Page 71 of Brushed and Buried
“I needed space to think.” I keep my eyes on the horizon, afraid that looking at him will shatter whatever composure I’ve managed to rebuild. “That was a lot to process.”
“For me too.”
I risk a glance in his direction and find him watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. There’s something different about him now, some fundamental shift in the way he carries himself.
“Why now?” The question slips out before I can stop it. “After everything that happened, after the way we left things at the resort that night, why decide to humiliate yourself that way?”
Vince is quiet for so long, I think he might not answer. When he finally speaks, the quiet intensity of it makes my stomach clench.
“First of all, that was not humiliating. What was humiliating was me being a pushover, just going where the wind blows without fighting for what I want.” With this, he looks straight at me. “Second, I spent years being the person everyone else needed me to be. My father’s perfect son, the clean-cut athlete, the safe endorsement deal.” He pauses, running a hand through his hair in that familiar gesture. “I was good at it, really good, but somewhere along the way, I forgot who I actually was underneath all that performance.”
The vulnerability in his admission hits me harder than I expect. I’ve seen glimpses of this version of Vince over the past few days, moments when his careful mask slipped and something real showed through. But sitting here beside me, speaking with such unguarded honesty, he seems like someone I’m meeting for the first time.
“And who are you?” I ask, the question coming out softer than I intend.
“I’m the guy who’s been crazy about Adrian Callahan since I was eighteen years old and too scared to admit it.” The wordshit like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. “I’m the guy who’s spent a decade dating women I didn’t really like, playing a role that never fit, because I was too much of a coward to fight for what actually mattered.”
My throat constricts, and I have to look away from the intensity in his eyes.
“Vince…” I start, but he continues before I can find the words.
“I know I hurt you. I know I walked away when I should have fought for you, and I know you have every right not to trust me.” His voice wavers, betraying the emotion he’s trying to keep controlled. “And I am sorry, Adrian. I am so sorry for everything that happened to you. To us.”
I could no longer hold back the tears. And neither does he.
“But I’m not walking away this time. I’m not letting fear or my father’s manipulation or anyone else’s expectations dictate what I do with my life.”
The mention of his father sends a spike of old anger through me, but I push it down. This moment is too important to derail with past grievances, no matter how justified they might be.
“I don’t know if I can trust this,” I admit, the words burning as they leave my mouth. “I don’t know if I can trust you not to change your mind when things get complicated.”
“I know.” His voice is gentle, understanding in a way that makes my defenses waver. “I don’t expect you to just take my word for it. I expect to have to prove it.”
We fall quiet again, what he’s offered settling between us like something fragile and precious. My pinky finger rests on the bench between us, close enough to his that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin without quite touching. The proximity is both comforting and terrifying, a reminder of how easily he can affect me even after all this time.
“There’s something I never told you,” I say, the words coming from somewhere deep and honest. “About prom.”
Vince goes very still beside me. “What about it?”
This is the hardest memory to tell, one that I’ve buried deepest because it hurts the most. My voice threatens to break again before I even begin.
“I still came to pick you up.”
The sharp intake of his breath tells me he wasn’t expecting this. I close my eyes, letting myself fall back into that terrible night.
“You did ask me out…backstage.” He says, sounding like he doesn’t want to hear where this is going.
I nod. “Even after everything that happened, after you’d been ignoring me for weeks in school, I thought maybe we could go as friends. We could pretend everything was normal, just for one night, maybe for the last time.” My hands clench in my lap as the memory sharpens with painful clarity. “I wore my best suit, the navy blue one I’d bought specifically for that night. I bought a boutonnière that matched the dress shirt I’d seen you wear toother formal events. I even practiced what I’d say in the car on the way over like an idiot.”
Vince makes a sound like he’s been punched, but I can’t stop now. The words are pouring out after years of being locked away.
“I stood on your front porch for probably five minutes, working up the courage to ring the doorbell. I kept adjusting my tie and checking my hair in the reflection of the window.” The image is so vivid it feels like I’m eighteen again, nervous, hopeful, and completely unprepared for what was coming. “When the door finally opened, it wasn’t you.”
“My father.” His voice sounds defeated, understanding already dawning. I can feel him moving beside me, feeling him a bit closer, like comforting me with his presence ten years too late.
“He looked at me like I was something dirty he’d found on his shoe. He had one look at the boutonnière in my hand, at my suit, and at how pathetically hopeful I must have appeared.” The shame of that moment still burns after all these years. “He didn’t even let me ask for you. He knew about me, obviously. He just told me you weren’t there, and that you’d made other plans.”
My voice cracks on the next part. “But before he closed the door, he made it very clear that this was my last chance to step away cleanly. He said if I kept trying to contact you, kept trying to insert myself into your life, he’d make sure both ourfutures disappeared overnight. Your scholarship, my art school applications, everything we’d worked hard for.”
