Never Stop

15. Via

Chapter fifteen

Via

I stop walking. I stop thinking. I stop breathing.

I stop everything.

I'm stunned in my place. I can't help but feel like this is some ginormous, cruel joke being played on both of us.

Was this intentionally set up? Izzy would never .

Maverick came around long after Ander, so he's never met him.

I can feel the panic setting in as I stand here. I'm just standing here. After a few seconds, which feels like forever, I finally use every ounce of strength to say, "I have to pee," and quite literally run to the bathroom.

I'm unsure if Izzy is behind me, and I don't want her to be. I need a second. I need to be alone. The bathroom has multiple stalls, so I run into the first open one and sink behind the door, unsure if I've locked it.

How could this be happening? How could they do this to him?

No. No. NO!

He's supposed to be happy . He's supposed to live a beautiful life with someone capable of giving him the same joy he delivers. He is not supposed to be on the hunt for love and happiness.

When Izzy told me he was with someone a while back, I found so much comfort in knowing I had done the right thing. Although it hurt to hear, I found peace knowing that Ander took my advice and found the happiness he deserved. The exact joy I knew my constant black cloud wouldn't allow me to give him.

Izzy throws open the door, pushing me forward. Okay, I guess this means that I did not lock it. She lunges down toward me, swooping me into her arms. She pulls me tight into a hug that feels like it is trapping me, so I push her back gently. She looks just as in shock as I am.

"V! I swear on everything that I had no idea!" She visibly panics with me as she runs a hand over her face. "What the actual hell!"

"I'm okay, I'm okay. I need to catch my breath," I attempt to say through the anxiety attack that's ripping through my core. I'm unsure if my words are even coming out audibly. The sobs break free from me no matter how hard I try to hold them back. It's useless.

This wasn't supposed to be how this went.

"HE IS SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPY!" I scream out into the silence, entirely too loud. Izzy squeezes me tighter as she rubs my hair. "I know, V. I know." We sit for a beat, neither knowing what to say.

I stand to collect myself. I frantically wipe at my face, trying to hide every tear that my eyes betrayed me and allowed me to escape from them. Taking a few more deep breaths, I'm unsure what to do. What to say?

"Okay, okay…… Okay," I repeat like a chant, still attempting to pull the shattered pieces of myself together. Izzy is just standing there staring at me in silence. She is still as stunned as I am and probably has no idea what to say. The tears finally comply and stop falling. My breath is returning to some form of routine.

I'm not typically one to lose it like this— or at all. I usually hold myself together rather well, even under pressure. But the pressure is a little too much for even myself.

"Izzy, how—" I'm cut off by a gentle knock on the main restroom door as we hear it creak to open. We both freeze in place.

"Is she okay?" Phew, it's Maverick. It's just Maverick .

"She's getting there," Izzy calls out. We will just be a few more minutes."

Her eyes search mine in the tiny stall. I nod in approval as my lip shivers and the tears threaten again.

GET IT TOGETHER OLIVIA!

"It's okay. Bear explained everything to me. He's gone now. He said he was sorry—"

Before I could register what I was doing, I swung the restroom stall door open, cut him off, and walked directly toward him.

"Where is he, Maverick? Where is Ander?" my voice is small yet firm.

I must seem angry, but I'm not—not even remotely. If anything, other than being shocked, I feel sadness, not at Ander but for him . All I ever hoped for him was love and joy. He wasn't supposed to be searching. He was supposed to be happy. He came here tonight looking for that but got stuck with me instead. Ugh, life never seems to deal fair cards out on the table.

"… He went out the backdoor on the right toward the back parking lot. He looked so sad. He said he doesn't want to hurt you—"

I walked out quickly before he could finish that sentence. He doesn't want to hurt me? He's never hurt me. He could never hurt me. Is that really what he thinks ?

My brain tells my feet to move, and my feet must have heard "RUN" because that's precisely what they're doing. I run through the restaurant like a mad woman, but I don't care.

I get to the back door, swiftly push through it, and my eyes quickly scan the parking lot. It took me a second, but I finally spotted him. Well, I spot the back of him as he's still walking away.

"Ander, please wait!" I call out way too loudly for this parking lot, which only he and I are standing in, with tons of empty parked cars.

I slow my feet and make my way toward Anderson Anthony Cole . He stops walking as he approaches a big red and gold two-tone Ford F-250. I can see his shoulders slump forward as he takes a breath and turns to face me. I'm closer to him now, but there's still a distance between us, and I stop in my tracks.

He is more stunning than I could have imagined he would be .

"Rosie, listen, I had no idea. Maverick wouldn't even tell me the girl's name that I was supposed to—" He starts to say with apologetic eyes as I hold up my hand softly to signal for him to stop talking, so he does.

We both stand there for a beat and look each other over. Hearing him say his nickname for me hits me.

Hard .

I can't help but smile as I exhale a quick breath. My eyes scan over him, taking in and savoring the sight of him. He's even more gorgeous than he was when we were teens. Which I didn't think was possible.

He now has that kind of manly look that wasn't there the last time we saw one another. He looks far from clean-cut; his callused hands are a clear giveaway. His square jawline is still as breathtaking as ever but is now accompanied by a short-cut, clean-lined beard, which suits him well. His dark hair is cut short on the sides and longer up top but pulled back by his black, backward-facing baseball cap. He seems to have tattoos spread throughout his arms down to his fingertips; I see quite a few on both arms and the possibility of more underneath his shirt sleeves. Those caramel-brown eyes are just as piercing as they've always been.

Brown eyes on anyone else look like brown eyes, but on him, they've always looked like a dream you could get lost in.

He has that kind of handsome look, as if he doesn't stop the show when he walks into a room, but you damn sure can't help but notice his presence, either.

He's wearing a fitted black shirt with a black leather jacket over it. His dark blue denim jeans aren't tight yet aren't baggy either; they fit him just right. I giggle when I see he's wearing all black Converse. His style hasn't changed much at all. He may look so different, so much more mature and even more handsome than I thought possible, but he still looks just like himself . Just like the image of him, it's etched in my memory, and I'll never be able to forget it.

I guess the smile on my lips spreads to him as he lets out a smile, too. One that's so inviting. If he's taking me in the way I'm taking him in, he must think I've let myself go. I was losing my shit and sobbing in the bathroom- I could about imagine how horrific I look right now.

I break the silence, which is not as awkward as I would expect it to be, by saying, "So,"

Ander replies with "I'm sorry," before I can get the chance to continue.

I grin and nod lightly, then raise my eyebrows as my face and voice both shift tones slightly, "You go by 'Bear' now, hmm?"

Ander chuckles and shakes his head, obviously confused by my question. I'm somewhat taken aback by the calmness that's taking over me. Then again, he's always put me at ease simply by being present.

"Coincidentally, I didn't choose it. I think the guys at work started calling me Bear because of my height and build. It kind of just stuck," he says with a smile—that same smile that has always made my heart flutter.

Taking him in, I can see why they chose 'Bear.' He's so tall and stocky. It makes sense.

Unsure what to say, I nod as I try to sort through all the thoughts rushing through my mind at the speed of light.

Ander presses his lips together into a straight line as he breathes.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but I must be honest. I'm happy it is you. It's great to see you, V. You look fantastic, which doesn't surprise me. I'd be lying to your face if I said this doesn't fucking hurt." He drops his head, and I want to rush to him out of instinct.

I don't.

I know I've hurt him. If I'm smart, I'll let him turn around and leave now before I hurt him worse. Well, I'm not smart, not when it comes to him. I've been strong and kept away from him for too damn long. He lifts his head back up, and as his eyes meet mine, his lips curve into a smile that grows wide, and his caramel-brown eyes twinkle. I swear that they fucking twinkle .

"Would you want to go back inside… with me?"

I'm still in shock, and the sadness that I felt when I first laid my eyes on him is slowly subsiding...However, I'm sad that he's still searching for love. I had convinced myself that he was off living a fairytale romance, The same kind I had once dreamed of having with him. Convincing myself of that had given me peace over all these years. Now, I am finding out that isn't the case and that his reality is more similar to mine, which shatters my heart for him. The fact that he's in front of me right now is miraculous, and I can't just let him leave. It still baffles me that he told Maverick he didn't want to hurt me. I hope he doesn't think my mess is his fault. He could never be to blame. He's here now, and I have this sudden desire to know everything about him and his life that I can't push down.

He smiles a smile that causes a bolt of electricity to jolt through my entire being.

Six years have passed, and there's no way this boy— Well, he is a man now, no denying that. AT ALL .— Could still have this 'love-sick puppy' effect on me.

He extends his arm, motioning toward the door. "After you," that smug grin still dances on his face.

I turn and start walking back towards the restaurant out of the parking lot, hearing Ander's footsteps following close behind me. This is all so surreal. I can't help but let out a little soft laugh. The noise sounds foreign coming from my mouth. I have laughed more in recent years than previously, but not this sound. It's the genuine escape from my gut kind of laugh without even trying to force it.

This sound was almost always reserved for Anderson Anthony Cole.

I heard his footsteps behind me stop briefly after I laughed awkwardly, and then they picked up again- not missing a beat behind my own.

We head back into the restaurant, with Ander walking before me. Izzy and Maverick are beaming with joy, but I can see the surprise in their eyes. They didn't expect both of us to return, especially not together.

Ander and I approach their table, and he suddenly stops and turns towards me.

"You can say no if you want, but would you like to get our own table?" he asks. I don't respond; I hold his gaze and nod. He returns my nod.

"Alright, you wait here for a second."

He walks towards the hostess stand. As he brushes past me, his shoulder lightly touches mine, and suddenly, my entire body is awakened and aware of his presence.

As Dr. Carr likes to remind me, I've spent so many years building up my walls for protection and to keep me safely guarded. In less than five minutes of being in his company, I can feel those walls coming down fiercely and abruptly. How can we become practically strangers after six years, yet his presence still has the same effect on me?

The reality of what's unfolding is starting to sink in, and the magnitude of it all is not lost on me. Pushing Ander away was my way of assuring his happiness because, following life rearing its ugly head my way, I knew I couldn't give him the love, energy, and joy he deserved—the same things he gave to me so effortlessly.

Sure, Liam's threat forced my hand, but I knew I couldn't be the person he deserved. I knew he would never give up on me, so I had to decide for him.

Yet, here I am, about to sit down and talk to him after six years of no contact. What do we even say? What is there to say after so much time has passed?

We don't even know each other anymore. The realization of that breaks my heart instantly. There was once a time when no one in this world knew me better than Ander did.

He knew me truly, from the inside out. He was the person who could read my mind just by studying my face briefly. He could complete my sentences because he always seemed to know what was coming next, and I was that person for him, too.

He once said everyone had a perception of him, but I was the only one who truly knew his spirit and understood his soul. Now, neither of us knows anything regarding the other. Many things can change in six years.

The man I'm about to sit with at a table isn't the boy I knew, and I am damn sure not the same girl he once loved.

As if she could sense the panic washing over me, slowly consuming me as each second passed, Izzy reached out of the booth and grabbed my hands.

"Breathe, V. It's just one conversation. A conversation that he's tried to have with you for years. It wasn't planned, but maybe it was always meant to happen this way. Just give him this one night," she says softly, gently, each word resignating with me.

I take a sharp, deep breath and straighten my shoulders. As much as I hate to admit it, Izzy is right. It's one conversation.

She doesn't understand what one conversation with Ander could do to my heart. The stubborn thing still beats for him; I'm unsure if it can take this.

I let out a defeated 'humph,' still trying to process the fact that this is happening.

The hostess leads us to a table on the restaurant's other side, which is far less busy. The tables are spaced further apart, making it feel more secluded and personal.

Did Ander specifically ask for this side? I breathe to calm myself and try not to let panic creep back in.

Ander pulls out my chair for me and motions a hand for me to take a seat. He's always been thoughtful and has tried to make small gestures like this. I've never been a girl who cared if a guy opened a door for me or pulled a chair for me, but when it happens, it's nice. It makes you feel special. Worthy, even. Not that it's ever happened for me with anyone other than him because it hasn't.

He takes his seat directly across from me, pulling his phone from his pocket, silencing it, and pushing it back into his pocket. I try not to stare, but his aura makes it difficult. His presence draws me in, just like it always has.

The waitress takes our drink orders before a single word can be spoken, thankfully breaking the silence and my gaze. I need to ease my mind and order a glass of wine. I assume he needs the same liquid courage as he orders a crown and coke. I can't help but grin smugly. Crown and coke . It was the first alcoholic beverage I ever tried.

Jett had snuck a bottle of Crown Royal from their dad's stash and made us each a drink before he left. He walked off with a girl he met the previous day down by the shoreline, leaving Ander and me to share our first illegal drink alone .

"It's the only alcoholic thing I've ever drank besides beer." He says, as his lips form into a line, slightly curving at the edges. His eye contact is intense, and his gaze on me is somewhat intimidating. I can tell he's trying to read and figure me out. If he only knew that I'm no longer the open book I once was. I'm now tarnished. The copy that was left out in the storm, pages worn, and quality diminished drastically. Even if he can read me, he won't want to. I'm no longer who I was. I'm not who he loved. How do I tell him that? There's so much hope in his eyes. A hope that I didn't want to see again because I knew all I could do was ruin it. Tangled up with the glimmer dancing in his eyes is a mix of fear and maybe a little anger. I don't blame him for any of those feelings; they're all valid.

"It's okay to ask your questions; I know you must have plenty," I say softly, sadness laced into each word. A flash of pain fills his creamy brown eyes.

I can't take it.

I know the pain I've caused because I brought the same pain upon myself. I can't stand being reminded that he felt and suffered through it, too, at the hands of my decisions. I break our gaze as the words leave my lips. My eyes drop to my hands, both placed on the table. I focus hard on them. I notice their small structure and the sweat starting to bead from them out of pure nervousness.

He releases a sigh, taking his time before speaking. He's always been one to choose his words carefully. His thoughtfulness and intention behind the words he spoke were always something I loved about him. When we were kids, all the others would try to rush him to form his thoughts and say what he wanted to say. It's like they took it in as a sign of weakness. Not me.

I embraced the time between sounds because I knew the words to fill the air following the pause would hold actual meaning. In my world where hateful, meaningless, cruel words were spewed daily, I appreciated knowing that his words would always hold weight.

Silence fills our space for a brief moment, but not for too long. His hand twitches slightly toward mine. I assume it was a reflex as he retreats and quickly pulls it back.

After a while, he finally spoke up.

"I could ask a million, but I'd rather listen to you tell me about who you are. . . nowadays,"

He says with a sigh and a pained grin, pulling at his perfect lips. I can sense he hates that the person who always knew me best hates that he has to ask about who I am.

I reconnect eye contact with him and nod softly, agreeing to his request but trying to hold back the surprise that I'm feeling. I was expecting to answer his questions with simple, straightforward responses. I wasn't prepared to be the one doing the talking or dishing out more than necessary.