Page 41 of Westward

“Which is it? Heaven or hell?”

“I think that answer would change daily, don’t you?” he asked, a sigh slipping through his lips. “You know, I’m not good at this.”

“Not exactly sure what you’re talking about, but I have a feeling you’re wrong there. You’ve always been good at this, Atlas.”

His lips curved into a small smile. It was the sadness in his eyes that really melted me.

“You’re grieving, and here I am, inviting you to dinner, both of us not knowing what the fuck we’re doing. I’m taking advantage.”

I took two steps towards him, my heart butting loudly in my chest and the vibrations tingling my fingers. “No. There are many things between us, many issues we need to work out, but you are not taking advantage of me.”

“Lizzie.”

“No. I am an adult making my own choices, even though I don’t know what those are right now. But I know that whatever’s happening right now would’ve happened regardless. I’m in pain, and will probably be for the rest of my life, but for some reason, you seem to be the steady one. And that should scare me.”

Because even if it was just for the summer, I could do this. Could take what I wanted. For the first time. Could stop being the perfect girl, because perfection had left me alone before.

He cupped my face then, and leaned down, brushing his lips along mine. I sucked in a breath, so afraid, and yet I couldn’t back down, not when I had just revved myself up.

“Sometimes I don’t know who is at the center of our orbit, and who is the one spinning in all directions, beyond confused.”

I gave him an odd look. “While the idea of me being stationary in Ashford Creek would seem that I was the center of the universe, we both know that’s not true, Mr. Superstar NHL player.”

“But you’re my universe.”

I stepped back then, needing a moment to breathe.

“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t say things like that, as if a decade hasn’t passed.”

“I’m not saying things differently. And I’m damn sure not lying.”

“Our problem has never been a connection, Atlas. I’m marked on your ribs just like you were etched on my skin, and we have always taken care of each other. Over the years, if we’ve needed something, we have done it. Maybe our friends and family never understood, but we’ve been there for each other. But we can’t just fall—” I let out a breath. “We can’t just fall into each other. You can’t just fall into this.”

Even though I had told myself that I could just do this, that it was just this summer, I knew it had been a lie, even for those mere moments.

“Lizzie, I’ve always loved you.”

And with those deep words, it was as if ice crawled through my veins. I took a step back and raised a brow. “Really? Are you serious right now? You have to be kidding me.”

His eyes widened. “I tell you that I love you, and you look like you can’t believe it?”

“You said that you have always loved me. You loved eighteen-year-old me. You loved the girl that you left behind in college.”

“We agreed—” Atlas began.

I held up my hand. “No. We’ve lied to each other long enough. We may pretend that we bathe ourselves in truth, but that’s not the case. You were always meant for greater things, and you left. And I was the one who stayed behind. I wouldn’t have had a future if I had stayed with you. If you had looked back once.”

“I looked back all the fucking time!”

“We aren’t Orpheus and Eurydice. Nor are we Hades and Persephone. We are none of those myths amongst truths. You couldn’t look back, and I understood. And neither one of us waited. You know that.” My throat tightened, and I hated myself just a little bit for even saying these words. But if anything were to happen beyond this moment, the truth needed to lie between us.

“I have always loved you,” he repeated.

“Really? Then our form of love has been draped in pain and forgetfulness. The accidental nature of our hurting one another seems rote at this point.”

“Lizzie—”

“I didn’t wait for you. I moved on. Just like you did. But I had to learn to love myself more than finding someone who always saw me as second best.” Tears pricked my eyes, and that’s when I realized I had been the one lying to myself all these years.