“I don’t understand,” I sob. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Atticus is shaking now, clutching me so tightly that I physically can’t fall apart. Not completely.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I know. You don’t deserve this; I wish I could give you more.”
“Giveme more then. Give me all of you, just as you did before.”
“Ican’t,” Atticus insists. “I just can’t.”
And he continues to stroke the hair at the base of my neck, rubbing soft circles into my skin as I cry until the sun begins to set and my body grows weak and tired. The only sound to be heard is the rushing of the water around us.
As the tears finally subside, I lift my head, looking into his eyes. And Atticus looks devastated—absolutely destroyed to see me this way. It makes this misery so much worse.
“So this is it?” I ask him, voice strained. “This is all we ever get?”
Slowly, Atticus nods, grazing his lips over my forehead once more. “Unfortunately, yes.”
On shaking legs, I stand, pulling myself free from his hold. Staring down at him sitting in the muddy water, eyes red-rimmed and brown hair astray, I recall every time he’s smiled at me. Every single moment in which I’ve had him within my grasp.
And then I let it all fall away.
“Thank you,” I say softly, “for showing me what peace feels like. Even if just briefly.”
The drive home is long and silent; I barely register the passing stop signs or street names, and as I pull up to my house, I see Mom’s car in the driveway.
I feel nothing.
“Cameron,” she calls out as I enter the front door. I don’t spare her a glance, heading straight to my room. “Cameron!”
The door slams as I close it, collapsing onto my bed.
I ignore her knocks, her screams, her desperate attempts to use me for something new. I don’t care. Ican’tcare. Not now. Maybe not ever again.
The whole world could crumble around me right now, and I’d barely even notice.
Atticus doesn’t want me. Not anymore. Even as he’s forgiven me, even as he’s so affectionate and kind, I’m still not enough.
I’m Port Orford trash with too much baggage and nothing to redeem myself with. Ofcoursehe wouldn’t give up whatever is so important to him, whatever it is he’d be risking by keeping me.
Forgiveness didn’t save us—I will never have Atticus Chastain.
The tears return, and they stay until I’ve fallen fast asleep.
A few hours later, I wake to the sound of my floorboards creaking, and as I roll over, I’m not surprised to see Atticus standing before my bed. TheotherAtticus.
But I am surprised by the return of my tears, how desperate I am for even this version of him.
With a sob, I crawl onto my knees, moving until I’m at the ledge of my bed, reaching out for him.
“Shh,corculum,” he whispers in that familiar, distorted voice. His black eyes search me, curious and intrigued. “There is pain here.”
“Yes,” I whisper, swallowing more of my own cries.
“You both hurt,” he observes.
And something inside of me shatters permanently, as I’m pretty surebothof us means Atticus, too.
I just nod, as I can’t manage much more, and he wraps his frost-bitten arms around my middle, hugging me to him.
