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“You’re not. She is.”
I scowl. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have had this argument.”
She scoffs. “Are you kidding? She came here to drag me home.”
“Because of me.”
“No,” she insists. “Because of Grandma. She’s taking her frustration with Grandma out on me.”
I run a hand along my jaw. Damn this is hard. I’d rather perform a concert completely naked with my junk on display than have this conversation.
“The argument between your mom and your grandma was about me.”
She waves away my argument. “Mom and Grandma fought all the time.”
“Maybe they did, but the fight that caused them to stop speaking to each other was about me.” I tap my chest. “I’m the reason they didn’t speak for over a decade. Me.”
She steps toward me but I back away.
“No, Cash. No. If the fight hadn’t been about you, it would have been about something else. You weren’t the reason. You were the excuse.”
She’s wrong. I am the reason. This is all my fault.
I’m such an idiot. What made me think I could keep Indy? I don’t deserve her. She’s way too good for me. Something her mom will never let me forget.
“Maybe your mom is right. Maybe we should—”
Indy’s growl cuts me off. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
“It’s true. I’m not good enough for you.”
“Who says? Is there some scoreboard somewhere keeping track of who’s good enough for whom I don’t know about? Is there an app I need to download?”
“I’m being serious.”
She pokes my chest. “So.” Poke. “Am.” Poke. “I.”
I capture her hand. When I realize I’m drawing circles on her skin with my thumbs, I release her. I can’t do what has to be done if I’m touching her. Feeling her skin. Feeling the electricity flowing between us like a live wire.
“It’s my fault.” I pause to swallow. I don’t want to say this. I don’t want to hurt Indy, but it needs to be said.
“What are you talking about now?”
“It’s my fault your mom wasn’t at Saffron’s funeral.”
She scowls. “No, it’s Mom’s fault for holding a grudge.”
“It’s my fault, Indy. If your Mom and Grandma hadn’t had this big argument about me, your mom would have been at the funeral to support you.”
“I didn’t need her. I had you.”
Her declaration makes me pause. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I can fill the hole left by her mother. Maybe I can—
I press the heel of my palm against my heart where I feel an emptiness left by my mother dying. I’m kidding myself. I can’t fill the hole the absence of her mother would cause in Indy.
“I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what?”
