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But it was in his tone, in his tense posture. He couldn’t handle me being in that state, even for such an important event.
That was the answer I hadn’t wanted.
We couldn’t move forward because the past still had us in its clutches.
“We can’t live together anymore.”
He stumbled backward as I gripped the counter for support. Those were some of the hardest words I’d ever spoken, but were necessary.
“You’re moving out?” he asked hoarsely.
It had taken all my courage to move out of Paths Of Purpose. If I needed to go back, I could. But that would be going backward when I’d worked so hard to get to this point. I cared for Holt more than I wanted to admit, but when it came to this I had to be selfish.
“No. You should.”
He blinked at me, stunned. Then he stalked toward me until he'd invaded my space. “Easy.” He tried to hold me, but I shrugged him off.
This was hard enough. I needed his comfort, but couldn't handle it. Not now.
He swallowed hard. “That’s it then?” I nodded. I couldn’t find the right words, even though I knew that underneath his secrets and fears Holt was a good man. That he wasn’t a man who played games when his heart was invested. I also knew he wouldn’t fight me on this one, and that made me feel guilty.He didn’t believe he was worth fighting for.But I didn’t have the strength to fight either. “I’ll go to my dad’s and pick up the rest of my stuff later.”
I nodded, unable to speak. If I did, I’d crumble. I was barely holding it together as it was.
He disappeared into his room and came out a few minutes later with a bag on his shoulder. A lump formed in my throat. He was really going. This was it.
Neither of us spoke as he grabbed his keys off the counter and shrugged on his leather jacket.
“I'm sorry.” He held my gaze, and I believed him. But he wasn’t sorry enough to try harder.
I jumped when the door slammed and covered my mouth to keep my cry of anguish from escaping. My legs gave way. I sank to the floor and hid my face in my knees. This time, I didn’t see any way to mend our broken relationship.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Holt
“Feel like home?”
Andrew slapped my shoulder as I slung my bag in the truck I’d left at the airport all those months ago.
Dad stared at me across the bed while I made a fuss closing the tailgate. Instead of looking at him, I shielded my eyes and took in the clear blue sky. The air was crisp as it swirled the leaves around the tires.
“No.”
Dad climbed in the cab and slid to the center of the seat as I got behind the wheel.
“Think she’ll start?” He patted the dashboard of my ’78 Ford.
“We’re about to find out.” I turned the key and she roared to life.
Dad grinned. “Knew she was a good one when we bought her.”
He’d surprised me on my fifteenth birthday with the skeleton of a truck that just needed a little life breathed into her. It had taken me a year of working on it every spare minute I had, but I’d gotten her running.
“I remember the first time you got the motor started. The way we acted, you’d have thought we won the lottery.” Andrew laughed as he recalled the day ingrained in all of our memories.
“Can’t let her go.” I gripped the steering wheel as I pulled out of the parking lot.
I’d missed this. Me and my truck and the open road. I didn’t need her in New York. The only driving I’d done since I’d been there were test runs of the cars I’d fixed.
