The moment I saw Jenna Swallow walk by me and take a seat at a table on the other side of the bar, my past hit me like a punch to the gut.
Even though I regained an iota of control of my senses, my pulse continued to quicken. My breaths remained shallow. I took a big gulp of beer to try to compensate, cringing at how painful it was to swallow.
She looked just as beautiful as she had the first night I'd met her. And as forlorn. Lost. Alone. In need of a friend.
Like that first time, I hesitated. Not out of nerves now but concern. To make sure I was in control of my emotions when I approached. Fate had us crossing paths again. There was no doubt about that. But why? That's what—dare I say—scared me.
I'd been her first. I'd coaxed the frightened kitten out of her cage. Encouraged her to embrace the fact that she was a lesbian. Made her feel comfortable associating with others like us. Ultimately, I'd shown her pleasures she'd only imagined. And then I'd left her high and dry while she was sleeping with a "Dear John" note. I'd been too chicken-shit to tell her to her face that I was leaving. To explain.
Even twenty years later, guilt still nagged at me every now and then in the silence with only my thoughts. I wondered where she was...what she was doing. Did she hate me as much I hated myself for what I'd done?
But mostly, I wished I could have been there to wipe her tears at my goodbye instead of being miles away when she'd woken up the next morning after her college graduation and found me gone.
Now, I stared at her as I had in that gay club so long ago.
Her long hair was still that silky blonde that curled and lay perfectly over her shoulders, just the way most women dreamed they had. Her legs and ass were just as toned in her jeans as they'd ever been. But her face, though more striking than ever, looked...troubled. Downcast eyes. Slightly shiny cheeks indicative of a recent crying session. Then there was the way she kept her left hand fisted on her lap, her right hand shaking whenever she reached for her glass.
The years had obviously been good to her. Yet, they'd been hard on her, too. At least of late.
My instincts to help her told me to get up. But still, I watched her from my spot in the shadows at the end of the bar closest to her for a few minutes. Wondering what she was thinking. Feeling. What had brought her into this particular bar at the same time I was here. Why she was even on the East Coast.
I chugged down the last of my beer for liquid courage and stood. I would be lying if I said it was easy to walk up to her again. A voice in my head tried to dissuade me...insisted I turn around. That it would be better to leave our history exactly where it was...in the past. But my heart won out, just as it had that first time in the dance club after watching Jenna all night.
What would I say, though? What if she wouldn't talk to me?
Jenna had her head tilted down, seemingly studying the bottom of her now-empty glass. My eyes zeroed in on her forehead. That was the last place I had touched her with my fingertips...my lips. I'd stroked her hair while she slept and then kissed her softly there. All before turning my back on her for what I thought was forever.
It may have been two decades ago, but I could still remember how she'd felt in my arms that night when I'd made love to her, knowing it would be the last time. How she'd felt. Sounded. Tasted. Smelled.
I swallowed heavily and stopped beside her. "Can I buy you a drink?"
She didn't even look up. It was just like déjà vu. Time rolled back in my head when she said, "I'm sorry. Thank you, but—"
"I'm not interested in dancing. It's just a drink." The words just flowed out of my mouth without thought. My hand moved, pulling out the chair next to her. And then I was sitting without invitation, trying to remember how to breathe. "My name is Susie."
Her head jerked up, those violet eyes shiny and slightly red, her mouth gaping. Anything she might have thought of saying was lost to a mumble of gasps and tears as she lurched to her feet, her hands clenching and releasing while they reached out to me like a child.
I welcomed her into my arms with the warmest of hugs, feeling her trembling. Or maybe I was the one shaking. I chuckled and rubbed my hand across her back until she settled down. "I would ask how you've been, honey, but it's obvious you're doing great."
Jenna hiccupped and laughed, squeezing me tighter. She eventually returned to her own seat—a little to my dismay—then used her napkin to blot her face. "Susie...it's so good to see you."
Relief rushed through every part of me, erasing all of my fears. But not my guilt. Never my guilt.
A serious question was on the tip of my tongue, but she rested her left hand on the table. Jealousy briefly swirled through me. Somehow, I restrained my emotions and swallowed my envy.
"I was just about to ask what brings you out to our little spot on the East Coast, but that rock on your finger explains it." I flagged down the waitress and held up two fingers. I was going to need some more of that liquid courage to hear Jenna's happy story. After a moment to collect my thoughts, I leaned my arms on the table and narrowed my eyes, amazed that my voice didn't shake. "The question is, who's the lucky gal? Or maybe you gave up on true love and swung for the other team?"
Jenna's face lit up when she smiled softly. "Oh, it's true love. The one and only."
I whistled long and low, my heart thumping hard in my chest. But I was smiling, too. "You found her again. Did you have to tie her down and beg her to marry you?"
Jenna's grin widened, adding a sparkle to her eyes I'd forgotten about. "Well, there has been some rope and quite a lot of begging through the years, but it wasn't in regards to the proposal. That came very willingly."
I couldn't help it. I grasped her hand and squeezed it, my words sincere. "I'm so happy for you, Jenna. You deserve it."
The waitress returned with two full glasses of beer and a basket of fries and a burger. Jenna cut the burger in half and gestured for me to help myself. She picked up one section but just held it.
I studied her. Noticed how her smile faltered. The way she avoided my eyes. It all reminded me of the night we'd met. The Jenna I'd observed then was the same one sitting next to me now. She was carrying the weight of another secret. I'd been able to tell what it was before...she'd had the same look I'd seen on so many others in the club who hadn't come to terms yet with being gay. This secret, though? I had no clue. It could be that no matter of coaxing would get her to reveal it. There was just a strong resolve to try to help. I owed her that much after how I'd hurt her.
My heart ached for whatever pained her. And my arms still tingled from our hug. She had left her mark on my soul all those years ago, though she was not my true love. I took a swig of beer and a deep breath. Even though I'd already eaten, I snagged two fries to be polite and nibbled on them.
"So...you've found wedded bliss out here in the mecca for lesbian lovers. Yet, you are a hot mess, once again hiding from...something."
She dipped her head even more and finally took a bite the sandwich in her hands.
"You can delay all you want, honey, but you'll spill." Sipping my beer and holding another fry between my fingers like a cigarette, I settled in, looking forward to the distraction from my own thoughts.
The longer we sat, though, the more I became certain of one thing. Jenna had grown more confident of herself since we'd last seen each other. Not so easily swayed.
Her mouth contorted from partial smiles to frowns, her eyes varying from being bright then dark and back again. After a few minutes of watching her eat not only one but both halves of the sandwich and over half of the fries without a word, I began to doubt my presumption that it would just take time and a stern look from me for her to tell me what was bothering her.
But I had the patience of a mule, too. Some called it stubbornness. I told them it was all about perspective. And my perspective was, I tried to paint things in a positive light. Usually.
I kept Jenna company, and the waitress refilled our glasses when they got low. My protégé was halfway through her third beer before she sat back and burped. She excused herself under her breath. I arched an eyebrow and smiled softly. "You'll feel even better once you get it off your chest. Honesty is the best medicine. Remember how twisted up inside you were when I met you?"
Her whole countenance suddenly fell completely, just shy of possibly crying. And once more, I was back in that bar watching her struggle as one after another, she rebuffed the advances of four different women. How she'd been able to do that and keep from breaking down back then was beyond me. Hell, how had I thought I stood a chance after observing all those rejections?
Granted, the first one I was glad she'd turned down. Lisle had had a reputation to love 'em and leave 'em, her cowboy image usually a magnet for anything with breasts. I'd realized after the fact that Jenna was drawn more to the femme type. While she'd preferred to wear pants, she was very much comfortable being a woman. Still was, from what I could tell. I chalked it up to being a newbie—a fluke, even—that she'd been interested in me, a butch.
