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Chapter Twenty-Six
Andi was a goddamned mess by the time she pulled onto her street. She’d mostly held it together in front of Hill, leaning into her anger and frustration instead of into the heartbreak she was experiencing. But as soon as she’d turned out of the parking lot of the event, all of her bluster had given way to the helpless feeling of knowing what she wanted and it being impossible to get.
Hill had danced with her, kissed her in front of everyone, and then told her he was falling in love with her. It’d been the most romantic evening of her life. She could tell none of it had been part of his plan. He’d seemed so overwhelmed by all of it, like the feelings had blindsided him. Knowing that she’d done that to him, that the stoic firefighter had been taken down by emotion for her had felt like magic, like she’d been filled up with helium and could fly.
She’d suddenly understood what the heroines in those romantic comedies felt—like yes,this guy. Not because the guy was handsome or funny or brave or whatever it was that made him stand out at first, but because he made the heroine feel seen and understood in a way no one else ever had. That he saw the good stuff and the ugly stuff and loved all parts of that mix. But as quickly as she’d gotten to experience those emotions, they’d been ripped away.
Yes, Hill could love her. No, he wasn’t going to let himself.
They were done.
Just like that.
And the worst part was that he had convinced himself that he was doing it for Andi’s own good. Like he was saving her from the fate of being with him.God.She could shake him and his hard head.
She wasn’t experienced at relationships or love. She could admit that much. But she wasn’t a sixteen-year-old girl anymore either. Hill saw her as inexperienced because she hadn’t had relationships, but he wasn’t counting every guy she hadn’t trusted, every dude she’d passed up, every date she’d turned down. She hadn’twantedto say yes to anyone until she met him. That had to mean something. That had to be more than seeking the “safe guy.”
She scoffed as she turned into her driveway.Safe.What a fucking joke that was. Hill wasn’t safe. He was the most dangerous guy out there. He was the one she was falling in love with, the one who had the power to crush her heart with a few choice words. The one who was so wrapped up in a cloud of depression that he couldn’t see what they could have, what the possibilities were, how great they could be together.
She wanted to wrestle that monster off his back, to stop it from putting its claws over his eyes and blocking his view of what was really there, but it was bigger than she was. She couldn’t will him out of that state. Her feelings for him couldn’t magically cure his trauma, just like his couldn’t take away what had happened to her. That was his fight.
In one respect, he was right. They wouldn’t last. Not if he believed that he wasn’t worthy of her. Not if he thought he was holding her back or that she was one second away from some other guy catching her eye.
The way he viewed himself made her heart hurt. All those people in that room tonight had looked at him as a hero, as someone who’d sacrificed for the good of others. She’d nearly had to challenge other women to an arm-wrestling contest to win the bidding war. But none of that admiration seemed to penetrate Hill’s armor.
Eliza had once told her that until you can learn to love yourself, no one else can love you enough to make up for that hole. As much as Andi wanted to be with Hill, she didn’t want to spend her life shoveling dirt into a hole only he could fill. Which meant…
She was going to have to let him go. Even if her heart wanted him. Even if this connection with him felt special and right in a way nothing had before.
The cold reality of it was like a fresh kick to the gut.
She parked in her driveway, ready to get into her yoga pants, curl up on the couch with a pint of ice cream, and watch a movie where everyone was killed and no one fell in love.
She turned off the engine, grabbed her purse, and climbed out of the car. As she headed up the driveway, her heels clicked along the pavement and she mentally scrolled through a list of movies, trying to decide which would be the perfect post-breakup horror movie. But before she could pick one, something made her pull up short, yanking her from her thoughts. She halted one step away from the little path that would lead her to the porch steps and her front door.
Something wasn’t right. She gripped her keys and stared up at the house, trying to place what was giving her pause.
The porch light.
It wasn’t on. She was sure she’d turned it on before she’d left tonight. She always flipped it on when she knew she’d be returning home in the dark. She frowned at the darkened porch, the tree in the front yard throwing creepy, swaying shadows along the front of the house. She tried to think back to when she’d left, going through the scene in her head. Had she just forgotten to turn on the light?
She couldn’t remember flipping the switch, but it was a habit. She also didn’t remember grabbing her purse, but she’d obviously done that. She slid her keys between the knuckles of her left hand, pointy side out, and tucked her other hand in her purse, anxiety welling in her.
Breathe. Think through the logical explanations first.
Maybe the light bulb had burned out.
Maybe she’d forgotten to flip the switch since she’d been excited to get to the event.
She’d played this game with herself so many times, it was like second nature. She’d learned the technique in therapy early on—not going to the scariest, worst-case scenario first. But her brain was still trained to do exactly that. The horror writer was imagining all kinds of horrible scenarios.
She glanced back toward her car, which was now as far away from her as the front door. She let her gaze travel over the front yard and the side of the house she could see. There was barely any moonlight tonight, but she didn’t see any lurking shadows besides the outline of the garbage cans and the bushes. The only sound was the breeze through the trees and the steady drone of crickets.
Only a few steps to the door,she told herself.You have an alarm. No one is in the house.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat, pulled her pepper spray out of her purse, and forced herself to move her feet. She tried to imagine the warm light of her living room, the safety of the locked door behind her. She tried to tell herself that she was fine. She was just on edge from the emotional night.
But as she made her way up the porch steps, her gut instincts were screaming at her. She stopped pretending she was calm and speed-walked to her front door. But right before she got her key in the lock, a board squeaked on the porch—and she hadn’t moved her feet.
