I’ve been rehearsing this moment in my head since the day I left town with a black eye and bruised ribs from getting my ass kicked by my own family, positive I would never be good enough for Lark. Still…deep down, I let myself imagine that someday I might be. Someday I might get my shit together and prove I was better than the long line of assholes I’m descended from.
It ended up taking four years and more hours on a therapist’s couch than I imagined possible, but I’ve finally put the ghosts of my past to bed. Now, when I look in the mirror, I see a man who’s worthy of being judged on his own merits, not his family’s mistakes. By and large, I’m a good person who’s fighting to be better all the time.
And this is part of being better.
Apologizing to Lark. Letting her know how sorry I am and how much I regret the way things ended between us. Letting her know that I would give anything to turn back time and spare her that pain.
I hope she can find it in her heart to forgive me, but if she can’t, that’s fine, too. She doesn’t owe me a damned thing.
But I owe her, and I’m ready to pay up.
Clutching my beer in a death grip, I start toward her.
I make it all of three steps before she turns and runs.
Flat out runs, like she’s running from a rabid dog escaping from quarantine.
By the time I call for her to wait, she’s already woven her way through the tables and launched herself into the darkened field beyond, heading for the shadowy hills in the distance without any sign of slowing.
But there’s nothing out there but marshland and creepy old barns and sketchy people living in campers while they make meth in someone else’s abandoned shed.
I should know. I probably have a long lost cousin or two squatting on condemned property, doing their best to flush their lives down the toilet. If she keeps running that way, Lark is only going to find trouble, and I didn’t come here to cause her more of that.
Cursing beneath my breath, I start after her, abandoning my beer on an empty table as I go. Within a few moments, I move beyond the tables and out into the field of knee-high grass. Spotting Lark a few yards ahead, I pour on a burst of speed.
Thanks to my much longer legs, I close the distance between us easily. Soon I’m close enough to hear Lark’s swiftly indrawn breath, and to catch the smell of wood smoke and flowers clinging to her clothes.
“Lark, stop!” I beg.
“Go away,” she pants, picking up her pace.
“I just want to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you!”
“Then you can listen. Or not,” I say. “But it’s not safe out here. You’re going to get hurt.”
I reach out, catching her upper arm between my fingers. My touch is light—I’ve seen too many men rough up my mother to even think about trying to overpower anyone with brute strength—but Lark jerks away like my touch has burned her.
The jerk of her arm is so intense, it throws her off balance, sending her tripping over her feet and falling to the ground.
I’m moving too fast to catch her, too fast even to stop my own forward momentum. I grind to a halt inches from where she’s landed in the grass, my arms reeling, only to fall forward a second later, landing with an oomph on top of the only girl I’ve ever loved.
Our legs tangle and our stomachs brush and Lark’s breath stirs the hair hanging into my face. Our eyes meet, and for a moment all the anger and misery and uncertainty vanishes, leaving only longing in its place.
She still feels it, too—the connection between us.
I can read it in her eyes. It’s darker out here than under the lanterns, but the moon is nearly full. There’s more than enough light to see that Lark doesn’t hate me.
Or at least she doesn’t just hate me.
She still misses me, too.
She still wishes things had ended differently between us.
“Get off of me,” she whispers, but she doesn’t sound angry anymore.
“Can we please talk? Just for a few minutes?” I ask, not moving a muscle. “Or, if you don’t want to talk, will you at least promise to go back to the party? I’ll leave. I just don’t want you out here in the dark alone.”
“What you want doesn’t concern me, Mason,” she snaps.
“Please,” I beg. “I just want you to be safe.” I press my lips together, hesitating a beat before I decide to try my luck one more time. “And to apologize. Profusely.”
“I’m not interested in your apology,” Lark says, her eyes darting back and forth, refusing to meet mine.