Reunited in Wishcliffe - Chapter 17

Lucy blinked, pausing as she held her bra, unfastened, over her chest. "Hate you? Why would I hate you?"

Jon stared back at her, uncomprehending. Because I abandoned you. I slept with you and then skipped town. Because I didn't stick with you when I was offered the chance of success. I chose fame over you. Because I'm the worst best friend in the history of friendship.

How could she not hate him? He hated himself for it, most of the time.

"Because…because I left," he said, and hoped she could hear the rest in his voice.

Dropping her bra to the ground, Lucy picked up his T-shirt from where it lay on the corner of the bed and pulled it over her head. It looked good on her; she'd always looked great in his clothes—stolen often enough late at night, on the way back from gigs, or when they were away playing at festivals.

But now, he suspected the clothes were armour—going into the fight he'd run away from two years ago. Then, he'd left before she could yell, before they could argue, as scared of the conflict between them as ever. He'd wanted to leave on good terms.

Had he just delayed the inevitable, though?

"Jon." Her voice was soft, holding a hint of surprise. "You left because it was the right thing for you to do. You were following your dreams. I was never angry with you about that."

"But what about your dreams?" he asked.

She gave a short, sharp laugh at that, settling back on to the bed beside him. "Have you been holding on to this for the last two years, letting it eat you up, thinking I hated you?" she asked. "Is that why you never visited? Why your emails were always so…unlike you?"

"Were they?" He hadn't emailed as much as he should have, he knew, but things had been so busy. And they'd always done better in person, or on the phone, but the time difference made things hard, not to mention his hours in the studio, and his touring schedule. But he'd thought the emails were better than nothing. Apparently he'd been wrong about that, too.

Lucy sighed. "This is why it's better to actually have a conversation—even if it turns into a fight—rather than just keeping everything inside."

Jon looked away. He had too many memories of the fights his parents used to have, before the divorce, to completely agree. When an argument couldn't change anything—especially not who people were, at their heart—what was the point?

But he did wish he'd talked to Lucy.

He glanced up and found her watching him, her eyes warm and understanding, but waiting, too. Waiting for him to say all the things he'd held in two years ago.

And maybe, maybe this time, he could.