Never Ever

15| Just a taste

I'm nauseous the moment I arrive at the coffee shop. It's usually my favorite place: warm and welcoming, with a comforting aroma of fresh coffee and pastries, but today, it's my version of hell.

I push open the door, the bell tinkling softly as I enter. The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the sweet smell of baked goods. I scan the room, searching for Peter.

And then I see him. He's sitting at a table near the window, his back to me. He's wearing a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of dark jeans that fit him perfectly.

That night flashes before me, and I'm not just seeing Peter right now: I'm seeing trauma and alcohol and stupid decisions; I'm seeing everything I've tried to avoid.

As I approach him, I take in his features: his strong jawline, messy brown hair that falls across his forehead, and warm brown eyes that light up the second they see me. But the closer I get, the easier it is to see what sits behind them.

Guilt.

With a forced smile, I sit across from him, feeling this strange sense of deja vu. He looks the same as he had that night, which makes sense, given it's only been a year, but still, part of me expected him to look different. Older, maybe. Less boyish.

"It's good to see you, Ev," he says, leaning across the table. "I'll be honest. I didn't think you'd come." His eyes slide over me, warm and affectionate, but something about them feels sad.

I smile back, not bothering to tell him I almost didn't. Instead, I say, "So, you're a Pacific Tiger, huh? Who'd have thought we'd end up so far from Maybury?"

He flashes an easy smile. "Pacific wasn't my first choice, but my qual times kind of suffered after–" his sentence trails off. He doesn't need to say it; we both know what he's referring to. "It feels like I haven't seen you in forever," he says to change the subject. "Obviously, you're as beautiful as ever." He winks at the pun, and I can't help it; I laugh.

"I see you haven't lost your cheesy pick-up lines."

His eyebrow arches; he grins. "You think I'm trying to pick you up, Ever?"

My cheeks redden. "No, I–"

He laughs, and it's so low and warm that despite my embarrassment, I laugh too. "I'm teasing you, Ever. I don't remember it being this easy."

He's right. Before the accident, I'd have teased him back, but what happened didn't just steal my ability to swim – it stole my confidence, too.

I'm determined to get it back.

"So, how are you finding Berkeley?" he asks, picking up on my discomfort. "What's your major?"

"Business management. It wasn't exactly what I had planned for my future, and I have no idea what I'll do with a business management degree, but I like that it gives me options."

He leans forward, suddenly serious, and takes my hand in his. "You know, I kept meaning to stop by after the accident," he says, "but I didn't know what to say, and then the more time that passed, the harder it got."

I feel the lump in my throat as it presses it my airways. If I cry right now, I will never forgive myself. "It's fine, Peter," and I mean it – as angry as I am about what happened, I'm not mad at him. I'm not even angry at my town. The judgmental stares were to be expected from a small town like Maybury, because everyone knows that once you're labeled an outcast, it sticks. The only person I've ever been mad at is myself.

"It wasn't fine, Ever," he says, and it suddenly dawns on me why he's here.

Forgiveness.

Peter shakes his head, his eyes hardening as he stares out the window. "I'm the reason you got in that pool, and instead of taking the blame with you, I stayed quiet and let people forget my part in it." He slowly brings his gaze to mine and holds it in the silence. "I'm sorry. I should have said that a long time ago."