Page 30 of Waiting for Her

“Your pickup?”

He reaches into a drawer in his desk and pulls out a picture, sliding it over the desk to me.

I reach for it, my fingertips grazing the back of his hand in the process.

I gasp as soon as I see it. I may know what happened that night but I never saw any of the pictures of his pickup.

But one look at it now, I realize if I’d have been there, I wouldn’t be here.

There’s nothing left of the right side of his old pickup. And the left? I can’t believe he’s sitting across from me right now.

Memories of years riding with him assault me again.

Of laying in the bed of his pickup, staring up at the stars.

When he would lift the heavy console between us, so I could sit next to him.

How his hand would naturally fall to my leg, always driving one-handed so our bodies would stay connected.

When he would get out, he always pulled me across the driver’s seat rather than waiting for me to go out the passenger door.

The memories send shockwaves through my body so quickly I have to close my eyes against the overwhelming sensations.

Stomach lurching, I don’t even think about my next actions.

I stand up and walk over to his window, releasing the hold on the window shade and letting it fall unceremoniously with a clang against the wooden ledge.

I make my way around his desk, his eyes on me the entire time.

Gently, I push him away from the desk, then, with my green eyes locked on his blue ones, I sit down on his lap.

“Bri,” he murmurs, his eyebrows lowered. “I don’t think…”

“Shh. I don’t deserve this, but I need it.” My eyes drift to the picture on the desk again and then I shake my head, closing my eyes briefly. A sob wracks my body and I collapse, my side against his chest, I wrap my arms around his neck and let the tears come. With unsure hands, he returns the gesture, his face resting in the crook of my neck.

He takes a deep steadying breath as I continue to cry.

For what could have been, had I not been stupid.

“I told you, you shouldn’t have been with me,” he murmurs, his breath heating up the delicate skin below my ear.

He’s right.

But he’s also wrong.

Nodding my head, because I know what he means, I snuggle in closer. Rather than pushing me away, like I expected him to do, his hold on me tightens.

I press my body closer, the skirt of my dress riding up on my thighs.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper through my tears.

He squeezes me once and begins to lean back, but I don’t loosen my hold.

I shake my head, not ready to leave the safety of his arms.

He chuckles and the sound is like a balm to my soul, not realizing how desperately I needed to hear it. I lean back, and he reaches up, his thumbs wiping away tears from my cheeks.

I sniffle, first laying my hands on his shoulders then sliding them up to cradle the sides of his neck as I look into his bright blues. “I never stopped loving you.”

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