As soon as my purse hits the counter, I pull open the refrigerator, searching for a something to drink. I break the seal from the water and bring it to my lips. My eyes close as the cold liquid runs down my throat.
The sudden pounding on my door makes me jump. “Whitney,” Heath growls from behind my locked door.
I walk over, placing my hand on the wood. “Heath, go home.”
“No.” His voice is muffled. I hear a thump on the door, and I know Heath is resting his head. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until you listen to me.”
“I don’t want to listen to you, Heath,” I hiss.
“Whitney, you know me, and you know I will stand out here all night if I need to. Don’t test me. If I did it when I was fifteen, then I’ll do it when I’m forty-one.”
When we were younger, there weren’t many fights between the two of us. I could count on one hand the number of times I got so mad at him that I didn’t want anything to do with him. Once we went to the eighth-grade dance together, so I assumed we would attend every dance together. I didn’t think we had to talk about the plans. I thought it was implied that he and I would go together, no matter. I didn’t think that once one of us got a boyfriend or girlfriend, those plans would be out the window. Not until he told me that his mom was taking him and Lucy Van Patten to the Dairy Queen before the back to school dance. He had only been with her for two days. I didn’t talk to Heath for three days. It would have been longer if he hadn’t camped out on my front porch. I tried to call his mom to come get him, but she told me she was strict instructions not to listen to anything I had to say because the one person who I was supposed to be talking to was on my front porch.
I gently place my head on the door along with the palm of my hand. I can practically feel the anguish radiating off Heath’s body. “Please,” he croaks.
I close my eyes, causing the tears to cascade down my face. Running my hand down the door, I flick the lock and pull the door open. The cold air hits my face, causing me to lose my breath, but it’s the man in front of me that all but breaks my heart. Heath’s eyes are red, wet and dull, the gleam that he normally has is no longer there. He stands with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped.
“Whitney,” he whispers. “I–I’m sorry.”
I step back, without a word, and allow him to enter the condo. He visibly lets out a breath. After I shut the door, I follow him into the living room. He takes a seat on the couch, so I make the decision to distance myself enough from him and take a seat on the chair that’s situation in the opposite side of the room. After I place the pillow in my lap, I give Heath a pointed stare.
“I printed those out the night of your birthday.”
His confession makes me flinch, and my grip tightens around the pillow. He rubs his hands down the front of his pants legs.
“I wasn’t in my right mind,” he continues to explain without looking at me. “Steve came over because you were out with Ruby and your neighbor.” He finally looks at me. His expression is pained, his eyes full of regret, and I feel some sort of triumph at Heath’s pain. It serves him right.
“I don’t remember printing them. I cracked open the bottle of whiskey that we’ve had in the cupboard–”
“You’re not helping your case,” I scoffed.
With his arms resting on his knees, he hangs his head. “I know, Whit, but I’m trying to explain. I was angry. I overreacted, and I’m sorry.” He grabs the back of his neck, squeezing it before he runs his hand down his arm, squeezing his bicep as well. His face flinches as if he’s in pain.
“When I woke up the next morning, the bottle was over half empty, and those papers were strewn all around the counter. I knew the kids would be up, and I didn’t want to have to explain it to them, so I just pushed those, along with whatever other mail I had on the counter, into the drawer.”
I shift in my chair. “Why didn’t you throw them away?”
His head drops again. “I don’t know why.”
“Is that where your mind is going?”
His head snaps up, his brows furrowed. “No, absolutely not. That’s the last thing that I want. If I had my way, you’d be back home. You never would have left.”
“All right,” I concede. “It was a mistake, an impulsive move on your part.” I place the pillow on the arm of the chair and push myself up. “I’m tired Heath,” I tell him as I stand in place, waiting for him to get up.
When he stands, he pushes his hands into his dark jeans. “Can I take you out for New Year’s? Do you have plans?”
Biting my lip, I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I’m not in the mood to do anything this year.” He pulls his hands from his pockets and takes a step towards me, but I stiffen at his closeness. I might have told him this misunderstanding was all right, that I understood, but I’m not ready to have him so close to me.
“Whit, I’ve spent every New Year’s with you for twenty-five years.” His hands come up, to my arms, where his thumbs brush against my skin.
I wrap my arms around myself, causing him to drop his hands. “I think I’m just going to have a quiet night this year. I need to work on my books. I’m running out of time before school is back in session.”
A thin smile edges his lips. I know he’s not happy, but right now, I’m not happy either.
“I need to get to bed,” I sigh.
He takes a step in my direction but stops himself. “All right, Whit. I’ll see you later.” He gives me a quick nod and walks out leaving me feeling defeated.