Wade's house was dark by the time George left, but that didn't stop me from visiting. I snatched a flashlight and walked over to his porch, carefully looking for Burt Reynolds on my way. When I reached the entryway, I very loudly and obnoxiously pounded on the front door like I had that first night in Bluebell.

I was on a mission. I was going to be strong, and tell Wade the truth. Then, I'd tell George, which I didn't think would be nearly as difficult. I knew that didn't make sense, as I'd slept with Wade, and only kissed George, but still. I felt Wade would have a stronger reaction.

He didn't answer, but I decided there was no way he was asleep. It wasn't even 9:00. He was awake and ignoring me.

I pushed open the door and let myself in. He would have locked it, I assumed, if he was indeed asleep.

The house was quiet and pitch black, no guitar sounds, no radio, not even a nightlight to light your path. Faintly, I could hear the low voices on the television coming from his room. I ditched my slippers at the door, not wanting to be even ruder than I already had been, and made my way through the house and to his bedroom, bumping into a handful of things on my way.

"What are you doing here, Doc?" He asked, lifting his head off of the pillow as I appeared in the doorway.

He was sprawled out, shirtless, on his bed. The lights off, the glow of the TV the only thing illuminating the place. Apparently, it was bright enough for him to see that it was me and not some crazy stalker or whore looking for a booty call.

I shuddered at the thought. "I want to talk to you." I sighed, closing the distance between us and sitting at the end of his bed.

"I thought you and Golden Boy were goin' on makin' new little lawyers and doctors over there."

Don't hold back, Wade. I thought. I wanted to be mad at the comment, but I couldn't seem to. More than anything, it hurt. It didn't make me angry, it made me sad.

"Not quite." I mumbled. Now or never, Zoe. Just get on with it. "I um, agreed to a date. With George."

"Cute." Wade spat, twisting his neck around to see the TV behind me.

I sat in silence, not sure what to say or whether or not I should elaborate. I decided not to a moment later, so I stood up, ready to head home.

Wade's voice stopped me. "Zoe," he said, his tone tired.

I turned to face him, the TV casting shadows on his face. "Wade." I mimicked his tone.

"You still want him, don't ya?" He propped himself up on his own bed, like he had on mine just that morning.

"I don't know what I want right now." I admitted. It felt good to get it off my chest, but the feeling quickly disappeared as I watched Wade's expression.

I decided that if I was going to tell him everything, it should be right then. Although I had one question for him, before I answered anymore myself. "What was it?" I asked.

"What was what, Doc?" He leaned over and pulled the string on his lamp, light flooding the room.

I could see every muscle in his chest all over again, and I came to the conclusion that it was much easier talking to him without that distraction. I felt like a thirteen year old around Wade. I was no better around him than Rose around Fredrick Dean.

"Last night. What was it?" I asked again.

He sat up, appearing to think it through, but the confused look on his face told me otherwise. "I don't get what you're askin'."

I turned my body to face him entirely. I had to come right out and say it. It was bound to be more painful for me than anything, so I blurted it out. The words came jumbled and almost slurred. "Did it mean anything?" I asked quickly. "I mean, do I? Or am I just another one? Another conquest?"

I couldn't properly encode his expression, but if I were to guess it would have been shock. Not what I expected.

"You come over here to tell me that you've set yourself up on a date with Tucker, and now you're asking if you mean anything to me?" It was like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

I stood, watching, while he tossed his feet over the side of the bed and took three strides, closing the distance between us almost to it's entirety. "I've watched you pine over Golden Boy for months, 'n now you're concerned about how I feel about you? Why, Doc? Tell me." He snapped. "Because it sure as hell ain't because you care, or is it? I'd love to hear it, Zoe. Why don't you answer the question?" He was pissed. I'd hit a nerve. "Why do you seem to care about how I feel all of a sudden?"

"B-because, I-" I began, but it faded into a stutter. I sounded like a three year old, but Wade's proximity and the given situation were making things worse. My heart was pounding. I didn't know what to say. No, I knew what to say, I just didn't know how to say it. "I... I-"

"If you can't say it, then neither can I." He was practically hissing in my ear at that point.

He knew exactly what I wanted him to say. But apparently it went both ways, and to be frank, I didn't have the courage to say it right then, so instead, I swallowed hard and held back the rare, but hot tears I felt brewing.

I turned around, ready to make a break for it as they started to fall. I wasn't entirely sure why I was crying. Maybe it was the guilt, for both George and Wade, or the feelings I held bottled up, unwilling to admit to them, or maybe it was the fact that all I needed was for him to say it, to give me a reason to cancel that date with George and live happily ever after with a bartender. But he didn't, he refused to say anything, so I let the tears fall. One by one, they dripped down my cheeks, and I bolted.

I had barely reached the doorway to his bedroom when I felt his hand hook my elbow, pulling me closer to him. He didn't talk, he just wrapped his arms around me, cradling me to his chest. No matter how badly I thought I wanted to shake him off and run home and pretend I'd never cried in front of him, I couldn't. He had me locked in his grasp, so I pressed my face to his bare skin trying to slow my strained breathing.

I felt him press his lips to my hair. "I didn't mean to..." He whispered, but even he didn't know what to say at that point. He probably wasn't even certain why I'd broken down in front of him. If he'd known what was going on in my twisted brain, then it would have made sense, but I figured to an onlooker or even someone that knew me as well as Wade couldn't have possibly figured it out.

He let me cry for a few minutes until my breaths and heartbeat slowed to a normal pace. I inched myself away from him, refusing to look him in the eye at first. Until his hands moved from my back to my face, pulling my chin up to him.

I knew my eyes were puffy and red, and I had tear stains on my skin but I could tell he didn't care. I avoided his gaze even when he pulled my face up to his, being careful not to upset me further, his touch was gentle and cautious.

"I'm sorry." I whispered, pulling away from him. I was not going to allow myself to kiss him, no matter how badly I wanted to. I couldn't kiss George and then a half hour later kiss Wade. It wasn't like me, and I'd be damned if I started doing things differently. My methods worked until now, I didn't get hurt, I didn't hurt anyone else – relationship wise – and I didn't want to start. Even though I was almost positive I'd hurt Wade one way or another today.

He dropped his hands as I pulled away, and contributed to the space between us, totaling a good two feet. "I just-" He let out a long sigh. "I don't get it, Zoe."

I shook my head, "I'm sorry." I repeated before turning away. "I sorry, Wade."

I felt the tears again, stinging the back of my eyes as I fought to hold them in. I moved away again, but this time there was no calloused hand hooking my elbow to stop me. He let me go. I made my way back through his house, grabbing my flashlight and slippers by the door before jogging barefoot across the grass between our abodes, and stepping back into my dimly lit home. I dropped my things immediately inside and slammed the door shut, twisting the lock violently before trudging across the floor and dropping down onto my bed. I pulled the blankets up over my shoulders and allowed my mind to fill with regret and my eyes to fill with tears. Regret for crying in front of Wade, or for crying now. Regret for the reasons behind the tears. Regret for not telling him how I felt when I had the chance. Regret for agreeing to a date with George Tucker, when I knew damn well that it was going to make trouble for myself, for George, for Wade, and definitely for Lemon.


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