“Oh. It’s good.”

My tea has cooled down, so I take a sip. He tries his coffee again. “How . . . are you?” I ask.

“Honestly, not great,” he says, bringing his eyes up to mine and stretching a hand across the table to graze my sleeve. “Peter, I’m so sorry about what I said on Saturday. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and I get why you’ve been so upset with me.”

It takes a second for it to sink in: He thought I needed space because I was upset with him.

“Stop. Stop. I have to say something first.” I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. There’s only the truth. We can’t move forward unless he knows it. “The night we broke up, after we fought . . . I went to Sophie’s.”

A muscle in his jaw ripples, as though he’s clenching his teeth.

“I was really distraught,” I continue. “A total mess. I told her what happened, and she was comforting me, and there were all these emotions, and . . . and we slept together.” I expect to feel lighter after I confess it, but I’m only more keyed up, waiting for his reaction.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, he can’t look at me. He’s quiet for what feels like the length of an entire song.

“I—wow, a lot of thoughts right now.” With a sigh, he scrubs a hand down his face. “I guess I’m glad you told me. Are you . . . together now?”

“No,” I say quickly. Emphatically. “We’re not. I’ve never been more certain Sophie and I aren’t meant to be together that way.” I pause for a few moments. Explaining Sophie and me to someone else has never been easy, and what happened Saturday didn’t exactly change that. “I know Sophie and I have a weird relationship, and the transplant complicated it a million times over. I’ve been feeling like I owed her for what she did and guilty that our relationship wasn’t what it used to be.”

“Is that why you did it?”

It would be so simple to say yes. But that’s only half the truth. “That was part of it, but I think another part was that I was curious. Like you said, maybe I needed the time to figure it out. I used to like her, years ago, and the closeness of our friendship messed with my mind. I thought those feelings were still there underneath. But . . . they’re not there now. Earlier this week, Sophie and I had this massive fight, and even if we manage to come back from it, I’m pretty positive we’re never going to be as close as we used to be.”

“Shit. Wow.” He doesn’t exactly look heartbroken for me, but shocked, definitely. “I’m . . . sorry.” He grimaces. “That was hard to say, if I’m being totally honest.”

“I appreciate that. But you don’t have to apologize. I messed up. The timing was really not great. I know that.”

He goes quiet again. And then: “I’m not going to pretend this isn’t extremely hard for me to wrap my mind around,” he says. “But—you and I weren’t together. I wanted you to figure this shit out with her. I know that with you, I stepped into something more complicated than I could imagine, but . . .” A long sigh. “I was sure you were worth it.”

My heart picks up speed. “And now?”

“Now . . . I need some time to process all of this.”

Time. Okay. Time is doable. Time doesn’t mean “the end.”

“Of course. Of course. I get it.” I pause, debating whether I should say what I want to. I have to get it out. “I do still like you. A lot. I’m not saying that to make you process this faster or anything. I swear. I just wanted you to know that I’ve never felt better than when I’m with you, or with the band.”

These words clearly affect him, though, twisting his mouth into a sad smile. “Like ninety percent of me is telling me I like you too much not to try this again.” Before I can get excited about that, he continues: “And the band misses you. I know it’s only been a week, but they get attached quickly, I guess. So . . . if you want to come back to practice tomorrow afternoon, I think it would make them really happy.”

“I’d hate to disappoint them.”

“Yeah,” he says, his eyes hopeful behind his old-man glasses. “It’s not the same without you. I mean—that’s what they say.”

Peter

10:21 p.m.

You don’t need to respond, but I wanted to tell you that I’m so sorry, Sophie.

For so many things.

Sophie

10:37 p.m.

Thank you for saying that.

10:38 p.m.

Tags: Rachel Lynn Solomon
Source: readsnovelonline.net