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The fear.
Love.
He felt the gravity of it. The weight. It was a pressure on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Because he could see this image ten, twenty, thirty years into the future. He could see them together—happy, complete. But he could also see the pain, the suffering, the loss. The aching blackness that consumed every part of his day, holding him back from living.
How could he possibly risk going through it all again?
“Kea? Did you hear me?”
“I’m not wasting my life, August.” He sighed. “I’m trying to fulfill Ellery’s dream because I promised her I would.”
“Did you know what Wall Street wasreallylike, back then?” she asked. “When you were fresh out of college and working at the bottom of the ladder.”
“No,” he admitted.
“Did Ellery know?” she prodded.
“I don’t think so.”
His wife had been the high-achieving, ambitious type from the day he met her, but would she have climbed over others to get to the top? Would she have caused whatever collateral damage was required for her to reach her goal?
No.
He’d never thought about it before, but the answer was there.
“If she was still alive, do you think she would be happy with the kind of work you were doing?” August’s voice was soft. She wasn’t frustrated with him. She wasn’t yelling. Instead, she was trying to get him to look at things from another angle...one he hadn’t considered before.
“If she was still alive, I’d be very happy to ask her that question. But the fact is, she’s dead and she’s not coming back.” He gritted the words out, grief welling anew, bright and glossy like blood rushing to the surface of a cut. “Just like you could have been this morning.”
She winced and he felt like a bastard.
“I’m not trying to poke at a raw spot,” she said. “I promise.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Molly watching them. She was lying on the very end of the bed, head resting over her paws and her eyes wide and alert. For once, not a peep came out of the usually vocal, dramatic dog.
“Then whatareyou trying to do?” he asked—though the question felt aimed at himself as much as August.
“I’m trying to show you that promises are...”
“Made to be broken?”
“No, of course not. But promises are made to be revisited. They’re made to be evaluated and updated,” she said. “And I know you can’t have her input into that process, which is a great tragedy. Butyoucan do those things.Youcan ask yourself if you think she would have wanted you to make such a promise with the information you have now.”
She wouldn’t have.
“I can hear the answer in your lack of response,” August said. She came over to him but didn’t touch him, almost like she was approaching a wounded animal with caution.
Everything was too close to the surface right now—anger, fear, desire, regret. After spending the last ten years doing his best to pack that all down as far as it could go, the feelings had sprung back up like a jack-in-the-box and it was too much.
“I know I’m saying some things that are pretty hard to hear,” she said.
“But you say them anyway.”
A white T-shirt covered August’s top half, shaping and hugging her curves. The effect was tantalizing and that only made him angrier at himself.
You should have gotten out of here on the first night. You’re weak around her.
“When you care about someone, you say the hard things. You have the difficult conversations. Because a moment of anger is worth it to know that you tried to help.” She bit down on her lip. “You’ve twisted the promise you made your wife so you can justify the stasis in your life. Would she really want you to work in a job that makes you go against your ethics just for the sake of money that you don’t actually need anymore? Your mom and Leah are set for life.”
