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“I forgive you.” My hands drop to the bed of my bike as she visibly swallows.Breathe, Lance. “For everything. All of it. And if you need us, you just call me or Mase.”
I don’t dare blink as she turns in a rush and walks up the steps to the house.
There are many things I regret. So much I’ll never be able to take back. It’s why I have so many apologies to make. And yet I never expected forgiveness from any of them, least not Nina.
She was the fifth person on my list.
When I arrive back at Elliot’s home an hour later, I take my time to climb from my bike, wanting to draw out every second before I have to close the door behind me. There’s a sad quiet about the house that I can’t stand. Being here feels wrong, and yet this is supposedlyhomenow.
It’s technically all I have to my name.
I opt for a shower before I make something to eat. My mind is too busy playing a show reel of Scarlet’s face as she stood on the gravel in front of me to allow me to consider how hungry I am.
For a long time, I dreamt about how seeing her again might go. At first, it was happy. She’d run for me, and I’d grab her, lifting her in my arms and hauling her to my body. I’d get lost in her. She’d love me. We’d be perfect again.
It wasn’t until a couple of years had passed that I found myself letting go of that dream.
Because maybe time can heal all wounds, but Scarlet Lowell wasn’t a wound that needed to be healed. She was, and is, the only woman I have, and will, ever love.
She changed me.
She fixed me.
She made me better.
And if she taught me anything, it’s that it’s okay to be afraid of the darkness, the tears in our souls, because when the sun comes up we can choose to be okay.
We can be broken, and we can be okay.
I eventually leave my shower and pull on a T-shirt and jeans before I head downstairs to the kitchen. With minimal options for a hot meal, I take the leftover pasta from last night out of the fridge and eat it cold. I wash up the few dishes from this morning and the bowl I’ve used, and then I stand at the kitchen island, hands spread out on the cool marble countertop as I stare down at the stack of letters in front of me.
I scratch at the scruff coating my jaw, my gaze unwavering.
There’s nothing in those letters that will domeany good. And the only reason I’m contemplating opening them is because it seems to be what she needs.
I never wanted to hear what she had to say—I couldn’t.
I love you.
I need you.
I miss you.
I’ll wait for you.
“God. You have no idea! You have no idea because you chose yourself. You chose you.”
She was right before. I did choose myself, and I do need her to be okay. I need to know that I made the right choice. That it was what was best for her as well as me. For all of them.
“Fuck.” I push off the counter and walk to the fridge, pulling it open and reaching for a beer.
I place it on the countertop harder than intended and watch as froth seeps down the bottle’s neck.
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, heart racing.
Just one.
“I’ll open one.”
