What kind of woman…
Bo’s voice snaps me back to the present, “You’re coming at me for not texting you enough and you’ve been keeping this?” his voice begins to rise, “What the hell are you doing, Evie?”
“Well, you haven’t exactly been the easiest person to talk to lately.” My face twists in disgust, “Fucking Hannah…” I murmur, “fine, I should’ve told you.”
“Look,” Bo rubs the bridge of his nose, “Hannah’s a bitch, OK? She’s salty and she knows she’ll never measure up to you. That’s why she’s trying to stir shit up. She only told me any of this because she’s pissed I’m taking you to prom.”
I blink and just stare at him, “Prom?”
All of this is happening because of a prom date? Why would Hannah care who Bo takes to prom?
“You know what? Forget Hannah,” Bo throws his head to the side, “because it doesn’t matter. You’re walking around this whole time, acting like everything’s great, strutting your ass out on the field, picking out your prom dress, and meanwhile, you’re getting a goddamn abortion!”
“Why do you even care about prom?” I shout back, “Aren’t you taking Asher Avery now, anyway?”
He takes a step forward, towering over me, “What the fuck are you talking about? When the hell did I tell you that?”
“You didn’t! I had to hear about it in the middle of class,” my voice gets louder and louder as I recall the awful memory, until I’m basically screaming at him, “while Asher told everyone about you saying how hot she looked in her dress! And then she said she was going to see you at Leland’s…” my voice cracks while I try to bite back the tears, “I’m not an idiot, Bo. I know you, and I know what that means. So why the fuck do you even care that I got an abortion?”
“You’re falling to pieces because some bitch was running her mouth in class?” His voice softens and he furrows his brow, studying my face as I rub my cheeks and try to maintain my composure. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I want that with you?”
“Want what?” I stare up at him in confusion.
His dark eyes seem to go on forever, and then, suddenly, I realize what he’s implying. “No,” I shake my head fervently, “you do not.” Now he’s just being ridiculous. “You know what would happen to your life if I decided to have a baby right now? Nothing!” I snap, “You’d be doing the exact same thing you’re doing right now—working for your dad, racing cars, hunting with Jay, doing whatever you want, and your only inconvenience would be me yelling at you for coming home too late. But my life would change. I couldn’t do any of the things I planned to do and I would resent you and probably end up hating you. What kind of life is that for anyone?”
He looks me up and down, “You already have it all figured out, huh?”
“What do you think this is, Bo?” I take a haggard breath, “Some Hallmark movie where I go off to school, come home for Christmas break, see you at the Well, and decide that school and softball aren’t for me and I’d rather come back here and have 10 babies with you?”
“Ten’s a little ambitious with your track record,” Bo deadpans.
My eyes blaze as I glare up at him, seething with rage, “I did it because this is my body and my life!”
Suddenly, Bo grabs my bicep and violently jerks me toward him, “Let me tell you something, Evie, the minute you decided to crawl into my bed every other night and beg me to fuck you seven ways to Sunday is when your body stopped being yours and every single part of you became my property!”
I reel back and shove him in the shoulder, wrenching my arm out of his grip, “Are you kidding me right now, Bowen?”
“If anyone’s playing head games right now, Evie, it’s you,” he snarls. “Do you remember what you told me? Or did you conveniently forget, just like you neglected to tell me you killed my baby?”
“Why don’t you tell me, Bo?” I hiss back, my entire body shaking with rage, “Since you seem to know everything!”
Bo stills, his shoulders rising and falling steadily as he glares down at me. If I weren’t so angry, I probably would’ve shut my mouth by now. Even though he has the most gorgeous smile I’ve ever seen, when his eyes turn darker than pitch, he can be spiteful and downright scary when he wants to be.
He runs his tongue along the back of his teeth, “I’ll never leave you,” he murmurs in a mocking tone, “I just want you, Bo. You, and nobody else...”
I let out a long, slow breath as my words drip from his lips like acid. And when he’s finished, there’s nothing left but the shrieks of tree frogs and a chorus of insects ringing in my ears. How can silence be so loud?
“Do you want me to tell you I’m a liar?” I look up at him with resolve, “Is that what you want to hear?” After a few moments, I shake my head in exasperation, “I love you, Bo, but—”
“The fuck did you say to me?” he cuts me off, narrowing his eyes with suspicion.
Shit…I just said that out loud.
I blink hard and avert my eyes, staring at some random clump of moss on the limestone.
“Speak!” he barks, making me flinch.
“I said—” I pause and take a deep breath, “I love you.”
It’s not a lie. You can still love someone even if you know you can’t be with them. You can still love someone even if you know it’ll never work out. You can still love someone even if you’re still trying to figure out what love is. You can still love someone even if you shouldn’t. It’s the kind of love you feel when you finally know both sides of someone; when they finally show you the secret parts that they don’t want anyone else to see.
But, still, maybe I shouldn’t have said it out loud.
There’s something chaotic going on behind Bo’s eyes and the muscles in his face twitch with alternating expressions of both intrigue and skepticism. He studies me, his brow furrowed like he’s trying to decide whether I’m telling the truth.
He tilts his head with curiosity, “How much do you love me?”
Now that I’ve said it, I can’t just clam up now. Batter up, Maguire...I clench my teeth and take a deep breath; no more games, no more drama, all that’s left is the truth. Even if it’s inconvenient. Even if it hurts.
“Enough to ask myself if I really want to leave.”
His expression doesn’t change, “And?”
When I look at Bo, my face tells him all he needs to know. I can feel it in my eyes, and I know he sees it, too. It’s the silent resolve that comes with the acceptance that I’ve made my choice, it’s not him, and there’s no going back.
“And you’re going anyway,” he answers for me. Then his eyes darken again and he leans in close, “Then what the fuck do you care what I think about you, anyway?” he rasps with nothing but pure malice.
He’s just angry. But he’ll move on, probably faster than I will.
