A/N: This chapter contains sexually explicit material.
July 7. It was not a particularly busy Saturday evening at the gas station. The Mashpee Wampanoag Tribal Powwow was going on over in Falmouth at the Cape Cod Fairgrounds. The colorful annual event drew Native Americans, locals, and tourists for a celebration of Mashpee Wampanoag tribal culture. It was three days of solemn, spiritual, and festive events, including traditional ceremonies, tribal drumming, dance and musical performances, Native American handcrafts and cuisine.
One of the most breathtaking scenes of the Powwow was "Fireball." It was similar to soccer, but played with a fire-lit ball that was both kicked and carried. The game was played to honor the sick and ailing, sacrificing the players' own pain for the sake of loved ones. Jack had promised to take some of the kids he'd coached on the youth soccer team back in the fall, and so that was where he was spending his Saturday, along with Jen, Andie, and Dawson.
Joey was rather bummed at first at having to miss out for work, but when Jack told her he'd invited Dawson to come along, she then felt thankful she had a convenient excuse to skip it. And so, on Saturday she found herself sitting in the chair behind the gas station counter, sketchpad in her lap, waiting for the evening sunlight to come through the left-side windows at the right angle. When it finally did, it sprayed prisms of color across the wall. She spent her shift working the register or opening her sketchpad on the glass counter and drawing while Will Krudski pumped gas or read a book or fiddled with the radio.
The evening progressed, and the sun began to set. Flipping through her drawings, she came upon one she did last week. The drawing smiled at her. She had pulled from her memory every detail from the shape of his eyes, the curl of his brown hair, to the scar on his right cheek. With her finger, she'd spread the lead from the pencil across the sketch, adding shadows and depth. She smiled at the drawing.
Glancing out the window, she saw a red convertible pull up to one of the gas pumps. A man and a woman were sitting in the front of the car. Will walked out of the convenience store to pump their gas. Moments later, the bell dinged over the door, and she looked up to see the woman come through, her knee-length white sundress fluttering in the breeze. Joey's mouth fell open.
"Hello," the woman said with a friendly smile.
Joey tensed, waiting for some sign of recognition, but she clearly didn't remember her. Not surprising, seeing as how the woman had only been her English teacher for about five weeks before skipping town.
The initial shock began to wear off as Joey watched her make for one of the coolers. At last, the woman started to approach the counter; she knew her, and knowing her was torture; she knew her name, and would have known her anywhere.
The shock Joey had felt at seeing Tamara Jacobs was quickly replaced with other emotions. Jealousy raised its ugly head, along with a wave of disgust, making her sick to her stomach. This was exactly how she'd felt when she found out the truth about Pacey and Ms. Jacobs, once it became clear that the rumors were a lot more than idle gossip and that she herself had actually seen the video evidence.
Unable to suppress the unwanted memories, she remembered what she'd seen on Dawson's video tape—the throbbing neck muscles—and the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach intensified.
Once Ms. Jacobs stood in front of the register, she set down two bottles of Snapple iced tea on the counter, along with a pack of cinnamon gum. Joey couldn't look at her as she rung her up and gave her the total. When the woman didn't respond right away, she finally looked at her with knitted brows.
"My goodness, this is very good! Did you draw this yourself?" Tamara asked as she gazed at the upside-down sketchpad that lay open on the counter.
"Uh…" was all Joey could get out as she watched her turn the drawing of Pacey to view it right-side up. In an instant, she watched shock register on the woman's face. The color drained. Tamara lifted her wide-eyed gaze to meet hers.
Her mouth dropped open, but she quickly recovered and her lips curved into a polite smile. "You draw beautifully," Tamara said. "And it seems to me you've been drawing for quite some time to develop that kind of talent. It's clear you're quite an accomplished artist, and at such a young age, too."
Good grief, the woman was laying it on thick. It would've been easier to believe she was being genuine if she'd tempered the enthusiasm a little. Ms. Jacobs was obviously hoping against hope that the gas station clerk had no idea about the history she shared with the subject of the drawing.
Unable to keep up the professional façade, Joey hastily grabbed the sketchpad and closed it. Her eyes narrowed. "I hope you don't mind if don't take your compliments seriously. Seeing as you who once seduced a minor, your judgment is clearly compromised." She watched the woman's face fall and her skin flush red. "Anyway, that'll be three dollars and forty-three cents," she concluded, repeating the total in an icy tone.
Clearly flustered, and unable to look her in the eye, the woman wordlessly reached into her purse and handed over the cash.
Joey's gaze followed Tamara as she left the store. With her eyes on her former English teacher, her memory transported her back to the autumn of sophomore year...
"Hey, Jailbait," she'd snarked in greeting when she had spotted Pacey after school, sitting on a bench downtown on the waterfront.
"Feel free to keep on walking, Jo. I won't think you're rude."
"Look, despite first impressions, I'm not here to bust on you," she had told him, and he'd breathed a heavy sigh. "I don't know if the rumors are true or exaggerated, or if this is one of your bizarre attempts to appear more attractive to the senior girls. But I just wanted to say I know what you must be going through, and..."
He'd laughed derisively. "No. I really doubt you know what I'm going through."
She had wanted so badly to believe the rumors were false and just someone's nasty idea of a joke. When Dawson had confessed that it was indeed true, she'd been stunned. Then not only had she felt disgusted by the woman, she'd felt crushed and disappointed by Pacey, as if she'd somehow been betrayed, which only made her feel ridiculous and confused.
She remembered the night Pacey had shown up at her bedroom window, hoping to sleep on her floor. It had been a rather eventful day in early October, what with the school board hearing about the Ms. Jacobs scandal, and Bessie giving birth to Alexander in the Leery's living room. She remembered the knock on her window. She remembered pushing aside her curtains to see Pacey standing there, looking miserable. She remembered her face contorting into the meanest scowl she could manage as she raised the window.
"The sight of you gives me dry heaves," she'd spat viciously at him before slamming the window shut, making it clear he was no longer welcome in her room.
Her jealousy and hurt had made it painful for her to be near him; and rejecting him, getting angry at him, was safer than admitting her true feelings...
Joey averted her gaze as Will walked back inside the station, the bell over the door dinging as it closed behind him.
"Is everything all right?" he asked.
"Fine," Joey lied, and sat back down in the chair, grasping the sketchpad tightly as she held it protectively in her lap.
Half an hour later, Chris Wolfe and his little sister walked into the gas station. "Hi, Joey," the girl said brightly as she dropped a bunch of snacks on the counter.
Joey smiled in return. "Hi, Dina. Haven't seen you in a long time," she remarked as she started to ring up her items, surprised by how much taller and older the girl looked.
Chris caught her expression and chuckled. "She'll be starting ninth grade in September."
Then Dina suddenly elbowed her brother and nodded in Joey's direction. "The party," she whispered.
"Oh, yeah," Chris said, remembering something. "My parents will be going away later this month. They'll be on vacation for a couple weeks—"
"It's their twentieth anniversary," Dina interjected. "July twenty-sixth."
"Yeah," he continued. "So, I'm gonna be throwing a party at my house on Friday, August third. It's kind of an end-of-the-summer bash before everyone leaves town to attend the higher learning institutions of their choice."
"Chris is going to Princeton," Dina added with an excited smile.
Joey laughed breathlessly. "I heard."
He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, it'll be nothing too crazy. You should come."
"Er, uh… thanks," Joey replied, not ever having expected an invitation to hang out at Chris Wolfe's house.
"Yeah, you should definitely come," he insisted. "And tell Jen Lindley and McPhee and Dawson and any of your other friends who might still be in town. They're welcome to come, too."
She pursed her lips, shrugging one shoulder. "Yeah, why not? I'll let them know."
Chris smiled. "So, how's Witter?"
"He's good."
Joey finished ringing them up. She watched them leave the store and smiled as Chris opened the door for his sister and placed a protective hand on her shoulder as they walked out. Just then her cell phone started to vibrate in her pocket, and she pulled it out to see Gretchen's name on the caller I.D. screen. Smiling, she sat back down in the chair and answered the call.
The restaurant inside St. Thomas's Palm Point Resort featured a banquet room for up to two hundred guests and an outside garden area on the beach. The garden was full of hibiscus and other colorful plants, and had an open full service bar. Guests of Melanie Thompson's birthday party mingled in the banquet room, enjoyed the outdoor tropical garden, or wandered along the sand eating and drinking, listening to the waves hit the shore and breathing in the warm, salty air.
Pacey stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection, his stomach in knots. He splashed water on his face, and then reached for a paper towel. Unlike most everyone else out there, he wanted nothing more than this party to end, so he could escape back to the fortress of solitude that was his hotel room.
Despite having stayed overnight in the resort as James had requested, up until this point he had managed to avoid any further run-ins with Melanie's stepmother, Lisa. He and Chef Mao had spent most of Friday night prepping for the party. This morning, James invited him to have breakfast with him on the balcony in his suite. They discussed many things, but mainly Pacey's future once the summer came to an end. He had spent the rest of the morning and all Saturday afternoon with Mao in the resort's kitchen, preparing hors d'oeuvres, and observing the chef take experienced command as he instructed the waitstaff that had been hired for the party through a local catering company.
The kitchen was lined with tray carts loaded with twenty trays of hors d'oeuvres in each, and there were several round trays of long-stemmed, champagne glasses filled to the brim on the center island. At seven o'clock, the party kicked off, and then the kitchen became a whirlwind of organized chaos. Waiters hurried in and out while Mao and Pacey finished up the dessert trays.
A message had eventually reached Pacey that Mr. Moore wanted him up in the banquet room to meet someone. He had been making his way through the party to find James when a couple walked towards him, engrossed in each other and oblivious to his presence. The female guest with unnaturally blond hair, wearing a pink party dress and a diamond necklace was holding a drink and talking to her male friend when she passed by too close and bumped Pacey, spilling her drink all over him.
"Watch where you're walking!" the woman scolded. "Look, my cherries are on the floor. Now I have to get another Cosmo because you can't watch where you're going."
The front of Pacey's white chef's uniform was ruined, and he could do nothing but stand there embarrassed as people started to turn and stare in his direction.
The couple walked away, announcing their mishap aloud for the benefit for anyone within earshot. The woman uttered to her male companion in protest, "Well, I never! Didn't he see I was walking?"
"Oh, my lord. I'm so sorry, Pacey. That Adelson girl is a raging bitch." The sudden appearance of Lisa Thompson did nothing to help him feel more at ease. "Did you know her father is a billionaire? Anyway, let's get you to the bathroom. It's down the hallway back there."
Lisa gripped his arm and turned him, before leading him back in the direction he came. "Are you all right? I'm really sorry."
"I'll be fine. It's just a little spill. It's okay, it's nothing to worry about."
"Can I get you a shirt to wear? I'm sure I could find something of Craig's that would fit you." Lisa eyed his chef's jacket as they moved out of the banquet room and into a rather narrow hallway. "Although he doesn't have anything quite like that."
"It's all right," he replied, and came to a stop outside the bathroom door. "Thank you anyway. I'll just try to try to clean it up as best I can."
"Okay."
She squeezed his arm, and his insides revolted at her touch. Her predatory gaze drifted over his face and down his body, heat stirring in her eyes. Pacey hurried into the men's room, thoroughly agitated. He attempted to blot the huge pink stain on this uniform, but it was useless. That idiot lady, he thought miserably.
The bathroom is where he found himself, staring at his reflection, drying his face with a paper towel, and wanting nothing more than to escape to his hotel room to be alone. After a minute or two, he told himself he'd better get back to the party before Mr. Moore started looking for him.
He exited the men's room and pulled the door closed. When he turned around, he was alarmed to see Lisa Thompson still standing there, waiting for him, blocking his way. Pacey didn't like the provocative way she smiled at him. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said politely. She didn't move.
"Ma'am? God, how old do you think I am?"
She still wasn't moving. "Sorry. Lisa. Please get out of my way. I need to go see James."
"Looking like that?" she said, gesturing to the cocktail stain on the front of his white jacket. "Why don't you come with me to my suite and I can find you something decent to wear."
Pacey didn't care for the way she was acting, and he certainly didn't like the way she was looking at him, especially since she was a married woman and Melanie's stepmother. "No, thank you. Mr. Moore is expecting me." He found she still wasn't willing to move out of his way.
"I guess you'll just have to push past me, won't you?" she smirked, her eyes narrowing.
He bet she'd just love that, but he didn't want to get within arm's reach of her. Thinking of Joey, and running out of patience, he said, "Lady, get your ass out of my way." This time Pacey was done trying to be polite.
"You're getting real worked up, aren't you?" she purred. "I can imagine being away from your girlfriend is difficult, and a man has needs… especially you, I imagine. I believe those needs are quite… intense for a man your age. And seeing as those needs aren't being filled as they should be, well… it must make life awful lonely right now."
Was she still coming on to him—after he was so hostile? Did she have a short-term memory problem or a personality disorder to add to the mix?
Before anything more could be said between them, James Moore suddenly appeared in the hallway behind Lisa. "What's going on here?" he asked Pacey, no doubt noticing the scowl on his face.
"Oh, nothing, James," the woman said in a honeyed voice, turning to face him. "Pacey and I were just having a little chat."
"I think you should head back to the party, Lisa," Mr. Moore told her in a tone that brooked no argument, and stepped aside for her to walk by him.
Without another word, she left the hallway.
Quietly, Pacey walked beside his boss as they returned to the banquet room. "Did she do that to you?" James asked, pointing to the stain on his jacket.
"Oh, no. Some other rich…" He paused, censoring himself. "Woman… did that. Bumped into me."
"Is Lisa Thompson bothering you?"
Swallowing, his heart started to pound as his stomach tightened with nerves. "Nah. It's… it's nothing I can't handle."
"Pacey, I want you to tell me if she's causing you a problem."
"No offense, but what good would that do me? She's family, and I'm the hired help."
"Family," James scoffed. "My sister is Melanie's mother, and Craig's first wife. I don't consider myself to be of any relation to Lisa Blaine."
Pacey's brow furrowed at the name he'd never heard before.
Mr. Moore grinned. "Lisa Blaine, former Miss Massachusetts 1993, winner of the Miss Congeniality Award, and current Mrs. Craig Thompson."
"Congeniality?" He pulled a face.
James laughed. "Gotta love irony." Then he stopped walking and placed a gentle hand on Pacey's arm, stilling his movements. "You are not the hired help. You are an impressive young man with a shitload of raw talent just waiting to be tapped, with incredible promise that I intend to milk for all its worth."
Snorting, Pacey shook his head. Mr. Moore chuckled and clasped his shoulder, guiding him into the crowd of partygoers. They soon reached a small huddle of men, including Mr. Thompson, another guy who looked to be about forty, and another who had to have been in his early twenties.
"This is Pacey Witter, who I was telling you about," James said, introducing him to the group.
"That's it!" Craig Thompson exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "Witter… from Cape Cod. The sheriff out there is Witter, am I right? And been sheriff for quite some time, if I'm remembering correctly. You any relation?"
Panic rose inside him. His mouth went dry and he swallowed. "Uh… no."
James eyed him curiously, and then changed the subject. "Anyway…" He cleared his throat. "This is Paul Turner," he said, gesturing to the youngest in the group.
"Melanie's friend?" asked Pacey as he held out his hand to shake. The guy was tall and lean, tanned, his blond hair purposely messy. He thought he had the appearance of a surfer.
"Yeah, that's me," Paul said, his voice slightly accented, revealing he wasn't from Boston, or anywhere in the vicinity. They shook hands. "We went to college together at UCLA."
"Oh, are you from Southern California?" he questioned, wondering if he'd pinpointed the accent.
"Yep. Born and raised," Paul replied, smiling warmly.
With his hand still on Pacey's shoulder, James directed him to the other man in the group. "And this is Danny Brecher."
His eyes popped. "Danny's-Island-Hideaway Danny?"
The man ran his fingers through his dark hair and grinned. "One and the same. It's nice to finally meet you, and put a face to the name."
"Yeah, same here," Pacey said as they shook hands.
"So, uh, what happened there?" Danny asked, pointing the giant pink stain on the front of his uniform.
"I was attacked by a trust-fund Barbie," he snarked, and they all laughed.
Compliments went around the circle. "These hors d'oeuvres are fantastic," Danny said as he popped a stuffed mushroom into his mouth.
"Aren't they?" James replied. "Pacey's done remarkably well so far this summer."
"Well, it's mostly Chef Mao's work tonight," he admitted.
Smiling, James shook his head. "He told me exactly which trays contained the recipes you prepared, and you've delivered the goods. Excellent job, Pacey. I'm very proud of you."
His heart filled with emotion, and he glowed with pleasure at Mr. Moore's praise.
The small group stood around talking for a while. They reminisced about Pacey's summer working at the Hideaway last year, and the men told various anecdotes about different restaurants and businesses they'd worked at over the years. Then one by one, James, Paul, and Mr. Thompson departed, leaving him alone with Mr. Brecher. Pacey listened to Danny's history of how he became a chef and got into the restaurant business, how he'd met James and became partners with the guy.
"So, I'm hearing very good things about you. Not just from James, but Chef Mao speaks very highly of you. He's taken quite a liking to you. Says you're one of the fastest learners he's ever had the pleasure of instructing, and not to mention he thinks you're a decent kid with a good heart."
His chest swelled at the praise. "That's encouraging, and… nice to hear."
Danny cleared his throat, and appeared to be debating something. "So, um, I'm sure James has already talked to you about CINE, and the fast-track—"
"Yes," Pacey said, interrupting him, irritation rising within him. "And I'm sure you know that he has, or you wouldn't have mentioned it. He wants you to talk me into it, right?"
"It's a tremendous opportunity."
"I know it is."
"But you don't want to take it? Why?"
"I'm equally sure that James has also told you what my reasons are."
"Right. The girlfriend."
He sighed at the hint of disapproval in the guy's tone.
"Pacey, we know potential when we see it, especially James. You've got it, my friend. And no woman is worth it if she's holding you back from that."
"Holding me back?" His face hardened.
The man nodded. "Yes, she's holding you back. Maybe not intentionally, but holding you back, nevertheless."
"How can you say that? You don't even know her. And you certainly don't know me."
Before Danny could respond to that, Pacey turned and walked away, not wanting to hear anything else the man had to say on the subject.
After returning to Mao in the kitchen, and helping out wherever he could, he was eventually dismissed by the chef. Removing his ruined chef's jacket and tossing it into a barrel with the other dirty linens, he then hurried up to the main floor, through the stylish lobby, and out the door to the parking lot. While his initial desire had been to hide himself away in his room for the rest of the night, he came to a stop once he was outside. He listened to the waves striking the sand of the beach, and the sound quickly became the voice of a siren calling to him.
Five minutes later, he was sitting on said beach, watching the waves of the Caribbean Sea roll onto shore. He took some deep, steadying breaths, and relaxed as a calmness came over him. He had no idea how much time had gone by before he heard the approach of someone behind him. Dreading the worst, he turned to see it was only James Moore, and then relaxed again as he exhaled a breath of relief.
The man wordlessly lowered himself to a seated position, propping his arms on his bent knees. Silence filled the space between them for a long moment, and then James spoke. "You feeling all right, Pacey?"
"Yeah. Sure."
"Hmm. You know, I, uh, noticed something back there at the party…"
Pacey closed his eyes, hanging his head. "Look, if this is about Mrs. Thompson, I—"
"What? God, no. You've got nothing to worry about from her. I spoke to her, again, about harassing my young employees."
He looked at him with surprise.
"You didn't really think you were the first, did ya?" James grinned. "That kind of behavior usually follows a pattern. No well-adjusted woman—well, adult—engages in romantic liaisons with teenagers."
Frowning at the flash of Tamara Jacobs in his mind, Pacey hastily shoved any thought of her away and focused his attention on the man beside him. "So, then, what…?"
"You lied to Craig. And as far as I can tell, and I usually can, that's the first lie you've told since I've met you."
His brows furrowed, not understanding at first.
"I was under the impression that you are, indeed, the son of Sheriff John Witter."
Pacey took a deep breath and nodded. "I am."
"Uh-huh. Is there any particular reason why you claimed not to be?"
Oh, how he wanted to lie. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Something welled up inside him and prevented it, not least of which was his now sure belief that James would certainly know he wasn't telling the truth, and the thought of lying straight to his face made him sick to his stomach. And so, he told his story, let it all out, the whole ugly truth of it.
A gloomy silence began to thicken the air around them, and the sound of the waves on the shore now seemed sorrowful to Pacey's ears. He remembered an earlier conversation with James a couple weeks ago, when he'd casually mentioned his 'tough' upbringing in South Boston, and the fact that his father had died when he was twenty-five.
"Do you, uh, have any experience with that?"
"Sure. A lot of the young men and women I've employed in my kitchens—they've come from rough backgrounds, had difficult lives, experienced things no kids should ever have to."
"No. No, I meant… do you have any experience with that? You know, personally."
Remaining quiet a moment, James watched the water stretching out before them. "Yeah, I have. My mom died when I was nine, and my father raised me and my two siblings alone. My dad was an alcoholic, a mean fuckin' drunk. He used to make us boys walk down to the park and collect the sticks he was going to beat us with. Actually, the worst of the beatings might've been between me and my brother. We would practice on each other trying to find sticks that would break. And that was my life, for years, until a growth spurt changed my dad's tune. Funny how he suddenly had no interest in wailing on us as soon as we were big enough to fight back."
"That's…" Pacey had no idea how children could just get used to such treatment as though it was a normal part of life. "That's not good."
"No, it's not. And things like this… usually happen in a cycle, a pattern. My grandad, my father's dad, was a mean fuckin' drunk, too."
"My grandfather is the same. The former sheriff."
"Most fathers don't intend to be cruel to their children, but some just don't know any other way. Negative cycles are hard to break."
"Well, I'm breaking it," Pacey said determinedly. "I've broken it. I'll never be like him. I'd rather put a bullet in my head than become like him."
They sat quietly for a moment, perhaps even meditatively, focused on the way the stars lit up the sky, and the sound of the waves cracking on the beach.
"You know, the history you have with your father, all that shit he did to you…" James sighed. "You didn't deserve any of it, just like my brother and I didn't deserve it, even though for a long time we thought we did. We had to have been bad sons, bad people, for our dad to hurt us all the time."
Tears pricked his eyes, and Pacey let out a shaky breath.
"You're not a bad son, Pacey. You're not a bad person. I have a feeling you're an excellent son, and I'm sorry your parents don't appreciate what they have."
His throat seized with emotion, and he couldn't speak.
"Jessica was born in 1982," James told him. "When she was six months old, Amanda became pregnant again. It was a boy. Although we weren't that happy about the timing—being two young, newly married parents, who already had an infant at home to take care of—we were very happy to be having a boy. I really wanted a son. Unfortunately, Amanda went into labor about three months too early, and we lost him." He paused, silence again surrounding them, apart from the sound of the waves hitting the beach. "You were born in 1983, right?"
He finally found his voice. "Yeah," he said, pushing the word past the lump in his throat.
"I could see you as my son," James smiled. "I think I even saw that in those first moments we met, in Key West last year. You're the son I might've had."
Pacey's heart knew what he was saying, even as his cynical mind rejected the words. Somehow, James had found that sorrow in him. The hole in his life that a loving father should've filled was a chasm of longing.
"And you know what, Pacey? I like you. You're a good kid."
His face flushed with emotion. It was as if his own father had said those words to him. And his own father never did. His own father had never loved him. The sense of well-being bestowed by the man's gracious smile was almost intoxicating. The urge to be a son to him, to earn his trust and praise, his respect and love, was overwhelming. The hollow space in Pacey's heart where a father's love might've been, should've been, was starting to fill with the face of this man. In his innermost, secret heart, the small boy that he used to be was suddenly wishing that James Moore was his father—his real father.
"Tell me, Pacey, what do you want? Why are you here in the Caribbean? What did you want, that made you agree to take this job?"
They held a stare for a long moment. "I want to be free."
"But you are free," he replied.
"Not really." He wanted to be free from all worries, free from fear, free from the guilt he still felt weighing him down, free from the nagging sense of unfinished business.
"Are you talking about your father?"
Despite having escaped Capeside, and surrounded himself with paradise, Pacey could still feel a burden on his shoulders, and was starting to think he might be carrying a heavy burden in his heart for the rest of his life, no matter where he went, no matter what he did. "Yes. Not only him. But mostly him."
"Don't worry," James said. "Nothing will ever harm you in Boston. No harm will come to you, now that you work for me. You're safe here, and you'll be safe in Boston. You have my word."
"I appreciate that, I really do, but… my dad is the Sheriff of Barnstable County. If he wanted to come after me, drag me back home…" He sighed. "I'm not saying he ever would, but… you know, technically, he probably could, and I'm not sure if there's much that I could do to prevent it other than moving someplace far away where he doesn't know where I am or how to reach me. And I'm not really afraid of him anymore… you know, physically, but he could turn up in Boston and really fuck me up" —he tapped the side of his head— "up here if he wanted to."
"Well, if he knows the name of your new boss, that should make him pause and reconsider such an action. My older brother, William Francis Moore, Jr. has been the Commissioner of the Boston Police Department for the past seven years."
Pacey blinked. "Your brother's a cop?"
Laughing, James nodded. "Oh, yeah. After he graduated high school, he enlisted in the army. He served for a while, came home, got a job at the post office and went to Boston Bay College, and then while he was still in school, on a whim he took the police exam. He changed his major to political science, and the rest, as they say, is history."
"My older brother, Doug, he's a cop, too—a sheriff's deputy. He works for my dad."
"A long line of men in law enforcement. I know that's tough to live up to."
"Well, I am the black sheep of the family."
James smiled and placed his hand on Pacey's shoulder. "Me too."
Later that night, Pacey lounged on the bed inside his hotel room in Palm Point Resort, watching TV, waiting for Joey to get out of work, longing to hear her voice. It was almost midnight when there was a knock on his door. Panicking, he sat up in bed, hoping and praying it wasn't an emboldened Lisa Thompson. Another knock.
Hesitantly, he got out of bed and crossed the room to the door. He looked through the peephole and saw it was only Melanie. With a sigh of relief, he unlocked the deadbolt and removed the chain.
"Hey," he greeted after opening the door.
Melanie smiled. "Hi. Look, I, uh, I know it's weird for me to show up like this, but the thought of going to anybody else around here kinda makes me wanna die. I'm really embarrassed about this, but…"
"Don't be. What's up?"
"You know my friend Paul, from college? You met him at the party?"
"Yeah."
"Well… he's in my room, and…" She blushed, and sucked on her bottom lip. "And, well, he didn't exactly come prepared, for some reason, and so… I know this is a shot in the dark, but I don't suppose you… have any condoms, do you?"
"He doesn't have protection?"
She pursed her lips and shook her head.
"Amateur," Pacey scoffed jokingly. "One should always be prepared."
Melanie pouted and drew in an audible breath. "See? It's mature stuff like that that makes me sort of wish someone like you was in my room instead."
"We both know that's not gonna happen," he chuckled.
"I know," she said, putting her hands up. "I was just… making a generic statement. Someone like you, not you specifically. And, I mean, I love Paul. You know, sometimes, when he's not behaving like a teenager who refuses to grow up. Anyway, so… do you? Have any?"
He opened his mouth to say no, of course not, but then a lightbulb of realization flashed over his head. "Uh, I do, actually. Hold on." Pacey walked away from the door and into the bathroom. He reached for his shaving kit, unzipped the bag to confirm its contents, and then carried it back with him.
"How many do you need?" he asked.
"Um… good question…" She thought for a moment. "Three?"
Laughing breathlessly, he reached inside and pulled out three Durex condoms.
She smirked as she took them from his hand. "Maximum, huh?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Let's hope they work for your friend, Paul."
Melanie blushed crimson. "Um, yeah, it… uh, it shouldn't be a problem. They'll work just fine."
"Well, good for you. Have fun."
She laughed, and Pacey started to close the door as she walked away from his room. Just before he closed it, he slapped the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside handle. Then he locked the door with both the deadbolt and chain, crawled on top of the bed, stretching his tired legs over the soft duvet cover. He removed his T-shirt and tossed it aside, and then waited for Joey's call.
Closing his eyes, Pacey slid his hand inside his boxers and stroked himself to hardness, dreaming of their reunion. Imagining how her pretty, soft lips would fall open and she'd swallow at the sight of his hard cock. How she would gaze up at him provocatively as she dropped to her knees and admitted something filthy, like, "God, Pacey, my mouth is actually watering." He knew her voice would take on the reverent and breathy, but shy, teasing tone, that she used when she felt almost surprised by how turned on she was.
Then his cell phone rang, and he smiled at the sight of his girlfriend's name on the screen.
"Hi, Jo," he answered.
"Hey, Pace."
"How are ya? How was your day?"
She breathed into the phone, not answering right away. "Oh, you know… work," she scoffed in disgust. "What about you?"
He also took a heavy breath. "Yeah. Work."
"Are you feeling okay, Pacey? You had that party tonight, right?"
"The birthday party? Yeah. It was okay, I guess. I'm okay. It's just been a long day."
"You mean you didn't have a blast rubbing shoulders with the spoiled-rich-and-fabulous crowd?"
He chuckled. "Oh, yeah, it was the most fun I've ever had. Well, everyone seemed to enjoy the food that Mao and I made, at least. Got a lot of compliments on the recipes I did. James was happy, and he told me he was proud of me."
"Well, that's nice. I bet it was all delicious and the compliments were well-deserved. You've been working so hard. I'm proud of you, too, Pace."
He blushed at her kind words, and his chest swelled with emotion. "Thanks, Jo. And I, uh, I also met Danny Brecher."
"Why does that name sound familiar?"
"He owns Danny's Island Hideaway…"
"Oh, wow. So, what's he like?"
Pacey didn't know how to answer that question. "Oh… well, you know, he seems like a successful restaurant owner, and he's a chef. He's not that old either. I suppose… he's nice enough, I guess. Likes to hand out unsolicited advice."
Joey gave a breathless laugh. "What kind of advice did he dole out?"
"Oh, you know, cooking-career-related stuff…" It was partly true, he told himself. He wasn't about to tell Joey what some stranger thought of her or their relationship. "But I don't really wanna talk about the party. You talk. Tell me something I don't know."
"Um, okay," she laughed, but then got quiet for a moment. "Oh, so, guess who's going to be spending her days off on Monday and Tuesday up in Boston, apartment-hunting with a certain sister of yours?"
His eyes widened. "Really? You and Gretchen?"
"Yeah. She wants to go looking for a place for you guys, and invited me to come along. The lease is up on the beach house, and she has to be out before August first."
"Well, I trust that you both will find a great place to live. If only you didn't have to stay in a dorm room your first year. You could live with us."
She didn't speak right away, and he was starting to wonder if she was feeling okay herself. "Are you sure you'll be happy in Boston?" Joey finally said. "I mean, it can't compare to the Caribbean."
"Not this again. You know I want to be in Boston."
"But won't you miss it if you come back?"
Pacey thought about it for a second. "Not really. I mean, sure, the weather is great down here, but Boston gets hot enough in the summer. It's only a few months out of the year, but it's better than none. And it's also right on the ocean, so I'll never be far from the water. I guess… the only thing I will miss… is seeing the stars in the sky. You can't really see them at night in the city. I'll miss that."
"Hmm. Yeah. I guess a lot of little things like that will all add up to a big change. But I know something that won't change…"
He smiled. "Yeah? What's that?"
"You and me."
"I can't wait to see you, Jo. I miss you." He glanced down at his tented—less so than they were a few minutes ago—boxers. "Every part of me misses you."
"Any part in particular?" she asked, her voice teasing, seductive.
Pacey sighed, closing his eyes, and his heated blood flowed freely and thickly to his cock. "Well, I can think of a part that's getting harder by the second."
Silence stretched between them. It wasn't uncomfortable, but he twitched and twisted a little, becoming restless with the coiling tension. He could hear Joey doing the same. The slight squeaking of a box spring got his attention, and he guessed she was removing whatever clothing she'd been wearing. He almost laughed, wondering why she didn't just get in bed naked at this point.
He could picture her perfect breasts exposed, her dark brown hair tumbled around her head, and her eyes half-lidded with desire. She was a fucking bombshell, and she didn't even know it, which made her even sexier. He heard her rustle around on her bed while he caressed his cock, stroking his own pleasure with his hand, needing the friction to help ease the ache that had suddenly overtaken his body.
"Pacey," she sighed, and he knew that sound. He would know it anywhere, anytime, anyplace.
"Joey." He mirrored her. He knew what she was asking for. She wanted him to tell her what to do. For someone who tried so hard to control every aspect of her life, she sure liked giving up control in this department. He always loved when she shyly struggled through her arousal to speak words that dripped with desire, and loved it even more when she finally worked up the boldness to speak them. He just had to get her going first. He grasped his dick, the smooth, hot skin so alive. "I'm so fucking hard right now. I've been thinking about how good your mouth feels around me."
She panted into the phone. "I love the way you taste. Are you wearing anything?"
"Just boxers, but my hand is around my dick. Are you wearing anything?" he asked teasingly.
"No."
"Good girl," he whispered huskily, and she whimpered.
He listened as her breathing started to change. "Put your hand on your breasts. Rub your nipples. Pinch them."
Joey made a noise—part gasp, part whimper—and he squeezed himself tighter. "That's it. Pinch yourself," he said when he heard her sexy moan. "Just like that. Lick your fingers and pinch your nipples the way you want me to suck them when we're together again." He'd lost his mind, or he was on the verge. The sounds she whispered in his ear were gonna make him lose it. "The next time I get you alone, I'm going to taste them. I know exactly how sweet you'll be."
More whimpering sounds. He grinned and pulled his engorged cock free of his boxers, stroking himself through her sounds. "I'll suck them one by one, and then my tongue will wet your stomach, wet your thighs, closer and closer to the spot you crave until you shout with all the dirty words you know."
"Oh, God…"
"That's good, Joey." His balls were already tingling and his belly burning with the need for release. He had to slow down or he'd blow before he wanted to. "Lick your middle finger and circle your hard clit for me."
She gasped and then a few seconds later groaned into the phone. "Pacey," she breathed.
Holy shit, hearing her moaning his name almost undid him and he had to let go of his dick. "That's it, baby. Stroke that pretty, perfect little clit. Does that feel good?"
"Yeah. It's hot and wet. I wish you were here to fuck me."
He smiled at her curse, and knew she was now getting comfortable enough. "You know, I can't be the only one talkin' dirty here, Potter."
She giggled, and he could hear the blush in her voice. After a slight pause, she spoke. "It feels good, right? Touching that beautiful cock of yours? Are you taking it slow like I do, dragging it out until you're aching for it? I know you like that."
"Yeah," he sighed, and his face flushed hot. He was blushing. Just from the word beautiful, even after all this time, after all these months of Joey slathering him in compliments while he writhed and flushed under them. Coating him in both the hot wetness of her mouth and her words of adoration and praise until he was practically begging her to stop or to let him come. "But I'm wishing you were here. I want you to touch me instead."
"You mean you want me to do all the work," she teased.
"Oh, definitely," he chuckled as his grip once again tightened around his throbbing erection and he began to stroke. "I like it when you work my big, hard cock. With your hands, your mouth, your pussy. Anything. Everything. All of it. I just want you, Jo. Every day. For the rest of my life."
"Pacey, I'm getting close. I want you to come with me."
He groaned and pumped his cock faster. His skin felt as if on fire. Blood pounded in his ears. "Oh, yeah, I want that, too. How do you want me to come?"
"I want you to close your eyes and picture my mouth around your cock, loving you until you come," she said, her voice a low, sultry murmur. "Until the wet suction of my mouth and tongue is just too much for your self-control. I could love you like that for days, Pacey. You're amazing."
He cursed and groaned, sweat beading on his brow. Damn, he'd love to have her perfect lips wrapped around his dick, sucking him off. His body throbbed in response, thinking of shooting his come into Joey's mouth. "Ahh, yes, baby, I'd like that," he whispered.
"Or I could bring you close to the edge, until you're almost ready to explode, and then I'd stop, and crawl up your body until I lowered my pussy onto your cock. I know you'd feel so hard and so big inside me as I rock my hips over you until you come deep inside me."
"Oh, shit. Oh, my God. Yeah, Joey, fuck me," he groaned as he began to thrust into his palm while the sticky wetness of his precum now seeped through his fingers. He'd give anything to be underneath her right now, watching her ride him until his hips arched off the bed, driving his cock even deeper inside her.
"Rub your clit and thrust your fingers inside your pussy. Make yourself come for me."
She panted, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, gritting his teeth to hold off his orgasm.
"Oh, God. Pacey! I'm… I'm coming."
His hand flew over his cock and down to fondle his balls as her whimpers and moans and mewling sounds filled his ear. He felt his release boiling inside, racing to his cock, and just as she cried out in climax through the line, his orgasm erupted and a loud, guttural moan escaped his throat. With the first stream of his release, Pacey shouted, "Joey" into the phone. He continued to milk his cock, desperate for every ounce of pleasure he could get, watching his come splash onto his hand and stomach in thick white ropes.
He kept stroking until the last spurt left his body, and then he slumped back onto the bed, dragging in air like he'd just run a mile. A memory came to him and he started to laugh.
"What's so funny?"
"I'm laughing at myself, and all those years I called you a prude." He kept laughing.
Joey laughed a throaty, exhausted sound, making his balls quiver in anticipation, knowing he was the reason she was worn out. How could his cock begin to stir so quickly after that amazing orgasm? He shook his head while he grabbed his T-shirt to clean himself up.
"You should get some sleep, Jo. You've got a long day again tomorrow."
"Is that an order?" He could hear the smile in her voice, and chuckled at her playfulness.
"Yes, sweetheart, it is. You need to rest up because I intend to have my way with you again tomorrow," he teased.
She laughed. "Mmm. Can't wait." Then she breathed deeply. "I really do need sleep. Up at the crack of dawn, and I won't be home until after midnight. Such is my life at the moment."
"There's a light at the end of the tunnel, Jo. Summer will be over soon enough, and you won't have to work these crazy jobs. We'll be in Boston, and… and we'll be together."
"That day can't come soon enough, Pace."
"For me too, Jo."
"I love you so much."
He heard the emotion in her voice. "I love you, too. So, so much. More than anyone, more than anything."
There was a long silence. He wondered if she was crying. He wished he could be there, to ease her loneliness, to hold her in his arms and kiss her. Phones were useful to a point, good for an emergency, good for long distances, but they would never replace being physically present with the one you love.
"Well, goodnight, Pacey. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"Okay, Jo. Goodnight."
As he placed the cell phone back on the bedside stand, Pacey was relieved their separation was only temporary, and that once he was in Boston, nothing would ever separate them again.
July 28. Why couldn't every place he went be eighty-five degrees and sunny? It wasn't the first time Pacey had pondered the silly question. And he knew the solution: once he had enough money, he could move to someplace that was eighty-five degrees and sunny on a regular basis. He'd love to someday pack up and move with Joey to someplace nice. Someplace like Key West, where he was now.
It was the last stop of their summer cruise, and also their longest stay. He'd already been here for a week, and it looked like it'd be at least another couple of weeks before they left for the journey back up the east coast to Boston. James had a lot of investments in Key West, not least of which was Danny's Island Hideaway.
They'd been to quite a few islands on this trip, and there were definitely some stops where he didn't want to stay off the yacht much at all. He wasn't into shopping. He liked sightseeing and exploring new places, but he enjoyed returning to the boat at the end of each day and spending his evenings with the crew and sleeping in his small compartment. He had no real desire to stay on land in the stuffy luxury resorts where the Moores had sometimes insisted that he join them.
But Key West was different. Key West was an attitude. A mood. He loved being off the yacht here, wandering the familiar streets, stopping into various bars and restaurants, starting up conversations with the locals. Danny's Hideaway had become a daily hangout, and he felt a thrill each time one of the regulars actually remembered him. He even enjoyed staying in Mr. Moore's fancy Ambrosia Hotel. Just being on the island brought back so many memories from last summer, and every day his heart felt full and happy. He only wished Joey could be in Key West with him now. He knew she'd fallen in love with its color, culture, and atmosphere just as he had.
Key West was sort of an artist colony. There were many galleries along the streets, and pieces of art in various yards. Last summer, they'd often see someone sitting on the beach with an easel set up in the sand, facing the ocean. And some days, Joey herself would sit out there with her paints or her pencils like the artist she was at heart.
He was currently sitting at a table in a small place completely open to the beach and drank from a bottle of root beer while patrons behind him crowded the bar. What was it about the ocean that he loved so much? Pacey knew it wasn't uncommon for a person to feel peace and relaxation while on a beach listening to the waves. But it was uncommon for him to feel peace and relaxation in most places. They weren't go-to feelings for him and never had been. There was certainly never any peace at home, and he was rarely ever able to fully relax inside his parents' house.
But when he was near the ocean, like he was now, when he could watch the waves roll in, and hear them crash upon the shore—it gave him a magic feeling, similar to watching the water as he skimmed over it with a sailboat. It was as if all his troubles and worries faded into the background and only the most important things became clear.
A memory came to him...
It was July of last year. Him and Joey. On a different beach, but still here in Key West, and just a few days before they were to leave on their return trip home. Miraculously, there hadn't been many people there that day, and the beach felt like theirs and theirs alone. He remembered there was a small family not far from them, with a little boy who couldn't have been older than seven, playing with his plastic toys in the sand, creating a pretty elaborate sandcastle for a kid whose age was still in the single digits. He sat in a lounge chair, head back, eyes closed, soaking in the warmth of the sun. Joey was in the chair next to him, her hand in his across the space between them.
"Hey, Pace?" Joey's voice was quiet, as if she didn't want to disturb the peace.
"Hmm?" He'd opened his eyes and turned to her, his beautiful girlfriend, as she took her sunglasses off. Her skin had tanned to a deep bronze, and her emerald bathing suit only accentuated her eyes and dark hair.
"This is the happiest I have ever been in my life." Her voice was still quiet, but it overflowed with emotion. "Right here, with you."
As if on cue, a pod of dolphins breached the surface of the water about a quarter mile offshore, jumping into the air, diverting their attention for a moment. When Joey turned back to Pacey, her eyes were wet with unshed tears. "One day, when I am on my deathbed and looking back on my life, this is what I'm going to remember. This is the memory I'll take with me. This summer. Key West. The True Love. You. Me. Us. It's the most important thing to me, Pacey. You are the most important person in my life. And I know, no matter what happens, that will never change for as long as I live."
He'd quietly listened to her. With a stroke of his thumb, he'd wiped away the one tear that had escaped down her cheek. "You and me. No matter what happens," he had said to her...
He'd loved her so much right then. He'd always loved her, of course, but that moment was… intense. He wasn't sure what made him recall that particular memory, but there was something about being in this place, this time of year, without her that suddenly turned him melancholy and cerebral.
And not for the first time, Pacey thought back to his last week spent in Capeside with a heavy heart. He remembered how scared and angry and confused and miserable he'd been, and Joey had been on the receiving end of most of it. He remembered graduation, how he'd upped and left without a goodbye to any of his friends. He remembered the last conversation with Dawson that influenced the decision.
If only he'd had more belief in himself at the time, more faith in Joey's unfailing love for him, which he'd felt unworthy of. If only he'd stood his ground, stood up for himself, stood up for his relationship with Joey, then maybe he could've prevented what Dawson had done to her at graduation. If only his head had been clear enough to have that conversation.
His head was certainly clear enough now, perhaps clearer than it had ever been.
Pacey pulled his black Nokia cell phone out of his pocket. He stared at it for a moment, and then dialed the very first number he'd ever learned by heart other than his own.
"Hello."
"Dawson, is that you?"
"Pacey?"
"Yeah, man. I hope it's not a bad time."
"N-no, it's fine. It's…" He paused on the other end. "Uh, where are you?"
"Well, I'm in paradise."
Dawson laughed breathlessly.
"Hey, you laugh, but it's true."
"So, are you still in the Bahamas?"
He shook his head. "No. Although, the Bahamas were beautiful. The water was blue-green and so clear you could see the white sand on the bottom. The beach there was long and encompassed about twelve city blocks. Coconut and banana trees were everywhere. Anyway, I'm glad I caught you at home. I wasn't sure whether you were really skipping out on USC's summer program or not, or when you'd end up leaving for California to start the fall semester."
"I, um, well… I deferred until fall of next year."
He stared out at the water, his eyes widening. Shocked, and yet not surprised. "And what are you planning on doing with yourself until next year, Dawson?"
"I'm making a movie with the money Mr. Brooks left me."
"Of course, you are. Let me guess: it's about childhood best friends who are destined to be soulmates?"
"Listen, Pace, I can guess why you're calling me. I'm sure Joey told you what hap—"
"No. No, you know what? That's between you and her, and… that's not why I called, actually." Weeks ago, Joey had told them to leave her out of it as the real issue between them wasn't about her, had never been about her. He knew she was right. He also wanted to at least give her the courtesy of trying very hard to keep her out of it. "Uh... I just… I realized that I actually regret not saying goodbye to you. You know, I regret the way we left things and I wish that last conversation had gone a little differently."
"Okay…"
"Because, you know, for a long time there, Dawson, being your best friend was all I really cared about in my life. It was the only good thing I had going for me. And after everything that's happened between us over the past year, and the miles that may be between us right now, you know, I find myself thinking about the way things were."
"Back when we were just a couple dorks wondering if and when a girl would ever look our way?"
Pacey scoffed. "Heh, well, speak for yourself, huh?" He took a deep breath. "There's a lot that I want to say, but I don't really know how to say it. I've been thinking a lot about different things that have happened in my life, some great and others… not so much. And, um, I've been thinking about our friendship. You know, we were best friends for the better part of twelve years, but I'm starting to question a lot about those years.
"Camping trips, fishing trips, movie marathons in your room, making your own movies in your backyard. I'd star in your movies, act as the necessary cynic to your idealism, and you'd help me get out of trouble. And, as everyone knows, I was in trouble a lot."
Dawson laughed. "Yes, you were."
"You know, everything we did sort of revolved around you and what you wanted. I was the sidekick, and that was sort of the dynamic. And at the time, that seemed good enough for me, and it worked as long as I recognized my role and stayed in it. But as we got older there was just a growing number of obstacles between us. I don't know when that started to happen, but I'm guessing puberty."
"I think puberty is usually to blame for most things, Pacey."
A breathless laugh escaped him, and he nodded. "Yeah. I think we can both agree that the biggest obstacle was Joey Potter."
"I… second that emotion."
"You couldn't handle the idea of me and her being together, and I understand that to a certain extent. But it wasn't really about Joey herself. It was me… me and that role you cast me in. Whenever I tried to step out of it, you couldn't handle it. You couldn't handle the idea of me being better than you in anything, whether it was sports or girls. Any time you had a chance to knock me down a peg, you took it without hesitation."
"Pace—"
"No, please let me talk, Dawson. I need… I need to say this."
His former best friend heaved a sigh into the receiver. "Okay."
"You know, I look back to my sixteenth birthday, and your sixteenth birthday, the father-son fishing trip, the way you skipped town and went running to Philadelphia after I lost Andie to the psych hospital, and never once that whole summer did you ask about her. And when you got back, all you could talk about was Eve the Bus Girl. My girlfriend cheats on me, and still, all you could think about was Eve. You couldn't even be bothered with Joey at that point, and shoved her at me because apparently you thought her incapable of making her own friends."
He scoffed, shaking his head. "It's just finally dawned on me that you never actually took any real interest in my life. Dawson, my dad beat the shit out of me for years, and you never even cared to notice."
Silence. "Wait… what?"
"Yeah. I spent years sleeping on Joey's bedroom floor just to get away from the man."
"You… you what?"
"Yes, Dawson. All through middle school, I slept on Joey's floor next to her bed so I could avoid going home and getting beat on by my drunk father."
"Why…" He let out a breath of shock. "I was your best friend, Pacey. Why go to Joey's house? Why not come to mine? I could've helped you. My parents—"
"Helped me like you helped Joey with her dad?"
More silence. "Ouch."
"Uh, that was a low blow. I'm sorry."
Dawson sighed.
"Look, I went to Joey's because I think I knew somewhere deep down that you didn't actually give a shit about me, and that deep down, despite the bickering and her constant rejection, Joey actually did."
"Okay. Wow."
He hung his head. "Look, Dawson, I didn't call you for the purpose of making you feel bad."
"Are you sure about that, Pace?"
"Yes, man, I'm sure. And so, this brings us to that biggest obstacle, Joey Potter. You recently accused me of rewriting history, and that's just not true, Dawson. You know, since I was a kid, I never understood the things that happened in my life, or why they were happening. I didn't understand why the people I loved treated me so badly, including even you sometimes. Most of the things I've been through were so horrible, I didn't want to understand. Sometimes I still don't.
"The only thing that has ever made total and complete sense to me is Joey, and how I feel about her, no matter how confusing those feelings were at times.
"I guess the point of this is that… Dawson, I would've done anything for you. It tore me up inside to hurt you over Joey. It killed me, man. I didn't want to hurt you, and that's why I was too much of a chicken shit to just man up and tell you how I felt about her. And I felt crushed that I'd ruined our friendship, and for a little while there I really wanted nothing more than for you to forgive me the way you forgave Joey and for things to go back to the way they were between us.
"But I'm past that now. I've realized that the way things were between us wasn't good. The thing is, I was your best friend. I bent over backwards for you, went out of my way to do anything and everything you wanted, put my own feelings aside, put my own life on the backburner because we were all about your dreams and your aspirations. Friendship is a real gift, and I gave it with no expectation, no gratitude necessary. But I've realized that your friendship did come with expectations, and I was made to feel as though I should thank my lucky stars that Dawson Leery even wanted to be my friend.
"I was inferior, beneath you. Hell, even my own father thought so. You never took me seriously. I was the joke, the clown, the screwup who existed just to make you feel better about your life in comparison."
Dawson heaved another sigh. "Pacey…"
"But you know what, I've come to terms with it. I don't need to apologize anymore for my mistakes, and I don't need you to forgive me. I don't even need you to apologize. I don't need your friendship, Dawson, at least the kind of friendship that you were only ever willing to offer. To loosely quote something Mr. Kapinos said, if I let people's perception of me continue to dictate my behavior, I'll never grow as a person. Well, I think the man was right.
"I'm not the screwup. I'm not the designated loser. I just might actually have some good things going for me. You know, I'm not the sidekick anymore. I've got my own storyline, and I'm starting to think that I just might be the leading man in my own life. How about that? Who would've thought?"
"Look, Pace—"
"Dawson, you don't have to say anything. In fact, I don't really want you to. Not right now. I didn't call you looking for an apology, or an explanation. I just needed you to know how I feel. So, just… think about what I've said, and if the next time we see each other, there's something you want to say to me, you tell me then."
"Okay, Pace, I'm… I am glad you called, because I've been thinking about that last conversation we had at graduation and… the things I said to you… it just makes me cringe. And the thing is, I was too wrapped up in myself that I didn't get to tell you something that I really did want to tell you. So, just let me say this one thing."
"What's that?"
"I'm proud of you, Pacey."
He surprised himself by how much he wanted to believe the guy was genuine. "Thanks, Dawson."
"Good luck out there."
"Yeah. You too."
Pacey ended the call, set his cell phone down on the table, and heaved a sigh of relief. He felt as though a crushing weight had been lifted from his shoulders. No, more than that. It had been removed from his mind, his heart, his very soul.
He was free of the burden of guilt he'd been carrying around for the past year and a half, the burden of Dawson's disapproval, anger, resentment. The burden of hurt over the loss of Dawson's friendship, the anger and resentment he himself had carried over the actions that had torn them apart. It no longer mattered how Dawson felt because Dawson was not truly the friend that he'd once believed he was.
He had played second fiddle to Dawson for most of his life, with Joey for a while and even his own father. But Dawson wasn't the better man, the better friend. There was no reason to feel inferior, less than. He was his own person, and maybe he liked the person he was, and maybe there was no reason to ever compare anything he did, or might do, to Dawson.
He was free.
He was free to live. He was free to love. And he loved Joey. And he knew she loved him. He knew it in his bones, and he no longer felt undeserving of it. He was loved. In her eyes he saw himself, and he knew he belonged. He no longer felt like a failure. He felt strong. He felt calm. He felt cherished.
Looking out over the beach, Pacey smiled. It was as if he had been given a new lease on life. He no longer felt unworthy, unlovable and unseen as he had when he was a child. He felt at home in his body, at peace with himself, and unafraid of the future. A stream of joy and peace, which he had never known before, came into his heart. Now more than ever, he longed to reunite with Joey in Boston and start their life together.