The realization hit me hard and brought on fresh tears that wrenched sobs from my chest. I sat down on the edge of the tub and cried hard for myself, for my crushed dreams, for my broken heart.
I couldn’t sleep.
I lay there alone in Oliver’s old bed in the dark for hours. Awake. Empty. Aching.
I missed him. I missed the excited feeling I’d woken up with this morning. I mourned the dreams we’d shared.
What if I never got over him? What if I never met anyone else who pushed my buttons the way he did? What if no one else ever got to me the way he did? Was I destined to live alone, cursing him and his stupidity for the rest of my life? Was he?
Relationships were fucking hard, and I’d never been able to make it work with someone, never known that feeling of contentment and security. I’d never let myself be as vulnerable as I’d been over the last few days—and I never would again. It hurt too much to know it had been a mistake.
God, Oliver. We came so close.
The old house was creaky in the wind, and more than once I heard strange noises that made my eyes pop wide open and my heart beat faster. I’d never liked being alone in the dark.
When I heard rain begin to drum against the windowpane, I got up and turned the bathroom light on, leaving the door partway open just to give me a little bit of light. On my way back to bed, I caught sight of something shiny on the dresser.
The ring.
I hadn’t noticed it before, when I’d fallen into bed exhausted and cried out. Why hadn’t he taken it with him when he’d left, like I’d asked?
I walked over to the dresser, the old wood floor creaking under my bare feet. Picking up the ring, I stared at it for a moment before slipping it onto my finger again. Then I examined it on my hand, fingers outstretched.
Oliver, I thought, my broken heart sinking deeper. You bastard.
I would have said yes.
That’s what killed me. I knew myself. And I knew how I felt about him. If I was honest, I had to admit that if there had been no games, no scheme to get the money, no betrayal of my trust, and Oliver had said to me last night, maybe as he held me in his arms or moved inside me or kissed me goodnight, I’ve always loved you, spend the rest of your life with me … I would have said yes. It would have been crazy and fast and impulsive, but it was the truth.
I climbed back in bed and wept into my pillow.
I would have said yes.
22
Oliver
NOW
I heard her crying in the bathroom, and it damn near broke me.
The moment she shut the door, I heard the gut-wrenching gasps, and I immediately rushed in her direction.
But I stopped with my hand on the knob.
She doesn’t want you. You’ll only make things worse.
My hand fell, and I backed away.
What was I going to say to her that I hadn’t already said? How was I going to make this better? Which words were the ones to make her see that I hadn’t lied to her, that I wanted to be with her, that I’d made a mistake, yes—but I was human and still figuring shit out.
I loved her. I’d never loved anyone the way I loved her. Shouldn’t that count for something?
I felt like it should, but I also felt like she was right—I didn’t deserve another chance.
Backing away from the door, I glanced at the ring on the dresser. She’d told me to take it with me when I left.
I walked over to it and picked it up, recalling the cringe-worthy proposal and the clumsy way I’d struggled to get the ring on her finger.
Fuck. What had I been thinking? She deserved so much better.
A better proposal. A better love story. A better man.
I replaced the ring on the dresser and left the room. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to take it. Maybe she wouldn’t wear it on her finger, but I wasn’t sorry I’d given it to her. And maybe if I left it here, she’d know that I’d meant what I said.
She’d always been the only one for me.
When I went downstairs, I avoided the family room where the card games were going on and instead went into the library. Shutting the door behind me, I turned off the light and lay down on the leather couch in front of the fireplace. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but at least this was a quiet place to think.
With one hand behind my head, I stretched out on my back and let the memories of my friendship with her unspool. I saw us as kids jumping off that roof. I saw us as teenagers at the prom. I saw her sitting on my dorm room bed asking me to have sex with her, telling me she wanted me to take her virginity but not call her afterward—even then, she didn’t trust me with her heart.
She’d been right.
I saw her devastated expression the following Christmas, when I’d lied to her, saying that I’d only done it because I’d pitied her. I’d wanted to hurt her because she didn’t want me the way I wanted her, and I was too young and stupid to see that I should have been honest with her instead of playing games.
I saw her laughing and rosy-cheeked as we got tipsy on scotch between two twin beds at Hughie’s graduation party. I saw her standing above me, a leg over my shoulder, as I buried my tongue inside her. I saw her back as she angrily stomped away from me down the hall after realizing I’d timed her orgasm.
That memory actually brought a smile.
I saw her standing at the bar in a gorgeous gown at a hospital fundraiser, I saw her hesitate before getting onto that elevator with me, I saw her naked and sweaty and shameless against a hotel room door.
I remembered a cab ride to the airport after we said goodbye in Chicago, hating myself for being too immature and unworthy of her.
I saw her give me the finger at a Cloverleigh Christmas party. I felt the sting of her palm across my cheek. I heard the hurt and anger in her voice as she accused me of betraying her with Brown Eyed Girl.
I saw the wary suspicion in her eyes as I persuaded her to give me one week to convince her to partner with me. I heard her say, Some things don’t change. Some people don’t change.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I was the same selfish asshole I’d been all those years. I’d fucked up so many times. How many chances did one man deserve?
And what could I say to get her to give me another?
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there in the dark, but eventually I heard everyone else go up to bed, and a while later, I heard the rain begin. It drummed against the library windowpanes, the wind pressing against the glass. When lightning flashed and thunder began to rumble in the distance, I thought of Chloe alone upstairs and wondered if she was nervous. I knew she didn’t like storms or the dark. Imagining her up there alone and scared made my chest tight.
Leave her be. She doesn’t want you.
But eventually I couldn’t stand it anymore.
I got up from the couch and hurried quietly from the library, up the stairs, and down the hall. When I reached my old bedroom door, I hesitated for just a second, but then opened it.
I saw right away that she’d left the bathroom light on and the door ajar, and it wrenched my heart. Lightning illuminated the room for a moment, and I saw that she was asleep, lying on her side with her left hand on the pillow next to her face.
There was something shiny on her finger.
Had it been a trick of the light, or was she wearing the ring? Hoping she wouldn’t wake up and catch me lurking over her in bed like a stalker, I moved closer, my stomach muscles tight.