of me again. I can’t keep letting him do that. We’re going to be working side by side for some time. The last thing I need is for him to believe there are unresolved feelings between us. Which there aren’t…mostly. Some, maybe.

With that in mind, I endeavor to buckle down. I breathe in calm, I breathe out the past. Control is mine. I will not be taunted into committing murder by a bad man with a clever tongue and soulful eyes.

Next to a hayfield that stretches for miles, the lot is crowded, bustling with people and delivery trucks. Carneys setting up the rides. Livestock handlers building round pens.