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Quinn nods. “And when he second-guessed you like that, how did that make you feel?”
“What are you, a goddamn psychiatrist?” I ask, receiving only a pointed look in response. “Fine,” I sigh. “It made me feel terrible. That was the worst night of my life and to this day, every time I close my eyes I can still—” My voice cracks and tears start dripping from my eyes before I even have the chance to stop them. “I can still smell him. I can still feel his weight against my back. His breath still fans across my face like it did when he—”
“Stop,” Quinn whispers, snatching up my hand to cradle it in hers. My watery eyes blink several times and I furrow my brows in confusion. Isn’t this what she wanted?
“I don’t want you to relive that night, Harley. You’ve lived it once and somehow, by the grace of God, you were able to come out on the other side, and I don’t ever want you relive that moment again.” I take a deep breath and squeeze her hand tightly like the lifeline that it is.
“Let me rephrase my question, so I can get you to see what I see.” I nod, knowing I don’t really have a say in the matter. This is Quinn we’re talking about, and if she wants to have this conversation, then—like it or not—we’re having this conversation.
“Why do you think Ty instantly thought Dallas was innocent?”
I laugh mirthlessly, but her cool demeanor doesn’t budge. “Because he has Dallas on a pedestal. He’s idolized him for as long as I can remember.”
“Okay, what if Levi walked up to you right now and told you that I killed someone?”
“This is ridiculous, Quinn.” Pushing up from the table, I grab my bowl of ice cream, which is now a heap of melted cream.
“Why is it ridiculous?”
“Because you wouldn’t do that,” I answer, hating that I’m finally seeing where she is going with this.
“But how do you know I wouldn’t do it?”
“Because I know you, Quinn. I know the kind of person you are. I know that even though you’re crazy and reckless, you don’t have that in you.”
“Don’t you think that that’s how Tyson feels about his brother? That the brother that he thought he knew wouldn’t have that in him?” My hands fly to my mouth and my swollen eyes widen as realization slams into me. A h
eavy sob slithers up my throat and busts free. “You didn’t give him a chance to accept what you were telling him,” she finishes.
“I get it, Quinn.” I hate that she’s right, and more than that, I hate that I was wrong…but I was. My body, weak with exhaustion, flops down into the chair that I had just vacated, and I drop my head onto the table as my body rids itself of seven days worth of anguish.
“He needed time to process this, Harley. Trust me, that boy believes in you and he trusts you, and he knows that you wouldn’t lie about something like that. But you should have given him the opportunity to talk through it and accept the fact that the brother he thought he knew was not who he thought he was.”
“I said I get it!” I yell.
“Do you?” she questions skeptically. “Because I don’t think you do.” I bury my face in my hands, resigned to take the beating that she’s about to give. “He is destroyed right now, Harley.” I flinch at her words, but she pushes on. “That man has bent over backward, trying to get you to talk to him. He’s left you message after message and text after text. Hell, he even wrote you something.” My head twists to face her and I wipe my eyes as hope slowly starts to bloom in my stomach.
“That’s right,” she nods at my questioning look. “And I’m going to give it to you, but not for your sake…for his. I know he has screwed up before, and I know that he didn’t handle it well when he found out about Dallas, but right now you’re in the wrong. Right now, you need to swallow your pride and fight for the love that that man is trying so desperately to give you.” Quinn pushes away from the table and walks into the living room. When she comes back into the kitchen, I see a bright red piece of paper clutched in her hand. She stops in front of me and smiles.
“I love you, Harley, and as much as I want to see you and Tyson end up together, I don’t want that if it isn’t going to make you happy.” She drops the piece of paper on the table in front of me. I inhale sharply when my gaze lands on one of the coupons I gave Tyson for his birthday. My chest physically hurts as though a bullet was shot straight through it.
Never in my life did I think I would cry at the sight of a piece of construction paper, but as my shaky hand reaches for it, my eyes flood with tears. A hard lump has taken up permanent residence in my throat, and I struggle to swallow past it as a million emotions rush through my body. Closing my eyes, I flip the paper over in my hand. I take a deep cleansing breath and peel my lids open, instantly honing in on the scribbled writing on the coupon.
Two words.
It takes two little words from our past for me to see what’s been staring me right in the face for the past seven days. Tyson and I are meant to be together. We have come so far. We have fought, and we have won…at least we had almost won until I decided to screw things up. My head drops in shame at how I’ve handled things this past week. I am a horrible excuse for a girlfriend, and the fact that I completely shut him down without giving him any chance whatsoever to come to grips with what actually happened just proves what type of person I am.
My shoulders lurch with a deep sob and I bury my face in my hands. Quinn’s arms wrap around me and she holds me as I expel all of the hurt and anger that I’ve been carrying around for the past seven days. When I finally start to calm down, she slides a piece of neon-pink construction paper in front of me and I instantly let go of another round of tears. I watch the piece of paper absorb the wetness that falls from my face as I read his final note.
I’m an idiot. Running my arm across my puffy eyes, I wipe away the moisture. “Can you watch Max?” I ask hurriedly, because suddenly I need to talk to Ty. I need to see him, and it can’t wait one more minute.
An I-told-you-so-grin is plastered on Quinn’s face. “Go get your man.” She raises her hand and I slap it before grabbing my jacket and bolting out the door, all the while hoping and praying that the damage I’ve caused isn’t irreversible.
I’m sure I break every law imaginable on my drive to Tyson’s, but I don’t care. My car skids to a stop in front of his house, and I send a silent prayer to the man upstairs that I picked the right one. I know he has the day off tomorrow, and usually when he’s off, he stays at the rental house here in town.
Looking at the clock, I notice that it’s eight fifty-five and I fist pump the air, thankful that I made it on time. Every night for the past week at exactly nine o’clock, Ty has sent me a text...and tonight I’m going to reply back. I turn on the radio and Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years starts playing. My eyes drift shut as I drink in the lyrics that so perfectly resemble my love for Tyson. When my phone beeps, I sit up frantically, and waves of relief crash against my body when I see his name on my screen. This is it…time to fight for my man.
Tyson: I miss you
