We're Not Related Anymore...

Can't Keep Avoiding This

"I have to. I have a job, a life to get back to." I lower my sleeve to cover my fist and use the material to wipe the remaining tears off my face after I run out of clean tissues.

"But before? Your life was here."

"I wanted you to come with me," I say, thinking back to the past, pressing my hand to my face. The coldness of my fingers helps cool down my hot, tear-stained face.

"Maddie-" he starts.

"But you changed your mind and everyone was looking at us like we were some kind of freaks and you wouldn't even stay by my side. I thought you loved me."

He doesn't say anything and I find myself looking over at his profile as he drives. His face is totally closed off. Why'd he have to go there? Why did everyone have to bring up the past? I hate thinking about this stuff and now that I'm thinking about it again, it's like I can't physically stop talking about it.

"You weren't really in that video, Jacob. Your back was to the camera and so there were rumors that you had to deal with, but everyone who saw that video knew it was me."

As I speak the words, the memory of those days comes back to me. Anyone who'd seen that video had seen my face and my partially naked body. There was no hiding the fact that I'd been caught in a compromising position with someone a lot of people thought looked like my step-brother.

He's silent and even though I've been trying to get him to drop this subject for days, his sudden decision to keep his trap shut annoys me.

"So, that's it?" I demand, staring at his profile, memorizing the shape of his jaw, and the fullness of his eyelashes. "You're just not going to say anything to that?"

"I don't know what to say," he starts and he glances at me briefly, taking in my appearance just like I have. "I had no idea you felt that way."

When I glance back to the road, I see the airport in the near distance. My heart sinks and I'm surprised by its reaction.

"You know I loved you," he says and I let out a breath. Loved. I thought I was over this shit but the past tense is like a fucking blow to my stomach.

"How come you never told me about your dad?" I interrupt.

"Why does he have anything to do with this?" Jacob asks impatiently.

"I thought we were close but you never even told me he was in prison." Now my words are the one's sounding betrayed.

"You never asked," Jacob practically snarls. "And I don't want to talk about him right now."

"What do you want to talk about, Jacob?" I ask, ready to list all the things that we could argue about.

"I was coming to find you," he blurts out and I sit up straighter. "Before your dad died, I was going to find you in L.A. after I'd finished my exams. I'd got your number from Tess and she told me about this restaurant you worked at... I was going to come find you."

His words are almost tangible. They make the air in the car so thick I feel like I can barely breathe. "Why?"

"Because you left without saying goodbye. You gave me no means to contact you and... I needed to see you."

"For closure?" I ask, and suddenly it's like I've answered a question I'd been asking myself for years.

Maybe the reason I've never been able to move on from Jacob Isaacs isn't because of our history or the crash and burn of our relationship. Maybe no guy has ever measured up simply because I haven't closed the chapter on us. But it's different now. I've been so stubborn, so adamant about not bringing up the past but maybe that's what I needed all these years: A last goodbye to close the book on our sordid relationship.

But that's not what Jacob meant because he says, "No. I wanted to see you Maddie because I missed you. I wanted to see you because the best times of my life were when you were in it."

Three years ago, these words were what I wanted- no, needed to hear. If he'd said these things to me three years ago, I would've told him to turn the car back around so that we could ride off into our sunset.

But he's not saying these words three years ago, he's saying them now.

I laugh, the sound cruel in the light of his confession. I shake my head, watching planes in the yard fly up off the landing strip.

"What's funny?" He asks and I continue to shake my head.

"I'm just thinking about how you said I couldn't handle the hard conversations," I say, staring at his reflection in the passenger window.

"And?" The word is loaded.

"You said you missed me," I repeat, turning his words over in my head.

"I do."

"I don't," I confess. "Maybe once I missed the idea of you but I was pining over someone who didn't exist."

"I'm still the same person," he insists.

"No. The person I thought I was in love with wouldn't have let me go. He would've defended our relationship. He would've defended me."

I turn to face him because I need to see his reaction. He looks like I've just slapped him. I know I shouldn't say my next few words, I know I'll never be able to take them back but I say them anyway. Since my dad passed, I have felt nothing but guilt and anger. And I want him to feel as awful as I do.

"When Lilian called me to tell you he was dead, do you know the first thing I thought? Hm? It was this: If it had never been for you, I would've had a relationship with my father before he died. But I fucked everything up, humiliated myself for you. And none of it was worth it. Say something," I practically beg when he becomes stoically quiet. "Say. Something."

"You're hurting right now," he says, the words monotonous, sounding rehearsed. "I know you don't mean what you're saying."

"Fuck you," I tell him, wishing that he was wrong.

He doesn't respond to that and soon we're pulling into the drop-off zone of the airport. Before I can unclip my seatbelt, Jacob hands me a wad of cash. I don't have to be a genius to work out it's for the ticket. Although after everything I've just said to him, I don't deserve to take it.

"Give me your number," He says as he helps me get my suitcase out of the back. I scoff and he takes a deep breath, looking as though he's gathering strength. "It's not because I want a booty call. It's because I want you to text me when you land."

It's such a practical, reasonable thing to say that I want to punch him just to get a reaction. But he won't react to anything I do. Not my words or my anger. He's completely indifferent.

"Fine," I say, avoiding his eyes because now I just feel ashamed. Apologise, a voice whispers but I can't bring myself to form the words. "It's the same number you called..." the day my dad died.

The words left unsaid hang between us until I can't stall any longer. I turn and start wheeling my bag through the entrance.

Look back, whispers the same voice from earlier. But I don't. The damage is already done.