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Pressure builds behind my eyes and I shake my head adamantly. “I’m not. I want to be … God, do I want to be in love with him. The thought of hurting him makes me physically ill. But why? That’s what I don’t get. He’s perfect for me, Maggie. He’s an amazing guy. How did I just fall out of love with someone like that?”
Thoughts. Hit. Brick. Wall. Holy shit. Is that what happened with Devin? Did he just fall out of love with me? Did he sleep with me and then decide that what he was feeling was nothing more than friendship? That it was easier to cut and run rather than deal with the fallout of an emotional woman?
“I’m not sure.” Maggie watches me for several seconds, and then she stands up, grabs both of our wine glasses and nods toward the living room. “Let’s go in there and talk.” Numbly, I follow her into the living room and curl up in the corner of my couch while she makes herself comfortable in the recliner. “Permission to speak freely.”
“I think I’ll need more wine for this.” I reach my hand out and she looks down, realizing that she’s still holding my glass. With a cheeky smile, she pushes it into my hand and then drains the rest of her wine. “Permission granted.”
“Is it possible that you’ve never truly been in love with him?” My brows furrow and she reaches a hand out. “Hear me out. You guys have been together for, what, five years?”
“Seven,” I say, a wave of nostalgia washing through me. Wyatt and I had been friends since kindergarten, so when he’d built up enough courage to ask me out our sophomore year in college, I didn’t think twice about saying yes. Because even though I’d never thought of Wyatt as more than a friend, what did I have to lose? And well, we’ve been together ever since. It was easy and comfortable, and not once did I regret the decision. We liked the same things, we had a ton of fun together and I just generally enjoyed being with him. The first time he kissed me, I had all of the universal ‘first kiss’ symptoms. Butterflies took flight in my stomach, my palms were sweaty and the itch to kiss him again was strong. It took another year, but we eventually slept together, and even though the first time was beyond awkward, it eventually got better.
Wyatt was the first person I’d slept with since that ill-fated night with Devin. In the beginning, I compared the two, which always led to a tremendous amount of guilt. One day, I just decided that I couldn’t continue to compare Wyatt to Devin. Devin was gone and he wasn’t ever coming back. I knew that I had to cherish what I had, because even though our connection didn’t feel as strong as the one Devin and I had, I was still aware that it was a connection most people would die for.
Eventually, I began to crave Wyatt. There were times when he was all I could think about, and his presence would soothe me in ways that nothing or no one else could. So no, what Maggie is saying is not possible. “I was in love with him.” The words fall easily from my mouth because they’re true. I did love him; I just didn’t love him enough. I didn’t love him the way a woman should love a man, the way a woman should love her soul mate.
“I can’t argue with that look on your face.”
“How do I … what am I … shit.” Tipping my head back, I stare at the ceiling. My hand slides into my hair. Wrapping a thick chunk around my finger, I twirl it as I sift through my own thoughts. “I don’t want to hurt him.” It sounds stupid when I say those words aloud, because that’s all I’ve been doing. I’ve already hurt him enough, and now—
“You need to let him go. You have to let him go.”
“I know.” A thick lump forms in my throat and I swallow past it. Rubbing my hands nervously over my legs, I look up. “I know I do.”
“It’s going to hurt him, there’s no way around that. But it’s better to get it over with now.” I nod my head because I know that she’s right. It doesn’t make it any easier though.
A tear slides down my face, and Maggie gets up and walks over to me. Wrapping her arm around my shoulders, she sits down and pulls me against her side. “He’s going to be angry, but you owe it to yourself—and to Wyatt—to do this now. I want you to be happy, Katie. You’ve been through so much and you deserve to be happy.”
“So does Wyatt.” I sniff, tucking my face into the crook of her neck. Maggie’s hand runs a soothing path up and down my back, and without fighting it or even thinking too much about it, I accept t
he comfort she’s offering.
“Yes,” she says, chuckling. “Even Wy-Wy.” A half sob, half cry falls from my mouth and I swipe away my tears.
“I love you, Mags. You’re the best.”
Maggie’s grip on me tightens and she presses her lips to my head. “If you knew what I called you in Spanish earlier, you might not think so.”
“Slow Dancing In A Burning Room” – John Mayer
“KATIE?”
My eyes snap open and I find Wyatt propped up on his elbows, watching me. The sheet is bunched around his hips and the muscles of his abdomen twitch under the weight of my stare. My eyes rake over his half-naked body and I will myself to feel something. At some point during the night I finally gave up trying to fall asleep and I moved to a chair across the room.
“Sorry if I woke you up,” he says, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes. “Is everything okay?”
Oh my gosh, I can’t do this. I can’t hurt him. My arms and legs feel weak, and my heart is beating so hard that it could possibly fly right out of my chest. Shit. I suck in a sharp breath. “No¸” I blurt.
Wyatt’s brows furrow and I know he’s waiting for more, but that one word is all I can seem to get out. Guilt crawls up my throat, threatening to make itself known—the same guilt that could potentially keep me from doing what needs to be done.
Wyatt flings the covers off and moves to get out of bed. Urgently, I hold up a trembling hand. “Please,” I beg, shaking my head. Wyatt’s eyes widen and his lips part, and the look of panic on his face nearly brings me to my knees. “Please.”
I love Wyatt. I’ll always love Wyatt. But he deserves so much better. He deserves a woman that will love him, heart and soul. A woman that will open herself up and give him everything that life has to offer. I’m not that woman. Not for Wyatt—probably not for anyone.
And it’s the thought that Wyatt deserves better that pushes the words from my mouth. “I can’t...” My voice cracks, and I look up at the ceiling and squeeze my eyes shut, a feeble attempt to gain some sort of control. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“What?” With two long strides, he’s kneeling in front of me. “You can’t do what?”
I blow out a slow breath, reminding myself that I’m doing the right thing, even if it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done … well, second hardest thing. The first was burying my father. Okay … third hardest thing. The second was getting over my first love.
