I laugh and then take back the shot. God. It burns like hell.
“Not sure smooth is the right adjective,” I tell him, and I swear I already feel the effects of it as it warms my chest. “Why do I taste dill?”
“It’s made from caraway seeds,” he says. “It’s a right of passage here in Norway. I promise you the second shot will taste better.”
I smirk at him. “You’re trying to get me drunk.” I hold out my glass.
“You’re not saying no,” he says, pouring us both another round.
I keep my eyes on the glass, avoiding in the intensity in his gaze. Because he’s right. I want to get drunk. And I don’t want to say no. Not anymore. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol already coursing through my veins, if it’s the scenic location by the small waterfall, if it’s the fact that in this golden late evening light Anders looks hotter than ever, or if it’s the kiss from earlier, still imprinted on my lips, but I want to throw all caution to the wind.
And it still scares me.
I raise the glass, meeting his eyes for a moment, and I swear they hold me hostage for eons. Then the corner of his mouth tilts into a half-smile and he takes the shot back. I do the same.
He was right. It is better the second time around.
Maybe it will be the same for us.
I swallow it down and cough a little, enjoying the buzz. I lean back on my elbows and tilt my head to the sun, which is disappearing behind faraway mountains. It makes me want to see what’s behind those mountains, to see where the wild Norwegian Sea meets the coast. It makes me want to take Anders up on his offer.
But that’s drunk Shay talking. “So how is your mother?” I ask Anders.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Well, I guess.”
“Astrid told me you don’t talk,” I tell him.
He nods, squinting off into the distance. “We don’t. We’ve never been close. As you know.”
I give him a steady look, weighing my words in my mind. “But that’s just the thing, Anders. I don’t really know. I know you think you told me everything when we were going out but…you didn’t.”
His eyes sharpen. “I did too.”
“Poetry doesn’t count.”
“Why not?”
“Because it only tells me how you feel. It doesn’t explain where the feelings come from. What made you this way.”
He stiffens, growing defensive. “Then it should be enough.”
“Anders,” I say, and I know I should hold things back, that I shouldn’t ruin what could be a romantic moment. I know I should just let it go, but my mouth keeps moving. “I deserve to know why you did what you did. You say that you were a fuck-up when you were younger, well why? What were your demons? You never shared them with me. I knew you had problems, but you never let me in.”
His jaw tenses and he averts his eyes, looking off. “I was just an asshole. Plain and simple.”
I reach out and grab his arm, forcing him to look at me. “You weren’t. At least not at the beginning. Something changed. Something made you that way. Was it…was it me?”
His eyes go soft. “No. No, Shay. You were perfect. You were…so fucking lovely. I just…” he licks his lips and sighs. Runs his hand through his hair. “Do you know what it’s like to feel like your own family doesn’t want you?”
His words cause my heart to grow cold and heavy.
I nod slowly. “Yes. I do. Anders, you know I do.”
He gives me a sharp look. “Do I? Because for all you’re saying about how you don’t know anything about me, did you ever consider that I barely knew anything about you?”
I shake my head. “That’s not true. You knew what it was like for me back then. Never having my mother around, having her chase after my father, who clearly gave no shits about us. All I had was Hannah, and she had her own life to live. She never asked for any of that, to have to look after me. We were pretty much abandoned, Anders. Abandoned, and then I became a burden.”
“And so was I!” His eyes flash. “I was sent to be with my mother because her abandonment of our family fucked me up so much that my father couldn’t handle me. Couldn’t even stand to be around me. I was sent to be with her, and she didn’t even want me. I went across the Atlantic, pulled from my school and friends, and I wasn’t wanted there either. I had nothing, I had no one…except for you.”
“Then why did you fuck it up?” I cry out.
He swallows hard. “Because I knew I didn’t deserve you. Because…you were pure and so good and I really did love you.”
Fuck. Those words shouldn’t hit me the way they are. Right in between the ribs.
“But,” he continues, his voice going low, “I also knew that it wasn’t forever. That I would eventually have to leave. I couldn’t stay where I wasn’t wanted. I knew I’d head back to Norway, try and create a life for myself, and that we would have to part, and I guess…I guess I thought if I fucked things up enough, if I could get you to hate me, it would make it easier for both of us.”
I let out a derisive snort. “There was nothing easy about it.”
I suck on my bottom lip, feeling the truth rising up inside me. He still doesn’t really know what happened, he doesn’t realize that it wasn’t just about him cheating on me. He doesn’t know I was pregnant, or that I had an abortion, and that those things have weighed me down all this time.
“Anders,” I say softly, my eyes skimming over his beautiful face before looking off to the mountains, the bare peaks kissed with gold from the setting sun. “I…”
He reaches out before I can say anything and places
