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Well, it’s time to call in a favor. She responds immediately, saying she can be here in a couple hours.
A couple hours of hell, sitting next to Grey and waiting for him to change his mind. Or not. He probably won’t.
But he’s here, steadfast and quiet, his body far too close. I can smell him, can almost taste him. I want to lean over and let him gather me in his strong arms and hold me. I want to lean up and kiss him one last time, to have him just for one more moment.
But I don’t. I can’t. He doesn’t want me.
Instead, I just face forward and wait and fuckingwait, feeling my heart shrivel inside of me with each passing minute. This is a special kind of hell. This longing and utter need for another person who is right there, right next to you, but you still can’t have them.
I will never be enough for him.
Finally, Becca appears in her run-down car and Grey stiffens next to me. He knows what this means, that this is over. I stand up on shaky legs and move toward the passenger-side door. Grey follows silently.
He reaches down, brushing past my side, opening the door for me.
That’s when I let the first tear fall. Meeting his stare, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth.
“When you’re ready to make this work, find me,” I tell him, and Grey’s nostrils flare.
This means that I love him and that I’ll wait for him to come around.
I’ll fucking wait.
Before he can respond, I slip inside the car and the hinges creak as Grey closes the door behind me. He stands there, his hands in his pockets, his lips in a pained frown as we drive off. I can’t look.
I can’t stop looking.
“You gonna be okay?” Becca asks, her dark eyes flicking over to me.
I pull my knees up into my chest and shake my head.
“No. Nothing is okay.”
ChapterNineteen
Grey
Ispend the next two days in my camper, face down on the bed, Quinn’s pillow tucked against my face, Winter whining next to my still form.
I’m in a bad way, a bad place.
Depressed is one word for it. Utter ruin might be a better term.
I did a bad thing and wrecked it all. And what hurts the most is not the angry texts from my ex-wife or the radio silence from my son, but the absence of Quinn.
I shouldn’t have told him to go. I should have made him stay.
I should have kept one thing for myself, one goddamn thing, instead of pushing him away. But I didn’t. I was too afraid of what it could mean, losing Joshua forever. But it didn’t matter because I still lost Joshua. And now I’ve lost Quinn too.
“I made a mistake, Winter,” I murmur, his one eye blinking sadly at me. I swipe at my cheeks which are damp from the tears. It’s all I do now—just cry into his pillow like a sad sack.
“Shouldn’t have let him go,” I whisper, and Winter whines in agreement. He knows what’s up. He’s been silently judging me this entire time.
I don’t blame him. At least he’s stuck around. God, imagine if Quinn had insisted on taking him? I’d be all alone out here to wither and rot.
It says a lot about him that he didn’t do that—that he didn’t intentionally try to hurt me back, when it’s obvious I hurt him. He had my back even when I didn’t have his.
“You miss him, huh?” I ask, and Winter’s tongue darts out and licks a stripe up my cheek.
