Nick patted me firmly on the shoulder. “Worry about that later,” he said. “For now, finish your dinner, go home, think about what you want to say to Josie, and call her in the morning.”
I fumbled with my fork and poked at my piece of roasted chicken. “After what a complete ass I’ve been, do you really think we can work this out?”
Ian shrugged. “Who knows? People have survived worse and broken up over less. But if you don’t at least try, will you regret it?”
My answer was immediate. Yes. One hundred percent yes.
And no matter what happened between me and Josie, I needed to know that I at least made a staunch effort to keep her in my life.
* * *
A loud clatter below me jerked me out of sleep early the next morning, when the first cool rays of sunlight were just leaking through the closed blinds of my bedroom.
Thunk. Scrape. Thunk.
“Better not be fucking Nicky again,” I grumbled irritably.
I rolled out of bed and grabbed a pair of boxers from my drawer, hopping into them one leg at a time as I made me way down the hall and to the stairs. The noises grew louder—they were in my living room, and the scraping sound was the distinct grind of wood against wood. I winced at the clamor and charged down the stairs, but when my foot hit the floor at the bottom, a softly muttered curse stopped me in my tracks.
My heart thumped wildly in my chest and I took another step, bare feet silent against the wood floors as I made my way into my living room.
I saw the scrapes first, a few light gouges in the hardwood, but my eyes followed them forward, like a trail to—a person. A familiar petite body with thick, dark waves, swearing and struggling with a heavy bookshelf.
“Josie?” I said, and she wheeled around with a startled gasp.
She looked so beautiful—tired and red-eyed, but even then, her lovely face and body and the brilliance that flashed in her eyes, the determined set of her mouth and her unflinching bravery—I saw it all, every precious scrap, and it broke my heart all over again.
“What are you doing here?” I tentatively asked.
I took a step forward and looked at the bookshelf behind her. Handmade, and not by me. The stain was uneven and didn’t quite match what I already had, and the clear lacquer on top could have used another coat. Some nails stuck out at odd angles and one or two of the shelves weren’t quite level.
“Did you make this?” I asked, reaching out to run a hand along the side. Still a little sticky from the fresh coat of lacquer.
She nodded quickly, a sweet blush staining her cheeks as she shifted on her feet. “I did, yeah. I wanted to… uh, impress you, but, I was, ah, kind of in a rush, so I made a few mistakes.”
“It’s beautiful,” I reassured her, and I meant it.
I took a step closer. She wore leggings, marked with streaks of dark stain, along with a tattered and equally stain-spattered Pacific State sweatshirt. A chunk of hair had escaped from her ponytail, and I reached out to carefully tuck it behind her ear.
“Why’d you come, Josie?” I asked softly, my heart going a hundred miles an hour in my chest. “I really screwed up, and you could’ve just walked away and wrote me off, but you’re here. How come?”
Josie took a breath, so many emotions shimmering in her eyes. “You did really screw up,” she said flatly. “You hurt me. It still hurts. And then I hurt you right back—”
“You didn’t mean it like that,” I interrupted. “You were reacting to…to my stupid bullshit. And then you came back anyway. Why?”
She swallowed hard. “My leg.”
I cocked my head. “Your leg?” I glanced down at the leg where I knew shiny pink scars curled over the smooth muscle. “Is there something wrong?”
She shook her head. “No, but it just—getting hurt like that and then the healing and therapy, it changes a person. It hurt so much at first, with the fractures and the surgeries, but then there’s a different kind of pain after that. Bones knitting together, metal screws and a fake kneecap—that stuff all hurts, but it’s oddly satisfying, like the pain of growth rather than the pain of trauma, you know? And I thought about how much I hated those first days in physical therapy and didn’t want to go back, but eventually, it was fine, and then it was good. It took some time and I needed a lot of help from my family and my doctor and my physical therapist, but eventually, I walked again without crutches. I felt like myself again.”
Josie’s eyes filled with tears and her voice softened. Shook. “Maybe that—maybe that feeling like you weren’t enough for me is your broken leg. I guess I don’t know for sure, but I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt and at least…ask you. To see if it hurt, because maybe I could walk through that with you.”
She looked down and sniffled quietly. “Maybe it sounds a little dumb. I had a whole thing in my head and I was hoping to sound—poetic, I guess. I thought you might appreciate that.”
I bent low enough to bury my head in the soft skin of her neck as one of my arms crept around her waist to pull her in tightly. God, she felt so damn good. Absolutely perfect.
“It’s not dumb,” I said thickly. “It’s really nice, actually.” I lifted my head again and looked down into her wide, uncertain eyes and the tears that glistened in the corners. “That thing I did, where I worried about you leaving me behind and never brought it up with you until I threw it in your face and ruined what should have been a great night? It sucked, and I was wrong. You had every right to be upset with me.”