Now, in the hall of the school, the class reunion in full swing in the gym, I look at the man Baxter has turned into. His eyes are darker, like he’s seen shadows, but they still search mine, looking into my depths, seeing my soul.
"I missed you," I murmur to him, back at the school, next to our lockers. It’s not enough to sum up everything that I have felt since the last time we saw one another, but it is as close as I am able to come right now without crying.
He reaches out, catches my chin between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes search mine, full of apology. But I don’t want apology. I want an explanation.
"I missed you, too," he replies. "So much. So much, Bailey..."
He pulls me against him, and I want to tug myself away. I don’t want to make this so easy for him, but in truth, it feels far too good not to let this happen. He smells the same as he always did. Masculine. Strong. Comforting.
His arms feel so good around me that it’s hard to think about anything else. Even the fact that I am supposed to be mad at him right now. I know that I should pull away, but I don’t want this to end. How many times since he left have I imagined this? I can’t even count. But now I am here, and the thought of ruining it seems impossible.
I look up at him, and his eyes are soft, yielding. They flick down to my mouth for the barest second and I forget everything. All I want is to feel his lips against mine once more. My eyes begin to drift shut, and before I know it, I am pulling closer to him...
But, at the last moment, I come to my senses. Remind myself that I am still mad at him. And pull myself out of his arms.
"You need to tell me the truth," I warn him. "Once and for all. I’m not willing to wait anymore. You understand me?”
And, as I glare at him, I know that he wants to kiss me, too. More than anything in the world.
But that’s going to have to wait until he can be honest with me about what happened all those years ago.
6
BAXTER
I can almost taste her lips on mine, she was so close to me. And I want nothing more than to kiss her properly, to feel her sweet mouth against mine and for us to forget everything that has happened in the last ten years.
But I can tell from the look in her eyes that she’s not going to back down. She was never the girl who just rolled over and took anything that you threw at her, and it’s clear that she hasn’t changed much since high school.
I wonder what else has changed. Has she been with other men? Maybe she has a boyfriend now. I have no idea. The thought of it sends a spur of anger through me. Even after all this time, after everything that we have been through, I still think of her as mine.
"I need to know what happened," she pleads with me softly. A few feet away, I can hear everyone in the hall, probably all gossiping about us.
"Let’s go for a walk," I suggest, offering her my hand. After a moment, she takes it, and allows me lead her towards the football stands.
It’s cold out here, still early enough in the year that the warmth of spring hasn’t washed out the cold of winter, and I put my jacket around her shoulders when I notice her shivering.
"I don’t need that," she protests, but I shake my head.
"Yes, you do," I reply, and she doesn’t argue. She plants herself down on the bottom of the bleachers and I join her. We’re sitting so close our knees are almost touching.
"You remember the first game you played here?" she asks me.
"I remember you cheering for me," I reply. It’s the truth. Most of what I remember from my time in Sweetheart revolves around her. Much as I wish it didn’t. She smiles, and I wonder if she thinks I’m kidding her.
"Would you have done it differently?" she asks me suddenly. I look over at her.
"What do you mean?"
"If you had known how much it was going to hurt when you left," she explains. "Would you have done it differently, do you think?”
"I would never have passed up the chance to love you," I reply bluntly. She tugs my jacket a little tighter around her shoulders. "Would you?" I ask her. "Would you have done it differently? If you had known what was going to happen?”
"I don’t know," she confesses. "It depends why you left in the first place. That’s what I don’t understand. And that’s what’s been driving me crazy all these years."