The uncertain way he licks his lips contradicts his shaking head. “I’m not saying that word.”
“I don’t understand.” My chest rises sharply, eyes prickling. “You’re my best friend.”
His gaze holds mine, like he’s searching for any hint of duplicity. There is none. In a couple of short months, this man has become my best friend, my cheerleader, my rock. I don’t know how to handle losing him.
But I can see it, the anguish he wears, the heartache etched in his eyes, making it waver. Only I’m not sure why it’s there.
Until he swallows, thick and slow, and finally speaks his next words.
“It’s not enough for me anymore.”
I stagger backward as the words sink in.
Not enough? But…I’ve always been enough for him.
Tears well in my eyes, ready to spill. My fingers close around my tightening throat, trying to claw away the anxious thoughts, the fear that he’ll leave and take all of me with him even though I’ll be left standing right here, all alone, like I’ve been all my life.
I’ve shown him all of me, and he doesn’t want me.
Garrett’s hands close around my wrists, bringing me into his chest. He dips his face, his chest heaving in time with mine. “You are nothing short of perfect, Jennie.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t be leaving.”
His lips part, eyes running over me, even as the elevator dings and springs open. Emily steps off, smiling brightly at us.
“Hey, lovebirds.”
Garrett’s mouth opens, but before he can say anything, his phone rings. He digs it out of his pocket, and his sister’s name, Alexa, shines on the screen. He curses under his breath, and when he looks back at me, his eyes swim with so much pain, confusion, heartache, I can’t separate it all. I don’t want to be the cause of any of it. I want to help him through this.
“Garrett, I—”
His phone rings again, and he swallows. “I have to go. I’m sorry, Jennie.”
I don’t want him to apologize. I want him to stay.
He hesitates before cupping my jaw, thumb sweeping over my lower lip. He brings his mouth to mine in a kiss that feels so much like good-bye, one I’m not ready for, one I don’t want.
His warm hands fall away, leaving me feeling cold and exposed, his stare flooded with regret as it touches my face, like he’s memorizing the way I look. Garrett brushes a fallen wave off my neck, kisses the tip of my nose, and with one last look, leaves me standing there as he brings his phone to his ear.
When the elevator door closes behind him, I meet Emily’s gaze.
“Hey,” she whispers. “You okay?”
My throat burns and I lick my lips, staring up at the ceiling.
And then it happens. My vision clouds. My nose tingles. No amount of blinking helps. My mouth opens to answer, chin trembling, but instead that first tear falls, followed by the second, and the third, all of them cascading down my cheeks, and Emily soars across the hallway.
She holds my quivering body tight to hers, and my words finally come, broken and shattered, just like me.
“You said he wanted me too.”
CHAPTER 32
SECOND CHANCES
GARRETT
I’ve spent twelve hours on an airplane today.
Twelve fucking hours, Denver to Vancouver, Vancouver to Halifax.
Nova Scotia isn’t at all where I expected to find myself this morning when I woke up, but here I am. It’s just after eleven p.m., my time, when I touchdown in Halifax, but here on the east coast, it’s three in the morning.
Three in the fucking morning, and instead of home, where it should be, I find my dad’s car exactly where I knew it would be: the only twenty-four-hour diner around. He’s the only customer here, aside from the same old man who’s been sitting at the counter every morning at the ass crack of dawn for the last twenty years.
“Alycia,” I greet the woman behind the counter, the one who smiles brightly when I walk in, despite the hint of remorse. She’s been working here since we were sixteen. I used to drop her off for her shift, then drive back an hour before it ended, sit at the counter and dip my free French fries in my free shake while I waited for my girlfriend to get off work so we could make out in the backseat of my car. “What are you doing still working here? You said you were going to quit.”
“Garrett.” She pushes through the swinging door and engulfs me in a hug, familiar and warm. “Just a couple extra shifts here and there. Kids are so damn expensive.” She pulls back, her eyes soft and kind like they always were. Once upon a time we said we were going to get married. But she wanted me to stay here, and I wanted to leave. Things weren’t meant to be, and that’s okay. “I tried calling you, but your number’s different now. I was going to stop by your place on the way home this morning, let your mom know he was here.”
“How long’s he been here?”
“Two hours, give or take. Figure he came by when the bar closed.” Her gaze lands on my dad, slumped over in a booth. “Hasn’t had a thing to eat or drink since he’s been here.”
“What about before?”
She shrugs. “Not sure. He doesn’t want to talk, so I’ve let him be.”
“Thanks for keeping an eye on him.”
She catches my elbow as I turn away. “Will you be around for a couple days?”
I shake my head. “My flight is at noon.”
She squeezes gently. “Take care of yourself.”
My dad is tucked away in the back corner, head in his hands, eyes downcast. For a moment, sympathy takes over, and I feel for the man. But then I think about the wife and daughters he left at home, afraid and without answers, and I remember being in that position too many times to count. And anger wins.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Dad’s head snaps up as I stand above him, eyes bloodshot, face tear streaked. Just like that, every bit of anger wavers, ebbing when—for once—I want it to flow. I’ve never been good at holding onto it. It makes me feel sick, miserable, tired. But I need an outlet, and I thought for sure this would be it, because making Jennie my outlet several hours ago sure as fuck wasn’t it.
“Garrett.” He swipes furiously beneath his eyes. “What are you…What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here? You have a family who depends on you to come home, to be present. Instead you’re out all night getting drunk.”
“I’m…no.” His head shakes rapidly, and while his eyes are tired and red rimmed, they don’t have that sluggish, glazed look to them, the one that told me his mood when I was younger, whether I could talk to him, or if I should hide out in my bedroom for the rest of the night.
He reaches under his coat, showing me the neck on a bottle of whiskey, the seal still intact, before he quickly covers it back up. “I didn’t.”
“What about before this? At the bar?”
“I wanted to. Fuck, I wanted to.” He drags his fingers through his hair, tugging. “I ordered it. Whiskey neat. Double. Stared at it for five fucking hours. Wouldn’t let the bartender take it away but couldn’t bring myself to drink it either.” He scrubs a hand over his eyes before choking out his next words. “I’m a fucking failure.”