We drove through a Dunkin Donuts drive-through on our way to Boston that afternoon. I had to admire whatever makes Rhode Islanders so intense about their scenery. Even the Dunkin Donuts had weathered panels and a muted wood-and-brass sign advertising its coffee. Despite the way the storefront blended into the landscape, we still had to wait in a long line of cars to get our iced coffees.

"I'll put your milkshake in the cup holder for you," I said, taking both iced coffees from Naomi's hands. Our fingers overlapped, and I felt that surge of energy I did whenever she touched me. God, that kiss. Funny how just kissing Naomi was more satisfying than fucking someone else. “Now I know how you take your coffee: pale with milk, double up the sugar.”

As she pulled back out onto the highway, she said, "You never told me about why you joined the Navy."

"Oh, you know. Saw Top Gun. The whole stereotypical thing."

She glanced over at me skeptically. I knew that wasn't going to fly, especially when we were going to see Joe.

"I wanted to do something different with my life," I said. "Not follow my father into investment banking and politics. Or dick around trying to find myself in college, either, living off his money. Just... do. I wanted to do something. I figured the Navy would tell me who they wanted me to be."

"I know, but usually careers are in the genes," she said. "Look at me. I mean, it's hard to do something for a living that you've never seen..."

She wanted the big story. She wanted to know what made me tick. Like anything is ever that simple. If people were simple, she wouldn’t all but tell me to fuck off one day and kiss me on Main Street the next.

"Do you remember that meet we had against Wickford?" I asked.

She shook her head.

“I guess nothing stood out about that meet for you," I said. The way she acted with me, so hot and cold, meant she must remember that day on the bus, even if she didn’t remember the meet. "I PR'd on breaststroke. Bright spot of the month."

Not that it had been much of a bright spot. That had been the month Mitch flipped the Audi. Somehow, Mitch had pulled himself out of the wreckage. He'd left the girlfriend-of-the-week behind as he crawled back up the embankment. And the car had caught fire.

Thinking of it still made me nauseous, my stomach roiling with regret and guilt. I knew it wasn’t my fault. But he was my dad. If he was a selfish fool and a coward, how likely was it that I was the same kind of man?

At first, he kept me and my brothers home from school, while he met with his lawyers. He had tried to protect us from the news. I remember the shouting match I got into with him. Your fuckups aren’t my problem, I told him.

I’ve only seen my father tear up twice in my life. Once when he came into my room when I was a kid, sat on my Star Wars quilt, and told me that my mother was gone. I’d been asking where she was, frantic when Mitch or Rebecca just changed the subject. But that night, his breath had smelled like Scotch and he had told me that he had missed her and his face had twisted. That night, I’d hugged him, patting his back, telling him it was going to be okay.

By the end of our fight, he had the same sheen in his eyes. But the second time, I’d felt grimly satisfied to see those tears.

I had tried to hold my father when he cried when I was just a little boy. But no one had been there for me when I used to hide among the shoes in my mother’s closet and squeeze my eyes shut, the hems of her dresses tickling my face, and pretended that she was going to come find me. Just another game of Hide-and-Seek, one that had lasted my whole life.

In the end, because Dad could only fight battles on so many fronts at once, he'd let me return to school. I don’t know what I’d expected, but I had been surprised to have my friends sock my shoulder and say hi like usual. Like nothing had happened.

"So?" Naomi prompted me. Those big golden-brown eyes were full of concern. "What made you bring up the meet against Wickford?"

"I was just thinking about when we swam together," I said. "That's all. I happen to remember the day I PR'd."

"Yeah," she said. "That was senior year, right?"

"You remember?"

"I remember that you stopped talking to me." There was a teasing note in her voice, but her eyes were sad.

"It was probably because I was scared of you." I took a sip of my iced coffee. My romance with Naomi had always felt strange and precarious, even though I’d known Naomi all my life. Sometimes we had sat at the kitchen island to do homework together while her mother cleaned our house. We had been friends with milk mustaches, drawing ears on each other’s kindergarten self-portraits. Then one day I turned around and we were teenagers and I couldn’t stop looking at the pouty shape of her mouth or the spark in those brown eyes.

After our meet against Wickford, Naomi had smiled at me as she tossed her backpack onto the floor and slid in next to me. I’d felt comforted by the warmth of her shoulder pressed against mine like any other day. My father was a fool, not the hero he had been in my eyes, but the rest of my world hadn’t changed. I still had my friends. I still had Naomi.

When she fell asleep, like always, I’d turned my face into her dark, chlorine-scented hair. I should get off the bus with her; I should tell her how I felt. Life was too short not to kiss Naomi.

My own eyes drifted shut. I was exhausted, my eyes bitter and aching from the sleepless nights since my dad’s crash.

And in my dreams, something hit the bus. I saw myself clawing my way up towards the road, pulling up handfuls of new grass in my desperation to get away from the crackling heat.

I woke up, leaning forward in my seat, shaking my head to clear away the images. I could still feel the frantic pounding of my heart, the heat against my skin. I couldn't stop picturing Naomi left slack-mouthed and broken behind me, the flames licking at that glossy hair that was spilled across my shoulder now.

I’d been suddenly furious at her. She shouldn't trust me the way she did. I hadn’t even been man enough to ask her to prom. Some of my friends–and my grandmother, the one adult who talked to me–expected me to go with Kate. Kate and I were broken-up for a reason, but it was prom, the season of romance and miracles and second chances. I’d been reluctant to choose between the old family friend and the new crush. The thought made me squirm. I was being a loser, just like my dad. Naomi was so sweet that she wanted to be with me anyway. So pathetic. I was just going to hurt her.

I had shaken Naomi awake. My legs were restless and fidgety. I couldn’t stay there next to her. "I'll move. You can stretch out on the seat."

But as I slipped out of the seat, as Naomi watched me with wide eyes, and moved to the back of the bus, I'd known she wouldn't fall back asleep.

I hadn’t gotten any sleep either. Nights of insomnia, worrying over my father and my brothers and what I had done to Naomi, had haunted me until I went into the Navy.

Naomi smiled in disbelief, shaking her head. "You were the king of that school. Every day was like when we went to lunch at Abby's. I'm pretty sure you had no reason to worry about earning my ire."

"You were always grouchy. Just like now."

Her eyes widened. She dared to look away from the road so I had the full effect of those big hazel eyes and her cheeks flushed pink. "I was not grouchy. I liked you."

"You barely talked to me."

"I was shy. I was nervous that if you noticed you were sitting with a peasant, you'd move to the back of the bus with your buddies again."

I took a sip of my iced coffee while I thought about how to respond. I had indeed moved back to my old spot on the bus after that day, avoiding Naomi's eyes when she watched me go past. There'd only been a few more meets after that before swim season came to an end.

"Peasant," I said. "You know, this is America. The whole class thing? Overplayed."

"Rob, you know, back in high school, when you came over and asked, is this seat taken and started chatting with me like we were old friends? Back then, I thought the whole class thing was overplayed."

"It is."

She shook her head, wisps of hair flying. "In the end, it's always the same. You like to flirt with me. But you go back to your friends. Take Kate to prom."

"This isn't high school anymore."

"You're right," she said. "I'd get hurt more this time when you froze me out. So how about I drive you, do your laundry, figure out how to make a decent cup of coffee, and we keep to our separate lives?"

I raised my hands in exasperation. “I’m not the one who kissed you.”

“Please. Me kissing you first? That was chance.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were going to kiss me.” Accusing me of that made her cheeks flare even redder. “So why shouldn’t I kiss you first?”

“Awfully sure of yourself, honey,” I told her. I was stunned her brutal honesty. I’d get hurt more this time. God. In her own way, she was so tough. That would be a hard truth to tell.

She bit down on her lower lip, her white teeth indenting that perfectly plush pink pillow. “You are impossible.”

"Naomi. I'm only here for a month. I'm not trying to have a relationship. I want to be friends."

"That's great," she said. "Friends I can do. Friends I can work with."

"Great. We'll be friends."

"So stop flirting with me."

"I'm not flirting with you!"

She half-laughed at that. "Is it that hard for you to turn it off?"

"Turn what off?"

"The charm, I guess." She made a general wave in my direction, and I caught sight of the scars on the back of her hand again. "Or what passes for it. The teasing, the little smiles, the touches..."

"I won't touch you." I folded my arms over my chest as if I were in danger of touching her by accident. "Christ. Do I seem like the kind of guy who touches a woman who doesn't want to be touched?"

"Not like that, that's not what I meant." Her tone was almost conciliatory. Almost.

I couldn’t stop myself. "So you do want to be touched?"

"Rob," she said again. "Knock it off."

I looked at her innocently over the top of my iced coffee, biting down on the end of my straw. As much as I admired how straightforward she was, it wasn’t my style to talk about my feelings.

"I'll knock it off," I promised. "Just friends."

But when it came down to it, I wasn't sure I could.

Naomi was my girl. Always had been, always would be.

Even if she didn’t believe it yet.