“She’d been calling and texting all day. I ignored her until I couldn’t. I had every intention of coming back to you that night, even if that meant I was grounded for the rest of the summer. I knew I couldn’t leave without seeing you one more time. But … When I got home, my mother told me that someone came to the house, threatened to take what my father owed them from Erica.”
She gasped. “What?”
“I had to go.”
“Why didn’t you just call me?” She stood, paced the room. “You could’ve just told me the truth. I would’ve been sad, but I would’ve understood.”
“By then, it was too late. We left moments after I made it home. I couldn’t say anything. It was either that or put all of us in danger. Including you.”
“Me?” She shook her head. “What do you mean, me? I didn’t have anything to do with your father.”
“Bug, these assholes didn’t care. They threatened you, too. Anybody that meant anything to me or my family.”
“Did Granny know?”
I nodded. “She’s the one who suggested we leave town because she couldn’t trust anyone to keep us safe at the time. Since Mom was from Wellspring, Granny helped by purchasing a house there, giving us enough to live on until my mother found a job.”
For the first year, we had no contact with anyone back home. Not even Granny. My father was indicted on money laundering, but he didn’t do it alone. He’d built his criminal empire trafficking in drugs and military-grade weapons, and several of his key players worked for the company. It took a while, but my grandmother used her power and influence to root out all the Batchelor Corp employees involved.
“Eventually, the police traced the threats to a childhood friend of my father and John,” I continued. “Ryan Baker. But the damage was already done. By then, Mom didn’t want anything to do with the family, and she’d resolved to stay away. Which meant, I had to stay away, too.”
Albany plopped on the chair. “So why didn’t you call when everything was over?”
“Because I wasn’t the same person. My father’s death, and everything that came with it, broke me. I didn’t care about my life. It wasn’t worth much. I didn’t care about waking up in the morning or falling asleep at night. All I saw was my failure, my loss. So, I couldn’t …” I swallowed against the hard lump in my throat. “I didn’t think I would survive losing the only person who meant everything to me. The one person who saw the best in me. I couldn’t risk you looking at me and feeling pity. Then leaving me.”
“I would’ve never left you, though. Not for anything.”
“You say that now, but I wasn’t the guy you fell in love with at that point.”
“But you didn’t even give me a chance to prove you wrong!” she yelled. “You just stayed away—after you walked out on me without looking back.”
“I did look back,” I told her. “Every day. I thought about you.”
Her expression softened. “I wrote you. I sent you messages on Facebook, on IG … I asked Hendrix about you. When I finally got in touch with Erica, I asked her about you. Nobody would tell me anything. I worried so much. At some point, all you had to do was send three words back.I am good.”
“I wasn’t good, Albany. I was fucked up. Drunk all the time. High. Hanging around with the wrong people. I dropped out of college. I couldn’t face you.”
“I see you like this, so tormented, and I want to help you. I want to make it better. You don’t deserve me, but I still …”
I walked to her, dropped to my knees again in front of her. “You can’t walk away either.” I rested my forehead against her lap. “You can’t leave me.”
Her fingers feathered over my scalp. “This is my fault.”
My eyes flashed to hers. “It’s not. This is all me.”
“No.” She shook her head, dashed fresh tears from her cheeks. “It’s me. I believe that you loved me as much as you could at the time.”
“I still love you.”
Her shoulders slumped forward. “But I was so engrossed in the magic we made together that I didn’t see how torn you were that night. I was so naïve, and I carried that naivete into my marriage. Look where that landed me. Broke. Broken.” She slipped out of my grasp and stood. “I can’t lose myself in you again.”
Closing my eyes, I whispered, “I’m not that same messed up, immature man, Bug.” I inched closer to her. “That’s not me anymore.”
“I can see that.” She smiled sadly. “What I don’t understand is why you didn’t at least tell me the truth when I came back.”
“I wanted to tell you that day in the café, at the fundraiser, at your apartment…. It never felt like the right time. Would it have even made a difference? Does it change things for you? Now that you know my reasons, are you willing to try and make this work?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. But I wish you would’ve said something a long time ago.”
