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“I hate that I’m hurting you.”
No more than I hate myself for doing what I said I wouldn’t do: leave her. But I can give her what she truly wants—what she needs. Her husband’s health. And what I want more than anything: Lo’s happiness. And to do that, I must leave her. Because I can’t look at this woman a moment longer knowing I can never make her mine.
With strength I had no idea I possessed, I force her away from my body so I can see her face. Gently, I wipe under her eyes and push her hair away from her cheeks. Her hand clasps mine on her face and squeezes, and I let my gaze drift back onto hers. “I’d rather not have you at all than have you heartbroken.” I’m honest. She’s barely together now. If Billy dies, she’ll be completely shattered. I can’t compete with a dead man’s memory. I couldn’t live with myself knowing I could have done something to prevent her agony, even if it causes mine. I can’t win here, and I need to stop trying. This is the right thing to do. Giving her the money to save Billy is the right thing to do.
“I’m heartbroken either way.” Her voice cracks, and the tears spill from her eyes again. Our foreheads meet, green glass staring into gray. “Either way, I lose one of you.”
I yank her into my chest and let her overwrought body vibrate against me, breathing her into me. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” I barely get the words past the colossal lump in my throat. Ironically, she’s also the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t know how I’m going to get over Lo Harper, but I must move on and take comfort from the fact that I loved her enough to let her go.
Her sobs are low and suppressed, and though I’d love nothing more than to keep her here with me, I can’t. Breaking away, I get up off the bed. I can’t look at her. “You should call the hospital,” I say, hating myself more for stalling her in doing what she should have done before I offloaded my shit on her. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready to go.” I walk out in a haze of ruin, my heart shattered, my eyes brimming with tears. I sniff and roughly wipe them away. Destroyed. But at least Lo will heal.
Once I have a coffee in my hand, I look down into the still, dark liquid and wonder where it came from. I recall none of the motions of making it. Not loading the machine, fetching a mug, nothing. I look across the kitchen, vacant, and see Steve and Boris tucking into a bowl of biscuits. I don’t recall feeding them. Should Boris be eating puppy food? Then I shiver and see the French doors into the garden open. I don’t remember letting them out to go toilet. I’m losing my mind.
I drag my feet to my home office, glancing up the stairs as I pass. I call a cab and then find my check book in the top drawer. I sign it blank, slowly ripping it free and folding it in half.
This is Lo’s ticket to happiness.
It’s my ticket to despair.
I call Dr. Smith and wait ages for his secretary to find him. I explain Lo’s change in financial circumstances. I hear hope in his voice. I hang up and slump back in my chair. And I stare at thin air for what feels like a lifetime.
“I couldn’t find you in the kitchen.”
I look up and find Lo in the doorway, though I refute my mind’s desire to drink her in, to make notes on what she’s wearing and how lovely she is. “There’s a cab on the way.” A car horn sounds from outside, and Lo looks over her shoulder.
“For me?” she asks, definite hurt tinging her voice.
“To take you to the hospital after you’ve taken Boris home. Is there someone to look after him while you’re at the hospital?”
She slowly pivots back toward me and runs assessing eyes all over my face. “I could ask my mother-in-law.”
I nod and get up, closing the distance between us, handing her the small piece of paper. “It’s blank. I wasn’t sure how much exactly you needed.”
She stares at the paper hovering between us. I can feel her sudden hesitance.
“Take it, Lo,” I order calmly, reaching for her hand and placing it in her palm. “Now go. The taxi’s paid for.”
Lifting her chin, she faces me, and though her eyes are clouded, I see hope beyond her current, temporary turmoil. And that’s the whole fucking point, isn’t it? I am just a temporary ache that will be eased with time and the recovery of her husband. Any other way than this, the pain will linger forever.
