Scars Like Ours | Red View Romance #2

🍂 Thirty

After such a busy day, sleep should have come easily. Instead, Cliff found himself wide awake, tossing and turning all the way into the early morning, swamped with thoughts of Annie and how sullen she'd become every time she thought no one was looking. 

It wasn't fair. It wasn't right for her to think he'd acted as a friend, that there was no one who was desperate to dance with her. It wasn't out of pity--hell, it was partly out of selfishness, same as the kiss.

Getting her out of his head was impossible, as was stopping himself from throwing the covers aside, getting up, and pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt before grabbing his car keys. 

It was early--so early that the house was quiet, even Jack and Dawson not yet awake. He kept his feet light as he headed downstairs and out into the foggy autumn morning, still lit mostly by the moon.

For the first time since he'd arrived, he got in his car and drove into town. It wasn't so nerve wracking--he knew exactly where he was going, and didn't expect to face anyone other than the woman he desperately needed to talk to. Besides, Red View still had yet to wake up, from the looks of it. The brick sidewalks were empty, and his car was lonely on main street apart from a few vehicles parked along the curb. Stores were closed, and only a handful had employees inside wiping down windows, organizing displays, or changing mannequins into winter coats and fuzzy hats.

When it started to drizzle he turned on the wipers, plagued by a flash of memory--heavy rain, a dark road, a screeching swerve after unknowingly drifting into the oncoming lane, his mind so far removed from the task at hand that he almost hadn't noticed in time.

His hands gripped the wheel a little tighter. He blinked away the visions of the long-ago night, reminded himself where he was. He knew these roads like the back of his hand; a little rain didn't matter. He just needed to focus. Not let his mind get the best of him again.

Driving didn't bother him so much most of the time--it'd been a long time since the crash, and that night had been such a fluke. He was a good driver, damn it. Just like he was a good piano player. He'd just happened to screw both things up in the same night.

He nearly missed the turn for the parking lot behind Lillie Mae Bridal, distracted by thoughts about being distracted. Behind the French windows of Annie's apartment, there was only one light on that he could see. Most likely she was still asleep and had forgotten to turn it off last night.

He pulled into a space, but let his car idle for a minute, surrounded by nothing but the sounds of the worsening rain against the roof and the gentle thud of the windshield wipers as they moved back and forth. The iron steps up to Annie's front door were just feet in front of him, ready to be taken, ready to lead him to her.

He should go home, he thought as he watched the rain. Back out, drive away, and get back in bed pretending he'd never had this crazy idea to begin with.

Instead, he shut off the car and stepped out into the cold rain, walking right up those steps. And before the part of him that was ready to bolt could take over, he knocked on the plain brown door, holding his breath.

Maybe she wouldn't hear. She might be a deep sleeper, and he could walk away without her ever knowing he'd stopped by. But then what? Would he ever get the nerve again? Would he ever say all the things he needed her to hear?

He was still debating about whether to knock again or leave when the door opened--apparently, she'd been awake too. Her hair was pulled into a long braid that fell over the silky shoulder of her blue pajama top. She had a paperback in one hand, fingers keeping her place.

"Cliff?" She looked him over, clutching the doorframe. "What's wrong? Did something happen with the flight?"

"No." Guilt seared him for scaring her. There was no turning back now. No excuse he could possibly come up with for showing up like this. "No, I just... I have to tell you something." The sound of his voice was unfamiliar even to himself, too frantic and full of nerves.