Chapter Twenty-Six
“Evan Coopman.”
Dr. Moore called Evan’s name from the mic on stage to read his poem next.
He stood from his aisle seat and made his way to the stage, shaking Dr. Moore’s hand and clearing his throat before stepping in front of the microphone. Wrapping his usual swagger around him, he gave the audience a smile, but inside, his guts were clenching with nerves.
Layla was here. This was his chance. Elena and Carter had come with him tonight, much to his dismay. But when Elena had coaxed his plan out of him, she’d clapped her hands and giggled, saying, “Oh, cariño, of course I’m coming. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” And wherever she went, Carter went too. She’d said something about inviting her friend Hannah, which would probably mean Hannah’s boyfriend Matt Schwartz coming as well. But either Hannah had been busy or Carter had talked Elena out of it. Whichever it was, Evan was grateful. Doing this in front of all these people would be bad enough without more of his teammates witnessing him baring his soul and begging for forgiveness publicly in an attempt to win his girlfriend back. If any of them were here, he’d never live it down, regardless of the outcome. But if it worked—and Christ, he hoped it worked—it’d be worth any amount of shit from his friends.
Despite his initial misgivings about Elena and Carter coming, he was glad they were here. After Layla had performed her piece—which had hit him like a kick in the gut, the raw pain in her words so powerful and so clearly about him—he’d seen her dart out the side door. When she hadn’t come back in by intermission he’d been ready to go find her, but Elena had stopped him. “Let me. She’s made it pretty clear that she doesn’t want to talk to you. I’ll get her to come back in to hear you up there, and maybe after that she’ll be willing to talk to you.”
It had killed him to agree with her, but he had, watching the door the whole time until Elena and Layla came back in. Elena had given him a discreet thumbs up as she found a seat with Layla far away from him.
Now he was on stage, ready to read his—well, “poem” seemed a bit generous. But while he was trying to write it he’d watched some videos of slam poetry on YouTube. It seemed more like rhythmic storytelling than the traditional poetry forms he’d learned about in school. He could tell stories. Maybe not as good as the people on the videos, or even some of the people who’d read tonight, both in the first half or in the open mic part. But he wasn’t trying to win any awards. He was only trying to win back Layla. Even if his poem wasn’t very sophisticated, it contained the important things he wanted to say.
He smiled again. “Hi, everyone. I’m Evan, but most of my friends call me Coop. Um, I haven’t ever done this before, so I didn’t know I was supposed to memorize it.” He held up the paper in his hand. “So I’ll be going off my notes if that’s okay.”
A few people laughed, and there was a smattering of applause. That was good, right? Sure. Okay. He found Elena and Layla, but Layla had her head down, and he couldn’t see her face. Elena gave him an encouraging smile.
Deep breath.
“Two weeks ago on a Saturday, she blazed into my house and burned everything to the ground, leaving me sitting in ashes, the acrid taste of smoke in my mouth.
“Two weeks ago on a Saturday, she left me. Slammed a picture into my chest like a knife and walked out the door.
“That Saturday, she called me a cheater and a whore and told me to lose her number. As though I could forget her so easily.
“Well, if your girl thinks you cheated on her, I guess you can’t blame her for thinking that. But I didn’t.
“But she left me, with no chance to explain, no chance to show her the video of me turning away in disgust from the staged tableau in the photo. No chance to apologize for having jerks as friends.”
He found Layla again, and this time she was watching him. With his eyes locked on hers, he read the last line.
“Two weeks ago on a Saturday, life as I knew it ended. And I have no hope of starting it over again.”
There was a beat of silence when he finished, then the audience erupted in applause. He nodded once and stepped back from the mic, moving to step off the stage.
Dr. Moore shook his hand again. “Very nice. Well done. Powerful stuff. Raw and real. Thank you for sharing that with all of us.”
Evan gave another nod, not sure what to say to that, and not wanting to prolong this exchange. But Dr. Moore dropped his hand and moved to the stage to announce the next person. Evan moved to the wall so he could make his way around the back to where Elena and Layla were sitting without disturbing everyone.
He needed to see her. To talk to her. The last two weeks had been hell, his only saving grace was that she’d hear his poem and realize that he’d never cheated. That he’d been devastated since she left. And hope she’d talk to him afterward.
But when he got to where Elena and Layla had been sitting, Layla wasn’t there anymore. Elena met him at the aisle, and he bent his head so he could hear her.
“She went outside. Go now. You have to catch her. Go!” She pushed at his arm as she hissed in his ear.
When her words penetrated his brain, he didn’t waste another second, his long strides eating up the distance to the door. She couldn’t have gotten far in the last few minutes. This was his chance. He wasn’t going to fuck it up.
The door behind her slammed open, and Layla turned, startled. With the open mic still going on, she hadn’t expected anyone to follow her out or to make so much noise if they did.
But she should’ve expected Evan. After that poem, of course he’d come find her. And here she was, just standing in the courtyard outside the student gallery, waiting for him.
She could run away again. But no. That seemed … juvenile. And unfair. And even though she told herself she didn’t want to talk to him, the truth was that she did. With a sigh, she turned to face him.
“Layla.” Urgency infused his voice. When he got in front of her, he gripped her arms, holding her in place. “Layla, you have to talk to me. Please. Let me talk to you for five minutes. If you still don’t want anything to do with me after that, then I’ll leave you alone. But you owe me a chance to explain what happened at least.”
“Okay.”
He opened his mouth like he was going to argue some more, but closed it when he realized what she’d said. “Okay?” His voice sounded hopeful.
She nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s talk. I’ll even give you more than five minutes. Do you want to talk here, or go somewhere else?”
Shaking his head, he looked her over. “Um, here’s fine.” He gestured to a bench. “Sit with me?”
She led the way to the bench he’d indicated, grateful that he put almost a foot between them when he sat next to her. He sat at an angle so he could face her, but he kept his eyes on the concrete at her feet. His hands ran through his hair and over his face, and he shook his head like he was sorting and discarding a variety of openers.
Finally, he dropped his hands in his lap and met her eyes. “I’m sorry, Layla. For everything. For not fighting harder when you came over. For not texting you right away when that happened.” He shook his head. “I didn’t even know anyone had taken pictures. I didn’t want any of those girls. I didn’t want them to flash their tits at me. I left the room as soon as it happened and found some of the other guys to hang with for a while. Nothing happened.” He stressed those two words, giving them equal weight. “You have to believe me.”
His face was a picture of sincerity and desperation. She knew that feeling, that overpowering desire to be understood. She’d felt it herself too many times to count. But she dropped her gaze to her hands and smoothed down her skirt, crossing her legs.
“What exactly happened?”
Evan let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t even fucking know. One minute Romero and I were talking and getting beers, and the next thing I knew, two girls had latched onto me and spun me around to a row of girls flashing us. Romero was cracking up and told me to take my pick. I told him to fuck off and pulled myself away from the chicks who had ahold of my arms.” He rubbed his hand over his head again. “I used to hook up at parties a lot. So I guess they all assumed that I was there for that. Romero found me later and apologized, but neither of us knew how much damage had been done by then.”
She nodded, processing all of that, her eyes on her knees again, but not really focused on anything. While he read his poem, she’d figured out that he hadn’t cheated on her. Why else would he get up and say all that in front of a big crowd? The place had been packed, and he’d bared his soul in front of all of them.
“Layla?” She looked up to meet Evan’s eyes, his voice pulling her out of her racing thoughts. The last of the sunset had faded while they were outside, and his face was partly shadowed, but she could make out the hope that lingered there. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes.” It came out as a whisper, and she didn’t want him to doubt her belief. Not now. Not ever. So she firmed her voice and said it again. “Yes, Evan, I believe you.” She sighed, a flood of guilt washing over her. She should’ve let him explain that day when she threw that picture in his face. But she’d been so willing to believe the worst of him. And now here he was begging for her forgiveness.
Unable to meet his eyes, she knew she had to apologize. “I’m really sorry, Evan. I—“ She took a deep breath and forced herself to look at him. “I should’ve talked to you instead of going off half-cocked about a picture someone posted on Facebook.” Shaking her head, she made herself continue. “You’ve been nothing but good to me, and I believed the worst of you. I’m so sorry.” She dropped her gaze back to her clenched hands in her lap. This conversation had to end soon. At least now they both knew the truth. But with the way she’d acted, no way would Evan want to bother with her anymore.
His hand reached over and covered hers, and he scooted closer so he could tip her chin up with his other hand. “It’s okay, Layla. I get that I have a history and everyone’s still learning to look past that, including you. And I know that you have a history, too, with guys with my kind of reputation.” He pressed his lips together, not quite stopping the sigh that escaped. “I guess I thought that you and I had moved beyond that.”
She turned her hand palm up under his, relishing the contact and realizing exactly how much she’d missed him these last two weeks. She’d wallowed in her misery then buried herself in homework to try to distract herself. But with him here, now, touching her, she couldn’t ignore the truth anymore. He made her feel more alive than she did without him. She’d missed their connection, their jokes, their rides to and from school. So much.
“We were. Mostly. I didn’t really think you’d cheat on me, but I always figured you’d get bored with me at some point. So seeing that picture seemed to confirm my worst fears, and I just knew I was right about everything.” Her lips trembled, and she rolled them between her teeth to stop them, but she couldn’t prevent the tear that escaped and rolled down her cheek. “I really am sorry. Can you forgive me?”
His answer was to wipe away the tear with his thumb and press his lips to hers. She didn’t react at first, too stunned. But when he kissed her again, she leaned into him, her lips pushing against his. He pulled back and looked down into her face, his blue eyes full of heat and promise, then his hand went to the back of her head and he slanted his lips over hers again, his tongue sliding into her mouth, and for the first time in weeks the world felt right again.