Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
And she kisses me right back, her hands going to my collared shirt and gripping the material tightly between two clenched fists. Our mouths are at war and in love at the same time. Our lips are harsh but soft, and our tongues move against each other in desperation.
But then, Josie is pulling away, and when our eyes lock again, hers are wide with shock and anger. Her red lipstick is smeared across her lips, probably smeared across mine too, and she surprises the hell out of me in one fell swoop.
She slaps her hand against the side of my face in a quick, brisk movement that causes a deep, stinging ache to form beneath my skin.
“Dammit, Clay,” Josie whisper-yells, her voice so fucking sad and a lone tear slipping from her eyes. “You can’t fix this. You can’t will it away. You can’t turn back time.”
“Jose—”
“No!” she snaps. “After it happened, you kept right on living, but I’ll never be the same.”
I blink, my mind trying to understand what she is saying right now. “Kept right on living? What do you mean?” I question, but she spins on her heel and runs out of the tent, heading straight for Bennett’s barn.
And I follow her.
This conversation—this fucked-up shit between us—it isn’t done.
64
Josie
Saturday, July 9th
I run, as fast as my feet can take me, and they end up leading me into Bennett’s barn. Tears are a river down my cheeks when I reach the still-open doors. The lights are on, and I don’t stop until I’m inside, standing beside the large mirror that Norah and I stood in front of just before she walked down the aisle. Our smiles were tearstained, and we’d laughed about how ridiculous we were being, and I’d hugged my sister so tight, telling her how happy I was for her.
My tears were filled with joy and happiness, but they were bittersweet too. Years ago, when Grandma Rose was still alive, I imagined a wedding just like this, in front of family and friends and with Clay standing at the altar.
“Josie!” Clay calls out as he jogs into the barn, hot on my heels. “What do you mean by that? Kept right on living?” he questions, and anger and confusion and sadness, so much sadness, etch every line of his handsome face. This man has been put through the wringer…because of me. I know this to be true, and I hate myself for it. I hate myself for all the things I should’ve told him but didn’t have the strength to.
He’s right behind me now, his eyes staring at me in the reflection in the mirror. When I don’t say anything, he keeps asking questions, determined to get answers once and for all.
“Are you talking about Rose? The accident? What the fuck do you mean by that?” He’s angry, and he has every right to be. I’ve kept him so far in the dark that he couldn’t find his way out of this if he tried.
This battle he thinks he’s fighting is a lost cause. It’s worthless. Just like me.
“Clay, just stop,” I say, my voice a near whisper, and my heart is pounding so erratically inside my chest that I can hardly hear the words when they leave my lips. “Just stop. Just let it go. Just walk away.”
“Walk away?” he shouts. “You think I’m going to walk away? I don’t think so, Josie. Walking away from you that day you handed me divorce papers is the biggest regret of my life. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve fought for you. I should’ve fought for us.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything. He places two hands to turn me around to face him, to lock our eyes together. I hate that tears are still streaming down my cheeks, but I can’t help it. I’m powerless against them. All the tragedy and pain and tragic misfortune of our past are hovering over us like a thunderstorm, and I feel lucky that I can even breathe at this point. That I can even stand on my own two feet.
Clay is talking about all of this like it’s a straightforward thing, but it is all so loaded that I fear any second the trigger will get pulled.
“Josie, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. Tell me why everything ended up here,” he whispers, and I don’t miss the way his voice shakes. “Please, tell me the truth. Finally tell me the truth about why you wanted the divorce. Tell me why I’ve spent the last five years having to live without you. Tell me why every time we kiss, I can still feel how much you love me,” he says, and his voice is rising with frustration and desperation. “Fucking tell me why the other night you told me you wanted me and needed me and loved me and why in the fuck having sex without a condom didn’t matter to you if you had no plans of getting back together!”