It’s Definitely Not You Chapter 37 - Alternate POV

Joe 

I took a deep breath as I paused on Maxine’s porch, shifting an old box of photos in my hands. The thing carried so much emotional weight, it felt like a brick, but sharing this with Kennedy felt like an important step in showing her how much she meant to me. This was a desperate attempt to beg for her forgiveness and if she slammed the door in my face, it’d kill me. A week without her was enough. I couldn’t spend one more day like this.  With my heart in my throat, I rang the bell, then waited for what felt like a lifetime for the door to creep open. 

The look on Kennedy’s face—shock, love, amusement as she took in my outfit—I didn’t know what I felt more, embarrassed or glad to see her. Either way, I blushed and inwardly laughed at myself. Since when did Joe Channing blush? 

“You look absolutely ridiculous.” Kennedy’s voice shook and it made me want to drag her into my arms and kiss away whatever she was feeling. I hated myself for what happened between us. 

“I don’t feel ridiculous.” I glanced down at my Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and flip flops. “Okay, maybe I feel a little ridiculous. This isn’t exactly a Joe-approved outfit, but it is a meaningful one. I used to joke all the time that my heart and soul were as black as my boots. But that’s not true anymore. You’ve brought color to my life, Penny. An absurd amount of color.” 

I tugged at the hem of my shirt as if somehow that could say everything that stuck in my throat.  

I love you, Kennedy. 

I miss you, Kennedy. 

I’m not whole without you, Kennedy. 

She stepped out of the house and stood on the steps, unsure how to act around me. Unsure what to say. Eager to keep space between us. How had one little mistake broken us so completely? 

“It doesn’t feel like I’ve brought you any of that,” she said, her eyes on the horizon. “You seemed pretty miserable the last time we saw each other.” 

I was. So unbelievably miserable. But that wasn’t her fault. It was mine.  

“I was an idiot to jump to conclusions about you and Collin. I’ve always said I was an asshole, and that only proved it…” 

Kennedy dismissed me with her hand. This gesture was not going as easily as they made it look in the movies. “You always hide behind that excuse.” 

“It’s not an excuse. It’s the truth.”  

How could she still not see who I really was? How could she, of all people, have lived through the last week with me and still fight me on this? 

“Would an asshole put his life on hold to help his brother?” she asked, her hair glinting in the sun. I longed to run my fingers through it. “Would an asshole cook steak dinners for women he didn’t even like? Would an asshole build bookshelves and redo backyards for someone he’d just met?” 

“Obviously he would.” I stood beside her, the box of photos weighing heavy in my hands. My heart. I hated what it held inside. “I did those things. And I’m an asshole.” 

“But you’re not. That’s what I’m trying to say. You say you’re an asshole to give yourself an excuse not to grow. You were nervous about me at The Drunken Goat. Instead of staying home, trusting me to handle things, and dealing with your nerves, you show up and make a scene. Why? Because you’re an asshole.” She made air quotes and sighed. “I think whatever you went through when you were a kid left you scared. You’ll never outgrow it if you don’t stop making excuses and face it.” 

“You’re right.” I sighed, heavy with the truth of it all. “I know I hurt you the other day and I’m so, so sorry. I haven’t let you in because I’ve been sure you wouldn’t like what you found and you’d leave. I couldn’t stand the thought of being hurt by you. And then you did…” 

Her eyebrows shot up at the statement. Shit. Time to jump into an explanation. And fast. 

“I’m doing a terrible job here.” I met her eyes, begging her to hear me before she gave up and left. “You didn’t hurt me because you didn’t do anything wrong. But the fear, Penny. The fear hurt so much, I pushed you away. I’ve kept you at arm’s length by not talking about the hard stuff. And that’s not fair. Not to you or to me. If I want to drop the asshole act, I need to let the people who matter in. And you matter. I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m just asking for a chance to introduce myself to you.” 

My heartrate skyrocketed. This was it. The moment. The one I was so sure I’d be able to pull off, but now…with her sitting right there and the truth of my childhood waiting in my lap… 

I’d never been so scared in my life. 

I lifted the box. An offering. 

Kennedy accepted it almost reverently. She sat on the step and I joined her, elbows on knees, gaze at my feet. I didn’t want to be here for this. Didn’t want to watch her judge me. Because she would. She’d see all the lives I lived, all the different masks I wore while I grew up and she’d never look at me the same again. 

The silence between us was more than I could take. “This house is kind of like me.” I twined my fingers together, nerves seeking an outlet. “Great bones. Tons of potential. But falling to pieces after years of neglect from the one person who had the power to put things back together.” Shit. How stupid did that sound? Kennedy was probably judging me for sounding like an idiot. “Me. I had the power to put myself back together.” 

She laughed and it was both the best and worst thing I’d heard in a long time. “Yeah,” she said. “I got that.” 

“I’m nervous, Kennedy. You know I babble when I’m nervous. I’ve never shown anyone what’s in that box. I’ve barely looked at it myself, but I kept it anyway, just to prove how unwanted I’ve always been.” 

Slowly, carefully, she lifted the lid. There was no rhyme or reason to what was inside. Just a pile of photos and papers, me at different ages all jumbled together. Kennedy pulled out one of me as a baby. Dirty. Disheveled. Even then, I glared at the camera, already wary and distrustful. It was the only picture of me from my birth mom, and there was no doubt life was hard for me. I could barely stand to look at the baby in the picture, too thin, dirty as hell, and already distrustful of everyone around him. 

As Kennedy flipped through the pictures, I watched myself become a chameleon, learning to blend into the family I’d been placed with like a pro. It was a skill that served me well, right up until I stopped giving a fuck what other people thought of me. Right around the time I turned sixteen, I decided I was who I was and wouldn’t bend my personality for others anymore. 

Kennedy frowned as she flicked through several of my drawings. They looked nothing like the one on her fridge, but said everything you needed to know about my early years. Dark colors. Harsh lines. My past was such a clusterfuck. 

I stopped looking at the pictures and started watching the woman beside me. Her smile was sad, her eyes discerning, but my God was she beautiful. And yes, I saw judgement, but I also saw love. Pure, unadulterated love. For me. For the boy in the pictures. For the child who spent his whole life waiting for someone to want him… 

…the way she did. 

My heart swelled so full, I didn’t know what to do with the feeling, where to put it all. How could one person contain an emotion so big, so desperate to be expressed? 

She glanced up and caught me staring, then fit the lid back on the box, looking so sad, I wondered if I’d made a mistake. “I had no idea.” 

“I really don’t like to talk about it.” 

“It might do you some good to let all that stuff out. It’s not who you are. It’s who you were. Talking about it will take away its power.” 

She was right. I knew it instantly. But how did you talk about something like that? When something so terrible defined the way you saw the world? 

“Collin says secrets eat us up from the inside out,” I said, still processing the thought. 

“He’s a smart man.” She held up her hands as if to ward off my fears. “In a totally platonic way. Just in case it’s not clear.” 

I fought back a smile. “I learned what love looked like when Collin met Harlow. I saw the same look again whenever Maxine talked about George. And I saw it when you looked at me. It scared the shit out of me, Kennedy. I spent my whole life wanting someone to look at me the way you do. Needing it. Not believing it could happen. You’re looking at me like that right now and I’m terrified because I don’t know if I ruined everything. I know I have a lot of growing up to do, but I need you to know, in case you can’t see it in my eyes as clearly as I see it in yours, that I love you, Kennedy Reagan Monroe. I love you in a way that makes me want to wear floral shirts and flipflops.” 

She put a hand to my cheek and fuck me, her touch. It was everything. It was healing and acceptance and love and I would never get tired of feeling her skin on mine. 

“I see it, Joe. I see it and I feel it and I love you, too.” 

Those words.  

I’d spent a lifetime craving them… 

…needing them… 

 …and to hear them from her… 

My hands were in her hair. My lips on hers. I loved her and she loved me and it didn’t matter how many shitty pictures I saved from my childhood, someone finally wanted me.  

Behind us, Nan and Delores broke into cheers and applause. I jumped out of my skin, then laughed, pressing my forehead to Penny’s. 

“It’s bad enough that you do it,” I said to Delores, “but I’m not ready for you to start sneaking up on us, too,” I finished with a shake of my head for Maxine, then gave my attention to Kennedy. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?” 

“Probably.” She wobbled her head, looking proud of herself for being so cute. 

“Probably? I go to all this trouble and walk around in a get up like this and all you give me is a probably?” 

“Would you have believed me if I gave in without a fight?” 

I cupped her cheeks, so glad for things to feel normal between us again. “Not for a minute.” 

She laughed.  

Then kissed me with so much love, so much want…I made a silent promise to never push her away again.