above.
“What do you want to say?” I asked sharply. “Or what aren’t you saying?”
Tex said nothing. He pulled his hat lower over his eyes as the wind threatened to whip it off.
“Or what do you want me to say?” The frustration inside me built into something closer to anger. Why was he being so cagey? I only wanted to clear the air, and the longer he wouldn’t let me, the longer things would keep being weird between us. And I suddenly, desperately wanted things to go back to normal. “I’m trying to apologize, but you keep shutting me down.”
Tex cast his gaze out over the ocean, frowning deeply.
“Stop ignoring me.” I shoved at his shoulder. “Talk to me.”
“Don’t push me.” Tex shoved me back. I stumbled backward into the beam.
“Then say something! Stop trying to blow it off! Stop trying to pretend like I’ve just been on a goddamned vacation! You think we can just go back to how things have always been? That we both haven’t changed?” I huffed an unhappy laugh. “Maybe you haven’t, but I sure have.”
“You’ve changed?” Tex asked sarcastically.
“Yes,” I said. “And I’m sorry—I’m sorry about—”
Tex socked me in the jaw.
Honestly, in a way, it was kind of refreshing. I’d been on the receiving end of Tex’s punches for over a decade now, from teenage scuffles to drunken wrestling to plain old arguments gone too heated, a way to clear the air—and I always gave just as good as I got.
He pulled the punch—he always did with me—and his knuckles skated across my jaw just enough to rattle me, and bruise, but not hard enough to do any real damage. Still, if not for the beam behind me, I might’ve landed flat on my ass.
“Fuckin’ hell.” I spit a wad of blood onto the sand where I’d bitten my tongue. “That make you feel better?”
“Fuck your apology,” Tex barked. He stepped closer and jabbed a finger into my chest. Even in the dim light, his green eyes blazed. “You want to know how I feel? Fine! You broke my fuckin’ heart!”
My breath caught in my chest, harder and more painful than the punch. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I was hearing the crash of the waves behind me or my own blood pounding in my ears.
I was prepared to deal with his anger—managing a pissed-off Tex was practically my specialty. But this—whatever this was—I wasn’t expecting.
I’d hurt him.
For the first time since I’d walked out of San Quentin, I felt like I was finally seeing Tex as he was now. Not hiding behind the shadow of the man he was before I was locked up.
Tex turned his back to me, cursed colorfully under his breath, and paced down the beach closer to the waves.
I straightened up and followed after him. “Tex. Wait.”
Tex said nothing. He folded his arms over his chest and stared at the waves breaking. My hands itched with the desire to touch him, even just a friendly clap on the back. But I knew right now he was too riled up for physical comfort, and I didn’t feel like having that kind of a fight.
“I really am sorry,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say.
Tex exhaled hard and toed at the sand. His shoulders slumped, like they always did when the explosive force of his anger had bled out a little.
“I don’t want your apologies. Never did. I just wanted you around.” He turned his face toward me, but I couldn’t see his eyes under the shadow of his hat in the dark night, and I couldn’t read his moods from just the tilt of his chin or the twitch of his fingers. Not anymore. “No use apologizing. Can’t change the past.”
I stood next to him and looked out at the horizon as well. Regret hung heavy in my chest like a stone.
“It hasn’t been the same without you,” Tex continued, so quietly I could hardly hear him over the waves. “It’s like loneliness, but more fucked up. Like I’ve been riding my bike with its suspension busted for three years. I’ve been off balance. I mean, the guys in the club are my brothers, and they helped, but you’re you. We’re us.” A sharp bite of anger edged into his tone. “How could you be so stupid? How could you do that to us?”
The regret oozed through me like a slow-moving poison, laced with despair and self-loathing. I felt small. I felt like I wanted to sink