Page 156 of Love, Rekindled

But it’s hard not to think about him some, despite how much I would love to just blot him out entirely. My family still lives beside his parents, and seeing as how I live only three miles away, I visit quite often.

Thus, I see his mom and dad...a lot.

Which means I’m reminded of Rafe and everything we had and everything he destroyed on a whim.

Sure, the rage has subsided over the years. I’ve gotten control of that. So when I do happen to think of him, it’s often in passing. I might be over at his parents’ house to say hello, and see his graduation photo on their mantel, thinking to myself:I wonder what Rafe’s up to. And then I put him out of my mind. Sometimes, I might think:I wonder if he’s caught a raging case of syphilis—which he’d deserve, and then I’ll hope that it’s super annoying and itchy.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. I’ve never been a vindictive person, and I don’t wish him ill at all. But, damn...I’m just so angry at him right this moment, and sitting next to him in my car isn’t helping matters at all. All of the ugly feelings are welling up inside of me and I’ll be glad when I can get away from him.

To say that Rafe broke my heart would be the understatement of all time. He didn’t just hurt me...hedestroyedme. Crushed me so badly, he didn’t even leave fragmented pieces of betrayal behind. No...he ground me to dust and then just walked away.

It took me a long time to get over him, to acknowledge that he didn’t want me. Took me years to accept he didn’t think I was good enough to join him on his journey through the professional hockey league. And it took some major soul-searching to find a measure of peace within the world around me, validation that I was a worthy woman.

The way we ended things was so contrary to everything we’d planned for our future. Those plans had unfurled over the years as we grew up together—first pledging to always be best friends, all the way through the blossom of glorious love where we promised to be there for each other until our dying days.

So many memories for me to recall any time I want to take a journey through my past with Rafe. Us playing in the woods, picking mushrooms, and poking bugs with sticks. Me forcing Rafe to play Barbies with me, only to agree to play GI Joe with him as a compromise. Summers were spent swimming at the YMCA and going to movies. In school, from as far back as I can remember, he was always my protector because, for some reason, I was an easy target for bullies. Then, in fifth grade, the inevitable first and experimental kiss. We both thought it was horribly gross.

We tried it again in seventh grade, and it wasn’t so gross. By ninth grade, we were going steady and where one was, so was the other. Fingers laced, we’d strut the halls of our high school, and the message was clear to anyone that paid attention.

We were together, and always would be.

I went to every single one of Rafe’s hockey games when he played locally, usually hopping in Brenda’s minivan to ride with her. He was a hockey star, and I was popular by virtue of my association with him and growing into my odd looks in a way that people found striking. When he went off to juniors, I sometimes traveled with Brenda to see him as much as I could. We burned up the phone with calls, texts, and FaceTime. When he returned home after the season was over, we were inseparable, making up for lost time.

We were the quintessential golden couple. Prom king and queen. Most likely to live happily ever after. I was sitting by his side, his hand clutching mine so hard, I thought my fingers would break, when they called with his draft offer to the league. I shared in the same excitement as he did because we had planned for that moment. We’d spent so much time talking about what would happen if he ever made it to the professionals. I had doubts, but Rafe...never.

He’d straight-out asked me, “Poppy, you’re coming with me, right? Wherever I land? Whatever city? You’re coming with me, right?”

My answer was fast and easy. “Yes, Rafe. I’ll follow you to the ends of the Earth.”

Until he decided he didn’t want me to follow him at all.

When he changed his mind—disregarding all our future plans—it came as such a shock I couldn’t even understand it. Just two weeks before he was set to join his new team, he flat-out told me that he didn’t want me to come.

I couldn’t even process it. I was so hurt, so blinded by what I thought was a failure on my part to be the right woman for him, that I had trouble even fighting against it at first. I was just...numb.

Then, after a whole lot of crying in my mom’s arms, I tried to rally a bit. Attempted to fight to keep him.

God, what ensued was awful. Without really even understanding why he was doing what he was to me, I tried to hold on to the illusion of happiness we had. It ended up being me...flat-out begging Rafe with all my might to change his mind. It was so ugly. The woman I am today is so ashamed of how pathetic I was back then, down on my knees, holding on to his legs, sobbing and begging him not to leave me behind.

My face heats up just from the memory of that pitiful eighteen-year-old girl who didn’t understand her own worth. Who couldn’t figure out that Rafe wasn’t good enough for her, and not the other way around.

But I know it now.

Rafe shifts in his seat, gaze still on the scenery whizzing by. I steal a glance at him, irritated that he’s only gotten better-looking over time. He’s filled out...become brawnier, but it’s the face that always gets me. Warm brown hair that always looks tousled and expressive hazel eyes. Gone is the boyish hotness, and in its place is an incredibly handsome, rugged-looking man.

Hell, even his gorgeous looks piss me off, and I turn back to the road.

The silence between us should be welcoming, but in a way, it’s grating. I’m torn between wanting to be a bitch to him because he deserves it and wanting to hug the hell out of him because of what he’s going through right now. To complicate matters, I love his father, too. I’m grieving just as he is, and I can’t even accept comfort from him, which I know he’ll attempt to give me at some point. I figure I’ll reconcile those conflicting feelings eventually.

I pull into our neighborhood. It’s mostly modest split-levels built in the sixties on small lots shaded by oaks and pines. Rafe’s house is the same dove gray it’s always been, with burgundy shutters and a small slab concrete porch with three steps. My parents’ house used to be a baby blue, but they just recently painted it white with black shutters. They added an iron railing to the porch, something my mom had wanted for years and my dad surprised her with.

I choose to park at my parents’ home since I’ll be joining them for dinner tonight—not that it matters. The parallel driveways actually run right beside each other, separated only by about three feet of new spring grass.

“Thanks for the ride,” Rafe says without looking my way, and then he’s out the passenger door. It’s closed before I even get the engine shut off. By the time I’m stepping out, he’s got his suitcase out of my rear hatch and is headed to his front porch.

I follow along behind, telling myself that it would be nice to check in on Jim and Brenda. Doesn’t matter that I just looked in on them a few hours ago, which led to me being asked to pick up Rafe from the airport. Doesn’t matter that Rafe and I aren’t even on speaking terms really. I stick close to him as he bounds up the porch steps and drops his suitcase off to the side beside an empty planter.

He hesitates for just a moment, his hand inches from the storm door handle. His face angles my way, and I get a glimpse of hesitancy in his expression. It doesn’t last but a second before his jawline hardens, and he pulls open the door. Without delay, he steps into the house, and for a moment, I lose sight of him.

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