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Anger and disappointment swirl through me. Why won’t this girl talk to me? It’s been weeks and I’ve tried, I really have. Whatever. No more.
“You’re right, I guess it doesn’t matter.” A defeated sigh escapes me. “I thought you and I were . . . something more. Apparently not.” My lips press into a thin line and my head shakes.
Her eyes flash up to mine and tears linger at the edge. I hate those tears, but I hate how I feel even more—pathetic. I shouldn’t have come here. I thought this would be easier; I thought I’d get some answers. I thought wrong.
I take another step back and memorize her beautiful face, one last time.
“Ash . . .” she says taking a step closer to me.
“Merry Christmas, Avery.”
With my head down, I turn and walk down the hall, away from her, and to the elevator. How is it possible to be completely in love with a girl, yet so angry at her at the same time? Never in my life did I think I would ever be in a situation like this—and because of Juliet. That’s what this is all about, right?
This just sucks. I’m thirty years old and pining over a girl that’s made it crystal clear over the last two weeks that she doesn’t want me.
Leaving her building, flurries drift through the air, and I look for Clay. He was going to come up with me to see Emma, but he got distracted on the way in and changed his mind. I don’t know what it was, but it didn’t matter, I just needed to see her.
And I did.
I saw her and she saw me.
It’s funny, because over the last couple of years, I’ve felt like something was missing from my life, from me, and I always thought, “How do you miss something you’ve never had?” Because if I’d known what it was I was missing, I would’ve found it. Well, now I know, only it didn’t want to be found. And now here I am, walking down the cold street by myself wishing I was anywhere but here.
WATCHING ASH WALK away is probably one of the most soul wrenching things I’ve ever had to do. His hands are tucked into his coat pockets pulling it tight across his back. His head is dropped down just a little as his shoulders slouch forward, and his walk, which usually holds a swagger looks more stiff than relaxed. Every part of me aches to run after him and beg him to stay.
But I had to do it.
His reaction when I asked about Juliet told me everything I needed to know. The muscles in his jaw ticked as he grit his teeth, his brow furrowed, and he immediately grew angry when I brought her up. He made me feel like I wasn’t allowed to talk about her. At all. How am I supposed to open myself up even more than I already have when he’s keeping secrets? Why didn’t he tell me about her? He should have over six weeks ago.
The elevator dings and Ash steps in. Not once does he glance back in my direction. As the door closes and it whisks him away, the silence in the hall surrounds me, mocking me.
He’s gone.
I’m alone.
And with him, he took my heart.
My teeth start chattering as the cold draft in the hallway settles in under my clothes, and big, fat tears roll down my cheeks as devastation sinks in. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish it wasn’t ending. I clench my hands and feel the gift. A gift he took the time to bring to me. Looking down, my heart leaps in my chest. It’s wrapped so prettily. I hug it to my chest, clinging to it as if it were him. Turning around, I walk back into the apartment and quietly close the door.
I didn’t think seeing him would feel like this, and I feel ruined. I mean, I hadn’t forgotten how handsome he is—I’ve been staring at his photos for weeks now—but seeing him in person, being sucked into his magnetism, no photo will ever do him justice. A hollowness moves into my chest and it makes me feel like I can’t breathe.
Tank circles my legs as we make our way back to my room. Even she was happy to see him, standing there wagging her tail. Traitor.
Sitting down on my bed, I hold the gift up to my nose and smell it. I know it’s irrational, but just to get a whiff of his cologne, something, would make me feel better. Only there’s nothing, just the smell of paper, so I lower it back to my lap.
Staring at the present, part of me doesn’t want to open it. I know that’s crazy, but if I leave it unopened, it’s like there is still unfinished business between the two of us . . . but deep down, I know I’m not ready for us to be over. The other part of me, however, is really excited to see what’s in the box. After all, he hand-delivered it. Maybe he was already in town, or maybe not, either way, he took the time to come here, and I do find that very,veryendearing.
Gently shaking it, something hard hits the edges, and as curiosity wins out, I carefully slide the bow off as to not disrupt its shape and set it on the bed. My finger carefully slips under the edge of the paper to pull the tape free, but not rip it. The silver paper is thick, perfectly cut, and it’s beautiful.
I officially love silver because he picked this out for me.
Setting the paper next to the bow with trembling fingers, I grip the lid of the white box and my heart begins to pound. I can’t pinpoint why I’m so anxious to open this, but I am.
Lifting the lid, there sitting on top of red tissue paper is a letter folded in half with my name scribbled in his handwriting. My stomach squeezes. I wasn’t expecting a letter too.
Dear Ava,
I had hoped to be giving you this next week at the lake, but when I was honest with myself, I realized you were never going to come.
