Page 64 of Always a Roommate
“It doesn’t change the fact that I fell in love with her. Honey, she gave me you. I will never regret her, even though it nearly killed me when she left.”
I shook my head, a single tear tracking down my cheek. “I don’t want to fall in love.”
And there it was. I’d told Shane and Tanner I didn’t think I’d ever have it, that I believed in love, but that it wasn’t in my cards.
That wasn’t the whole truth.
“It hurts, Dad.” It hurt to see Shane walk away without a backward glance. It hurt to argue with him. A life protecting myself against unreciprocated feelings, against his irritation and downright hatred of me, did not prepare me for this.
“Good.”
“What?”
“If it doesn’t hurt when you don’t have it, Rae, it wasn’t real when you did.” His lips tipped up. “Now, drink up, kiddo. Milkshakes will save the world.”
Wasn’t that the truth.
26
SHANE
I wasn’t sure what time it was when I sat out on the brick patio in the cool evening air. The family dinner must have ended a while ago, but still, Rae hadn’t returned.
I’d had time to realize I overreacted, that I couldn’t be angry she didn’t betray someone else’s confidence, and I wasn’t. Not anymore.
The anger had faded, leaving something worse in its wake. Resignation.
Rae and I had been playing with fire, enjoying each other’s touch, having fun. There was always a time limit on us. I’d figured it would end when I moved out and we’d go about our lives.
But now, I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea to stay here.
I’d made the decision to take the house, accepting the repairs the owners were willing to pay for and doing the rest myself.
It was time to be truly on my own without temptation right next door.
The sliding door to the patio opened and soft steps came my way. I didn’t turn.
“Can I sit?” Rae asked quietly.
“Sure.”
She lowered herself to the bricks and neither of us spoke as awkwardness filled the air. My shoulder brushed hers, and I practically jumped out of my skin, scooting away to put some distance between us.
“I’m sorry,” she said. I waited for her to continue, sensing she needed to. “For not telling you about Trevor’s family. It’s just… Shane, that kid begged me not to tell anyone. You should have seen him, hungry and with no company except that dog. Other than feeding him, the only way I knew to help him was keeping his secret.”
A sigh wound through me. “I’m sorry too. It wasn’t right of me to get angry. It’s just…” I paused, leaning back on my elbows and lifting my face to the dark sky. Our porch light was off, but light from the surrounding houses filtered into the night, blocking the stars from view.
It was a shame. I could have used some stars right about now.
“Do you know what the hardest part about being a teacher is?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“How little a part of these kids’ lives I really am. I have about a hundred kids a year, who spend fifty minutes of their day sitting in my classroom. And that’s it. Our relationship ends on that final day of the school year. They’ll remember some of what I taught them, but I won’t have had a true impact on most. I won’t have made a difference.”
“The students aren’t your responsibility.”
I turned my gaze on her. “That’s the problem. It feels like they are. Or they should be. I should be able to do more, to help them with more than the American Revolution.”
