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Teeth clenched together, I nod. “We were young.”
“You were. Doesn’t mean you weren’t capable of having big feelings like that. Of not having hopes and dreams for your future.” A beat passes, before she says gently, “But I do have to wonder now, given all we’ve talked about, and what you shared… I asked you earlier, if it’s your love for Izzy that has kept you hanging on all this time…” She trails off meaningfully. “Or is it something else?”
A good minute passes before I respond, knowing this time, she is looking for one.
“I’m not sure anymore,” I admit softly. Truthfully.
The guilt that follows is swift and sharp, slicing through me. But I’m expecting it, so rather than let it break me down like it would in the past anytime an inkling of a doubt crept in…
I just let it eviscerate me.
Let it burn. Feel it all. And let it go.
Cleo nods, and gives me a reassuring smile. “And that’s perfectly okay. Because guess what, Mason?”
“What?”
“Two things can be true at once,” she says, mirroring her earlier statement as if she was leading up to this all along. “The real question here is, not whether or not you love Izzy. I know you do. You know you do.”
I nod stiffly.
Love. Not past tense this time.
“What I’m curious to know, is if you’ve been holding onto her for this long, this desperately, because of your love for her and nothing else… Then why the second her brother mentioned trading places, did all of that resistance inside you crumble?”
Everything in me stills at her words.
Pushing to a stand, she looks down at me. “Two things can be true at once, Mason. But something will always come along and tip the scales eventually.”
A meaningful pause settles over the room, and then she drops her final question on me like a bomb.
“What tipped yours?”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
I wished he was mine.
All mine, and only mine.
For years.
On shooting stars.
On birthday candles.
Then one day, my wish was granted.
And I’ve been wishing every second since, on every breath, that I could take it back.
A soft knocking drags me out of the dream I was just having, one I quickly lose to consciousness.
For a long moment, I just blink heavily at the wall I face, letting the remnants of it scatter, not even bothering to try and make sense of it or hold onto its pieces.
The knocking stops, but quickly picks up again, this time a little heavier.
Despite their insistence, I debate whether or not I can get away with just pretending I’m not home. My car’s in the lot outside the apartment complex, sure, but here in the city, I don’t really drive it much, unless it’s to go home.
Not home.
