His eyes widen, jumping between Willow and me, but then he sighs. “I told her not to meddle.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Willow throws her hands up and glares at her husband.
“This is none of our business.”
“He’s right,” I say to my sister, but my expression softens when I notice her concern. “I’m okay.” I lower my voice, removing the edge, then run both hands through my hair.
“If you want to talk about it…” Willow offers.
“Thanks. But can we just enjoy a night out, please? The three of us haven’t done this in a while.”
“I’d like that.” She squeezes my hand on the table, then points to my beer. “But don’t start downing that dark beer like it’s Gatorade, because I will have to disown you.”
“What do you have against dark beer?” I laugh as Zach joins in on her disgust.
“It’s unconstitutional.”
“What?” I shake my head and even smile. Willow does that to me.
We don’t mention Clara again. Instead, we move on to joking about Willow’s attempt to outdo Zach with a barbecue cook-off. They invited the neighbors for a tasting and everything.
“Why wasn’t I invited?” I throw my hands up.
“You were, but it’s not my fault you’re so busy.” Willow shrugs.
I can’t argue with her. I knew when I became a doctor that my hours would make it mostly impossible to have a life outside the clinic and hospital. I was fine with it, though. Helping people was worth it, and I felt it in my bones that I was meant to be a doctor.
Besides, once Clara told me she met someone, I never expected to have a life, anyway. Especially since Willow met Zach when she was only eighteen. He was able to handle her snarky sarcasm and foul mouth better than anyone.
I knew they’d make it once I saw them together.
Nonetheless, I’m glad when I can spend time with my family. I’m thankful Willow and Zach hijacked my lonely night.
After all, Willow has been my rock since we were teenagers.
When we lost Mom and Dad, we relied on each other for everything for years. It was hard—I was eighteen and granted guardianship of my fourteen-year-old sister, who was just permanently disabled.
It was fucking hard, but we’ve grown closer because of it.
I switch to water halfway through our night, and when I start to yawn more than laugh, I decide to head out.
I need sleep.
Rest.
I’ve been tense all week.
As I get into bed later that night, I can’t stop myself from admitting that I had Clara too when I needed her most. Even when I disappeared on her after the accident, I knew I could count on her.
Not that anyone could’ve helped.
It was something I had to figure out on my own. That’s the thing about losing someone close to you. No one can tell you how to grieve or for how long. How to deal with pain. And they can’t take any of it away. It’s an unknown science, like the mysteries of the ocean’s deepest parts.
I grab my phone off my nightstand and click on my messages.
Me: I’m sorry about the other night.
Clara: There’s no need to apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry.
Me: You shouldn’t be sorry for the way you feel.
I scratch my chin as I reread the message I sent, then type another.
Me: That’s why I’m not sorry for feeling the way I do for you. I’m just sorry the night didn’t end in very hot cuddling.
I wait as the bubbles pop up, signaling she’s typing.
Clara: You are very hot.
I quirk an eyebrow, then laugh when I see her follow-up message.
Clara: As in, your body temperature. You’re a very warm hugger.
Me: I know that’s not what you meant, but I’ll give it to you.
Clara: Night, Dax.
Me: Sweet dreams, Clara.
I groan loudly, and the sound bounces off my bedroom walls. I have to sleep. I have long hours the next few days, so I could get off for Jacob’s birthday party.
But all I keep thinking about is Clara’s tight body, bare underneath mine. How am I supposed to go back to being friends with her?
I roll over, smashing my face into the pillow. This is a new form of torture I didn’t expect to experience. I always thought I’d never have her, but if in some alternate universe, we did end up in bed together, that would be it.
We’d be together.
I never thought she’d shun me.
Exhaling, I know what I have to do. I have to give her time, but even if she doesn’t want me the way I want her, she needs to know we’ll still be friends. That I’m here no matter what.
Even if I’m the one hurt in the end.
Twenty
Clara
“Where do you want the tables?” my mom asks.
Andrew is on her heel with a couple bottles of both red and white wine. He sets them on the counter and touches my mom’s shoulder, waiting for my answer, ready to help as always.
“Along the fence outside so they still have room to play in the middle.” I squeeze their hands. “Thank you. Now, I need to check in with Sienna. She’s picking up the cake. Dax was going to, but he’s stuck at work.”
“He’s not coming?” My mom furrows her eyebrows.
“I don’t know, Mom. He may just come late.” I shrug, trying to appear unaffected. This is Dax, after all. He’s canceled at the last minute several times over the years. With his busy schedule, it’s hard to keep every promise.
But today’s different.
There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach that he’s not coming because of me. That he doesn’t want to see me after I stood him up. After he poured his heart out, and I pushed him away.
And accused him of the worst thing.
We haven’t talked the last few days, not since he texted me to apologize, which I didn’t know how to react to.
I’m the one who’s sorry.
I’m the one who’s a torn mess.
Taking deep breaths, I
