Well Written

8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Marcus

" A nd here's those fries for ya!"

The young waitress sets the last basket of waffle fries in between Kane and I. He stares down at his lap, and I give her an appreciative smile.

"Thank you."

The waitress nods, wiping her palms down the front of her apron before turning and walking away. As I stare at the mountain of food in front of me, my appetite shrinks. I don't know what I was thinking; inviting Kane here, trying to reconcile things.

It's selfish, really, to think I deserve to be reconciled with. To believe that I am worthy of a second of Kane Ramirez' thoughts.

The idea eats away at me as the food on the table remains untouched.

"I'm sorry," I say, finally breaking the silence. "I shouldn't have invited you here."

Kane looks up from the floor, his amber eyes framed by thick brows, weaved together.

"Why did you?" he asks. Not harshly, nor vindictively. Softly. Curiously.

I swallow back the ache forming in the base of my throat, but my voice still cracks as I begin to speak.

"I was going to apologize," I say again. "Genuinely, and truly, with every fiber of my soul. But—" My eyes find his, and I watch as he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, chewing on it gently.

It's a classic sign that Kane is nervous. He did it the first time we spoke. The first time I kissed him. The first time I touched him. But I have no idea why he is doing it now.

Kane terrifies me, because he is unforgettable. Of all the days I have lived, I remember the ones with him most vividly. I can't recall what I did last spring, or what I got Janelle for Christmas. But that summer repeats daily in my mind, like a tracklist you just can't let go of, always playing in the background of my life

Why he would find any bit of my existence nerve-inducing confounds me. I am extremely and entirely forgettable.

"I didn't just want to say that I was sorry. Sorry doesn't— it doesn't mean shit. Not after all this time, I know that. I don't expect forgiveness. I don't forgive myself. I don't even expect you to listen to a single word I say, but I hope that you will. Because I need you to know that you didn't deserve that. You did not deserve any of it."

Kane's chest jolts as his breath shudders. His bottom lip slowly slips from between his teeth, appearing glossy in the dim restaurant lighting. His eyes do too, and for a moment, I think he may cry. My stomach sinks, and I prepare myself to grab his phone and call Clara, repent for my sins, and book the first flight home. But to my surprise, he simply slides his hand across the table, picks up a waffle fry from one of the baskets between us, and pops it into his mouth.

"What?" he asks, his brow quirked and the corner of his lip turned upwards. "Sorry, I didn't listen to a single word you said."

I can't tell if he's fucking with me. I feel like, any second now, he's going to dump all the food into my lap, and storm out of the diner. The sad part is, I wouldn't blame him. But Kane continues to stare at me, with those sweet brown eyes I've always missed, and pushes one of the baskets across the table.

I finally allow myself to breathe when the little uptick of his lips breaks into a full, bright-eyed smile. Laughter swells in the bottom of his stomach until it travels up his chest, and bursts out like a cluster of bubbles, popping as he tries to catch his breath. I don't know what I did to deserve this sound, but I need to figure it out, because I might die if I never hear it again.

"Oh fuck off," I chuckle nervously, running a hand down the stubble of my beard.

"Look, Marcus. I appreciate the apology. Everything that happened back then, well… it was a long time ago. And I made mistakes too. As bizarre as this all is—" He continues laughing quietly. "It does not warrant wasting three baskets of Rita's waffle fries."

I stare at him, my brows raised.

"Are you going to eat, or just sit there catching flies with your mouth?" he asks snarkily. A confused smile breaks across my face as I comply, reaching for a perfectly golden, and crispy cross-cut fry.

There's a lot of things you forget about your hometown when you've spent such a long time away from it. How the air smells, the way the locals talk, which turn gets you to the good spot on the beach. But even if I were to wake up with amnesia, I could never forget Rita's waffle fries.

"Oh my god," I moan, tossing my head back with no dramatization. These fries are just that damn good. "They're better than I even remembered."

Kane beams proudly, the lines next to his eyes like sunrays, bringing in the light. "You're welcome."

"You're welcome?"

His brows instantly furrow. "Do I need to remind you who introduced you to those fries?"

I shove another one into my mouth, shaking my head. "Thank you."

As the clock ticks, and the baskets of fries shrink to two, then to one, I don't find myself succumbing to my regular, tireless routine. Normally, I would be in bed by now, my glasses rested on the table beside me as I drift off, ready to repeat the day tomorrow. But Kane is here, after twenty years of silence, teasing me about how boneheaded I was back then. And if I were to go to bed, I'm scared I might find that I've been dreaming all along.

Not just because Kane is talking to me; that's not entirely unbelievable. But because he is here, alive, and smiling like he means it.

Profound sadness takes a physical form in the body of Kane Ramirez. It always has, from the dark moons beneath his gorgeous brown eyes, to the gentle way his fingertips touch. How the hair on his face often needs trimmed, and the hair on his head often needs washed. From his breath, and his frown, and the little crease settled between his brows. From the pit in the stomach of everyone who's loved him, fearing that one day, he may forget it.

A beautiful devastation, and devastatingly beautiful.

"I mean, really Marcus. You brought a wet dog into a store full of books, and expected a job? " Lines frame his innocent smile, the reflection of the lights illuminating the golden flecks in his eyes.

"I got the job, didn't I?"

He rolls his eyes, but the smile doesn't leave his face. And for some, inexplicable reason, I'm tempted to reach out and trace it.

"I'm so sorry for interrupting," the waitress says as she approaches our table. "But we have to close early tonight. I'm sorry for any inconvenience, and am happy to box up any leftovers you wish to take." Her gaze falls to the ravished table, all but three, slightly burned fries completely demolished. I glance at Kane, his smile faltering, and then, without even realizing, I stand up.

"I should get going anyway," I say, pulling my wallet from my pocket. I hand her a fifty-dollar-bill, refusing to let my gaze drift back to Kane. "Thank you, for everything. You can keep the change."

The young woman smiles, taking the money from my hand. She looks familiar, somehow, yet I know I've never met her.

"Have a wonderful night, you two."

My eyes stay connected to her as she makes her way to the kitchen. I don't know if it's the stress of the evening, the fact that I'm not yet ready to part with Kane, or something else entirely. But I can't take my eyes off of her until she completely disappears.

From behind me, Kane clears his throat, and I fail to fight the turn of my head to look at him.

This is it. The last time I will ever see, or speak to him. The last time we'll share a meal, and a laugh. The last time I'll see the creases around his eyes, and the dimple in his cheek. The last time I will ever hear his voice.

I feel like I have so much to say, but Kane doesn't deserve that. He deserves closure. And I will do whatever I need to in order to give him that. Even if it means infinite silence.

He clears his throat again. "Do you want to walk to Sully's with me?"