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She turns and looks right at me. “You got me pregnant,” she screams. Her shout silences even the wind around us.
We stand, locked in a staring battle, as I wrap my mind around her words.
They hit harder than the biggest wave pounding down against my body, and they wind me.
“You had our baby?” I ask, confused as I race over all of the conversations we’ve had since coming back here. She didn’t say anything about children.
“No. It died. Miscarriage, but at the time, I didn’t even know I was pregnant.” As she spits the words at me, I feel the pain of what she went through. I can see it in her eyes—grief—as if it happened only yesterday. And the missing piece falls into place.
“Zee, I’m sorry.” My feet close the distance between us, and I reach out to wrap her up, desperate to offer some form of comfort.
“No.” She bristles and retreats, wrapping her arms around herself. She looks fragile and vulnerable for maybe the first time since she returned.
“You were off living your dream. And I was in a nightmare. That’s why I hate you—I had no choice—and with you gone, that feeling only grew. You remind me of what I went through. How stupid I was, and how I vowed to be stronger. You remind me how I never want to feel weak again.” Her voice quivers and cracks, and her pain bleeds through her words onto the sand and splits my heart in two.
“And you blame me for how you feel? I didn’t know. And even if I had, I couldn’t have stopped it, Zee. This isn’t my fault.” The words are bitter. “I didn’t know!” I shout back at her. “And that’s on you, Zee.” It’s my time to be angry. She’s holding a grudge against me for something I have no control over, and she kept it from me. She kept everything from me. “You had every opportunity to contact me. You didn’t. Don’t play the martyr. It doesn’t suit you.” I drop down on the beach and prop my arms over my knees, staring out at the ocean.
The memories of that summer together wash over me as the wind swirls.
The sun, the smiles, our first time.
She was the first girl I ever fell in love with. And since her, I’ve been looking for the same magic. Now, I picture what she must have seen from her eyes.
My head and heart war with each other—caught between being mad at Zennor for her deceit and wanting her to see that this wasn’t something I could change—she was crazy for blaming me.
Zennor hasn’t moved from her spot next to me, and I consider that maybe she’s in shock from her little outburst. Looking at her, I doubt she ever intended to tell me. Her game is clear now. She wanted to push me away, keep me at a distance or make me hate her in return. That’s the only thing that could make sense, although her strategy was way off. Her hate isn’t real—I hope. She’s stuck in the past, stewing in her memories.
Memories that kept my heart pumping and alive—looking for something that I once had.
Anger simmers, and I tighten my knuckles and dig my hands in the sand.
What a mess.
I keep my words to myself.
For now.
Zennor’s been holding on to this for nearly twenty years. Maybe now she’s told me we can move past the games and look at what’s right in front of us.
“I’m going to head to The King’s Port for a drink.” I feel a twinge in my leg but push past it as I stand. “Coming?” I offer and brush off the grains of sand still clinging to my jeans.
“No. I couldn’t. Not now.” She shakes, but there’s no conviction in her voice. It’s like the fight’s left with her admission.
“Just stop it, Zee. Stop pushing everything away and deal with your grief. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, so you’re going to have to face me. And despite everything, I’m hopeful there could still be an us in the future.” It comes out more aggressively than I intend, but I don’t fucking care. It’s the truth I can’t escape, even now, despite how much of a bitch she’s been.
“No.” Her voice sounds weak, and I refuse to let her push me away again.
This time I don’t take no for an answer and step towards her, not stopping until I bundle her to me and hold her as tightly as I can. She wriggles and fights to begin with, pulling away as she pushes at my arms and protests, but I hold fast, not letting her escape and squeeze tighter. Her body finally stills, and it’s sweet relief. She sags in my arms, and I take a deep breath, smelling the salt in the air and the floral notes from her shampoo.
After she gives in, I hear her gentle cries and sobs on the wind, and I wrap my arms tighter. She experienced something horrible—traumatic—at a young age, on her own. It should have been part of our shared past. But my own past has taught me to be thankful for every day you have—for everybody who is in your life.
And I want Zennor in my life.
I let her cry it out. And hope there’s a way back from this together.
CHAPTER22
ZENNOR
