Page 88 of Dream On

There’s a foot between us, maybe less, but it feels like a cavern. A huge, hollow hole. I could lie and say I’m wonderful, a picture of contentment, but I never say things I don’t mean. “Life could be better,” I admit with a shrug. “My boyfriend cheated on me, so that’s been a…transition. But it was for the best.” I glance down at my fingernails, at the glossy clear finish tipped with white. “Jameson. Do you remember him? From school?”

He frowns. “The prick who played the duke?”

“Yeah. He was there during my first surgery for my knee. We started dating after high school.”

Lex hesitates, glances at my leg. “First surgery?”

“I had many. My knee was basically pulverized in the accident, and it took multiple surgeries to reconstruct it.” I shift uncomfortably, the memory still raw. “There were times I didn’t think I’d ever walk again, let alone dance or perform. But I’m getting there, and I don’t even have a permanent limp. Just a knee full of metal and scars.”

Carefully, I reach down and tug the skirt of my dress up, showcasing the jigsaw of scarring on my right knee. I tilt it side to side, the ambient mood lighting illuminating the puckered skin.

Lex stares at it, the frown returning between his eyes, adding shadows to his face. He looks like he wants to touch it, graze his fingertips along the evidence of what severed our friendship, but he keeps his hands at his sides and flexes his fingers.

I let go of my dress and let the material splash across my bare legs. “My family is good. I share an apartment with my sister in the city, and my parents live in the same red farmhouse. We still have our cow.”

He listens, but he doesn’t speak. I try to read his micro expressions, but aside from that frown that gave a little away—a spark of life, of inherent reaction—he’s a blank canvas.

“Your turn,” I say.

His eyebrows arch.

“Tell me how you’re doing,” I encourage, eager to learn more. “I saw online that your parents separated a couple years back. I’m sorry.”

“Devastating,” he deadpans.

“Do you still talk to them?”

Sighing, he squirms in the seat, clearly uncomfortable discussing family matters. “My mom, yeah. She’ll be at the gala tonight. Haven’t seen my dad since the divorce.”

I nod, chewing on my lip as another wave of a silence drapes over us. “Um…but how are you really doing? Personally?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lex waves a dismissive hand around the limo, gesturing at the lush interior, the ice bucket of overpriced champagne, and his tailored suit, custom-made for him.

I shake my head. “That doesn’t tell me anything.”

“Tells you plenty.”

“I want to know more.” My tone dips to a husky whisper. “I want to know what changed. Why you changed. Why you left and how you could—” I stop, closing my eyes, trying to summon the right words. “How you were able to just shut it all off and walk away without a backward glance. Was it worth it?” I wonder softly. “All this?”

Lex studies me, rolling his tongue along his lower lip again, the limo jerking with every dip and pothole. “You really want to do this right now?”

“When else? I’m only here for a day. Then it’s over. You’ll be gone again.”

“Is that why you agreed to come here?” His stare is digging. “For some kind of closure?”

“Maybe.”

“They have therapists for that.”

“Therapists offer coping mechanisms. I’m looking for answers.”

He exhales a hard breath, raking a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “Well, I’m not much of a conversationalist, so good luck with that.”

“Text me then.”

Another frown.

“If you can’t say it out loud, write it down.”