“Kids,” I correct, though I don’t know why.
“Shut up,” she seethes, glaring at me. She takes a step closer, pointing a finger in my direction. “You are a good man, you just don’t trust that you are, and I fell in love with every part of you. I care about where you’ve come from and what you’ve been through, but only because it makes you the man I fell in love with. If you didn’t want me to fall for you, you shouldn’t have let me know you. That’s on you.”
My heart swoops and dives in my chest, plummeting toward the pits of hell, knowing this is the woman I have to let go of. The woman who speaks about me likethis. Who sees me likethis. I can’t have her.I have to let her go.
“Ariana,” I say quietly, but I make no move toward her and she notices.
“I love my brother,” she says then, pulling her shoulders back. “But he was wrong for what he said to you. He was wrong for hitting you. I will never forgive him for it. No matter what you did, you didn’t deserve that, and it wasn’t true.”
Yes, I did.
I say nothing.
“It wasn’t true, Boston,” she repeats.
I swallow, my eyes burning into her face.
I want to hold you, sweetheart. Please understand that. Please see that in the way I’m looking at you right now.
“Your parents' decisions and their choices are not your fault. You were the kid. You were supposed to be allowed to be a kid.”
My heart aches, dull and painful now. I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to relive what her brother spat in my face through his rage, when he realized the physical pain wasn’t hurting as much as he wanted it to. I don’t want to consider that the reason I can’t be with her is because the little boy in me will never feel safe enough to try. That there was so much damage done to me before her brother threw that first punch. Damage only I can fix.
“I’m sorry that I put you in this position and I’m sorry that I ruined your relationship with my brother. But I’m not sorry for loving you. It was the best decision I’ve ever made. Easiest, too. That’s all I had to say.”
I listen to her ramble, my frown deepening. She doesn’t wait for me to say anything. She didn’t come here hoping some speech would change my mind or make me talk. She doesn’t even bother to gauge my reaction, she just spins on her heel in that puffy black coat and storms right back down my porch steps now that she’s gotten it over her chest.
She stomps down my driveway in her big, winter boots that look ridiculous on her person with such little snow on the ground. She doesn’t look back, not once. She climbs into hervehicle, and I’m still in my doorway, half-naked and watching. Our eyes meet one more time before she puts it in reverse.
She’s going the wrong way.
I want to chase that car. Follow it until my legs give out. Run after her for the rest of my life, even if I’ll never catch her.Knowingthat I’ll never catch her. I want her to seethatin my eyes as she pulls away from me, and understand that I feel this agony, too. That it destroys me that this can’t be different. I want to run to her, and when I can’t run anymore,crawlto her until she understands the words that I can’t say out loud.
Her vehicle vanishes down the driveway and out of my line of sight.
And I stay put.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
boston
For the secondtime in one week, there’s a Forkerro on my porch. Only, this one is much bigger, crazier, and has bruised knuckles from beating my face in with his fist.
Carter’s face is a storm cloud when I open the door. This is the first time since I built this place that he’s ever bothered to knock. He scans my face, carefully inspecting every lump and bruise that is still visible.
“You look like shit,” he grumbles, jaw pulsing. “Please tell me the other guy looks worse.”
I stare at him, unsure if he’s joking or if I have permission to laugh.
His expression gives away nothing as I step aside for yet another Forkerro. This one doesn’t hesitate. Forker walks right into my house, kicks off his shoes before the door is even closed, and storms into my kitchen. He yanks open my fridge and pulls out a beer, cracking it open as if it’s any other day.
I slowly enter the room, feeling like a stranger in my own home. I don’t know how to have the conversation that follows the catastrophe. I didn’t prepare for this part.
Fork watches me carefully for a second before he rolls his eyes, turns back to the fridge, and grabs a second can. He thrusts it into my hands, heading to the end of my dining room table and dropping himself into the chair.
“I’ve listened to my two favourite women on this planet bitch at me for a solid three weeks straight.”
I slowly bring my beer to my lips, not daring to move any closer to him. I don’t bother interjecting, either. This is his conversation.
