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“Ri—”
“Please go.'
“Riley, I’ll never forgive myself for what I did.” My voice broke.
“Just fucking go!” she screamed, head snapping up. Wet lashes framed flashing eyes.
I stood stiffly, my arms tight by my sides, my fingers stretching and contracting like they didn’t have a fucking clue what to do. They echoed my thoughts. I didn’t know how to make any of this right. My throat had to work to get words out.
“I'm sorry.”
It was all I had. All I could offer her. It was fucking nothing.
Without looking at me, she murmured, “So am I.”
They were so damn soft, her words, but they cut like a blade.
Forty-One
Riley
April came and went. A couple of weeks after I lost the baby, I’d made the decision to go away to college. I needed a fresh start. Somewhere my heart wouldn't break every time I turned around. Somewhere pain didn't cling to me like a shadow. I didn't know if that place existed, if I could ever even escape the demons that plagued me, but I knew I'd stand a better chance if I didn't have to worry about seeing Reno every day. If every little thing didn’t remind me of how much I’d lost.
He'd tried approaching me twice at school after I'd gone back. I'd bolted both times. My mom was under strict instructions not to let him in and she'd listened, for a change, turning him away when he’d dropped by. It was crazy, but it seemed like she'd done some growing up. She'd reduced her nights at the club to four a week. On the nights she was home, we'd pull out the bed, smother ourselves in the comforter and watch movies until we fell asleep. She'd been there. When I'd really needed her, she'd stepped up. She'd been my mom. I felt the tears well, and I gave myself a little shake, sniffling as I held the dark sweater to my nose.
My chest tightened. It still had a faint smell of him.
I shouldn't bring
it.
He'd called a few times and texted. I'd ignored the calls, deleted the messages. Then I'd blocked his number. If I saw him out, I ducked and turned the other way. What could we even say to each other? What was left to say?
Graduation passed in a blur, same with summer, which was now drawing to a close.
He drove by today, slowing, like usual, as he passed my trailer. I wish I could say my heart didn't skip a beat at the sight of him, that my pulse didn't sky-rocket, and my mind didn't scream at me to go to him. They still did. They always did. I loved him. Maybe I always would. But I got it now. He had been right all along. Love would always leave you weak, leave you open to pain.
My hand still settled over my stomach sometimes. The regret and sorrow felt like they might drown me some days. I didn't know if kids were in my future, but I knew I'd never, ever forgive myself for not taking care of something so precious, for failing to see it as the blessing it was. Everyone told me it wasn’t my fault. All I knew was I did nothing to prevent it from happening. Nothing.
He would have wanted it.
I squashed the stray thought like a buzzing fly, swiftly and efficiently. I couldn't let myself dwell on anything he said after the fact. It was easy for him to say that, knowing it wasn't a real possibility. Easy to offer his support when it was no longer needed. Who knew how he might have reacted if I'd told him earlier? But if I knew anything, it was how pointless it was to dwell on the what ifs. God, if I started, I'd never stop. I was looking forward now. I had to look forward.
“You're not taking that!” Liss snatched the sweater from my hand.
I glanced up. My best friend sat on the edge of my bed, legs crossed over one another, as she vetoed pretty much every item I tried to pack in my case.
“Is there anything I can take?” I teased, brows up as I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“Sure.” She shrugged, the motion sending the thin material of her oversized shirt down her arm. “But not that.”
I smiled, lowering my gaze. “So, Leon dropped by yesterday.”
Her head shot up, a gentle warning flaring in her gaze. “Don’t.”
I raised both palms. “I know, I know... but he asked about you.”
I didn’t miss the way her fingers fumbled anxiously with the frayed threads on her ripped jeans. “Still… don’t.”
