Page 60 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

“And you did,” I said.

There was silence for a moment. She picked at the edge of the plastic cup her wine was in. “Do you resent me for leaving?”

“No, Merritt,” I answered honestly. “I don’t resent you for leaving. I envy you. You had the courage to leave everything behind and chase your dreams. I just wish…”

“You just wish what?” she asked.

“I just wish you had wanted me to be a part of those dreams,” I confessed. I smiled bitterly as her mouth dropped open in surprise. “Rather, I think I was hoping you would chase your dreams and realize me and Dallas were where you wanted to be.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I feel selfish.”

“You’re not selfish. I’m the one that’s selfish for thinking I had any claim to you. I had no right to try and hold you back.”

“You didn’t try to hold me back. Are you comfortable talking about Leah?”

I shrugged. “Somewhat.”

She hesitated. “How did Leah die? Was it a motorcycle accident?”

I shook my head. “No. It was on her way to work. Same route she’d taken every day for six years. Someone ran a red light. Hit her car. And just like that, everything flipped.”

Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes shining with tears. “Kannon, I’m so sorry.”

“Everybody is,” I said simply. “But I’m okay. Slowly, I’ve been moving forward. Your dad helped me a lot after it happened. Even when his mind started to go, he’d sit and listen. He always knew what to say—or when to say nothing at all. Half the time I don’t think he even knew who I was. He certainly had no clue who this Leah person was, but he always listened.”

Merritt nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “He was good at that. I wish I had shared more with him before he died.”

I wanted to tell her he’d forgiven her for that, but instead, I offered a memory. “He talked about you all the time, you know. Even toward the end, when he wasn’t quite himself. He’d remember you as a little girl, clear as day. One time, he told me about this birthday breakfast you made him when you were a kid.”

Her eyes lit up, laughter bubbling past her lips. “Oh no. Not that story.”

“Oh yes,” I said, grinning. “He said it was so bad, he had to sneak it to the dog while you weren’t looking.”

Her laughter grew, tears streaming down her face. She wiped at them with her sleeve. “It was scrambled eggs and toast! How bad could it have been?”

“Apparently, bad enough,” I teased, unable to stop myself from laughing with her. “He told me the toast was so black and hard, he was afraid he would chip a tooth if he finished it. Not even the dog would eat it.”

She burst into laughter. “And that dog ate everything!” she managed to sputter out between fits of laughter. “I swear, even his own tail if it weren’t attached!”

It felt strange, this camaraderie between us after all these years. Like a part of us had never grown up, never moved away. Never suffered any losses. We were just Kannon and Merritt—two people who had shared laughter, tears, and something far deeper than either of us could put into words.

As the laughter faded, a comfortable silence settled over us. Merritt reached across the table, her hand brushing against the part of my own hand that wasn’t shredded from the road.

“I missed this,” she admitted softly. “I missed you.”

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “I missed you too, Merritt. More than you’ll ever know.”

26

MERRITT

Ifelt like I understood him better. But that only served to confuse me. I had all these feelings and I didn’t know what to do with them.

“This has been nice,” Kannon said. “But I should get going.”

I wanted to ask him to stay but he was clearly dealing with a lot of emotional baggage. Talking about his late wife couldn’t have been easy. “Are you okay to drive?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Yeah. Wine is whatever. Maybe a couple of bottles could do it but not a glass.”