“No. Josh was right. All you’re going to do is hurt me all over again,” I tell him. The realization washes over me, and it hits me like a ton of bricks. I won’t survive that again. I can’t live through that type of betrayal from someone I was willing to give my whole life to. “There was a time in my life when I was willing to give you everything. I was willing to go wherever you went. I would’ve followed you to the end of the earth, but now, I can’t trust that you’d love me enough to let me.”
“Teeny, Idolove you.”
“It’s not enough,” I say, the pain of my words making me realize how badly I wanted him to love me back the first time. “I can’t trust that you’ll love me enough to…never hurt me again.”
He takes a step closer to me, the desperation in his eyes making me want to take it all back. His hands grip my shoulders, and he crouches down to meet me at eye level. I watch him as his eyes grow misty, and his throat bobs as he swallows back the tears. “I’d never hurt you. Not again.”
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper. I say it like it’s a fact. Like saying the sky’s blue or the grass is green. I can’t dispute it, and I don’t know how to make it disputable. I don’t know if I’ll ever be in a place where we could discuss this. If he could ever convince me to trust him again. Wounds like these don’t heal. They just sit there, open and weeping, poking at my heart with the reminder of my past.
“Teeny, please,” he cries, his voice hoarse. He takes my hand in his and presses it against his chest. He holds onto it, linking our fingers together and running the pad of his thumb down the curve of my palm, like he can turn the memory of the lines and shapes into a piece of me he can keep. “I just—I just got you back.”
I shake my head at the same time I start to feel his heart rattle on the inside. It’s desperate and frantic, showing the devastation coursing through him.
“You never…” Our eyes lock, and all I see is the boy who once had my entire heart. It was never something he had to question or worry about, but now…How could I ever be his again? “You never had me back.”
“Teeny,” he cries, a loose sob following my name. “I-I can’t…how am I supposed to live without you?” He squeezes my hand, crushing my fingers together with his own trembling fingers. “Without these hands.” He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a tear-stained kiss into my palm. “Without your beautiful face. And your smile, and—” He drops my hand and cups my face, stroking his thumbs over my cheeks. His hand trails down to my chest, resting over my heart. A broken cry, one that can’t be feigned or forced, rattles my heart, making it vulnerable, and he adds, “Without your heart?”
I don’t waver. “I can’t, Everett.” I place my hand over his and gently lift it, needing the space between us so I can say what needs to be said. Because if not, I’ll change my mind. “I—If you hurt me again,” I say, forcing the words through the pang stabbing at my heart. “I don’t think I could handle it. I can’t go through that again…”
He stands upright, pulling me close to him, and I allow it. I break in a small moment of weakness, wanting to remember how it feels to be held by him one last time. I cry into his chest, and I hear him sniffle back his own tears. We stay like that, letting time stand frozen before I finally pull away and look at him. I watch as he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, another painful sob making his lips tremble through a cry. I swipe my finger at my cheeks, brushing away my own tears.
“Okay,” he says hoarsely. His hands cup the sides of my head, and he looks at me. Like he’s seeing the pain for the first time. He’s always been aware of it, always been conscious of what he did, no matter how much time has passed. But he’s finally seeing the visible, physical damage. It’s there in the way my eyes glisten with tears and the way my dry lips catch the ones that have fallen, following a continuous pathway before falling off my chin. I’m broken, and it’s because of him.
I watch him hesitate, like he wants to hold me or kiss me, knowing it’s not allowed. And I almost want to tell him it’s okay. One last time. Just so we can remember how we were and all the moments that could’ve been.
“Okay.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
Everett
NOW
Everything feels still.Even as the waters crash onto the wet sand, it feels eerily quiet in the late night surrounded by nothing but the moonlight and the ocean breeze.
When I came back, I knew this was a possibility. Hell, I expected it. I was ready to watch from the sidelines as Teeny bounced around with her happy little family while I continued my role as the pushed-aside ex-boyfriend who got everything he deserved. But I got a glimpse of it. I tasted the life we could’ve had. I got to touch it and breathe it and exist in it. And just as quickly, it slipped away.
I wanted to grovel right there in front of Teeny. Beg for her to give us a chance. Because we deserve it. But I couldn’t. Not when she’s this vulnerable. I didn’t want to take advantage of a weak moment only for her to regret a decision that would’ve been made through the anticipation of disappointment. I can’t even blame her. Her heart is still healing, mending from the damage I sliced through it, and now I’m paying the price for those wounds.
I feel so lost. I don’t know what to do now. Teeny let me go. The pain of holding on to me and our past was too much to bear for her, and I can’t even fight her on it. She’s right. I hurt her in a way she can’t look past, and to ask her to wouldn’t be fair. I don’t know where to go from here. Going back to my hotel doesn’t feel right, and being here by the rampant waters feels the opposite of cathartic.
So, I get in my car and drive. I drive, following the roads I used to take when I was seventeen, finding solace in the familiarity of the winding paths and unforgettable landmarks. And suddenly, I’m standing in front of Josh’s house. The lights are off, which makes sense considering it’s close to midnight, but I make my way up his driveway and knock at his front door.
It opens, the hinges creaking slowly, somehow showing how fragmented our friendship has become. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I respond. We stand there, looking at each other. The anger in his face has shifted into disappointment. A part of me expects him to shut the door in my face or even yell at me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he opens the door wider, letting me in.
I follow his steps as he leads me to his living room. The lights are low, only one or two lamps lit in the far corners of the room next to the large flat screen and a few tall floor plants. We both sit on his couch, our postures tense and nervous.
“How’s your jaw?”
I run my hand over my chin. “A little sore.”
“Good,” he responds with an impassive smirk.
“How’s Teeny?”
He shrugs. “She won’t talk to me.”
