“I think if it hadn’t happened, I would’ve carried a torch for you all these years. I wouldn’t have moved on, gotten to where I am now. It helped me, in a messed-up way, you know?”
He didn’t take it as a compliment. “Yeah, I sure helped you move on by acting like a complete jerk. You deserved better.”
He turned to her. “No. You deserve better. Better than me, that’s for sure.”
She paused, then said, “For the record, I don’t think that’s who you are anymore.”
He fidgeted with his key fob. Looked defeated. “Like you said—people don’t change.” He pushed himself up off the vehicle and faced her. “For what it’s worth—and this is long overdue—I’m really, really sorry that I hurt you.”
“Thanks for saying that.”
He looked down. “So. . .what now? What are we? Friends?”
She smiled a small smile. “I think that’s a great place to start.”
He held out his hand, dispassionately. “Well, then, hi. I’m Will Sinclair. Nice to meet you.”
She slipped her hand in his hand. It was warm, but she noticed a slight tremor.
Is he. . .nervous?
“Lauren Richmond. It’s nice to be met.”
She held his hand for longer than a moment. Then, he let go, nodded, and said, “We should go.”
“Yeah. We should.” He walked to the other side of the SUV, and a thought struck her.
“Hey, Will.”
He stopped. “Yeah?”
She smirked. “Can I drive?”
He laughed, and it looked like he needed it.
Wow, the roles have reversed.
“Absolutely not.”
She hopped in the Jeep, a feeling in her stomach. It was a strange feeling—both lighter for having unloaded her emotions and heavier with the weight of his.
Chapter 28
Will reeled at this new information.
How was it possible he’d been so cruel? How was it possible he didn’t even remember? Knowing he’d hurt her—a completely innocent, witty, smart, beautiful girl—it nearly left him undone.
He had made bad choices. Period, full stop. But up until this point, he’d believed his choices only hurt himself. Being confronted with the truth that he’d hurt other people was the most difficult thing of all. The damage he’d done made him sick.
And he had no idea how to make it up to her.
So, they drove in silence.
He only stopped for gas and restrooms.
Will drove, tormented by the harsh reality that the choices of his twenty-one-year-old self were affecting his thirty-two-year-old life today. The thing that killed him the most was that he liked Lauren. A lot. It wasn’t fair that his past should dictate his current situation, but it did. There was no way he could ask her to give him a chance now.
His penance was sacrificing his new feelings for her.
She said she’s loved me since the first time she saw me. And Will knew exactly the day she was talking about.
She handed him a Coke in the kitchen.
How could he not have known? If he had treated her the way she deserved, his whole life would be different.
But he didn’t. And he didn’t deserve her. Not then and not now.
No wonder Spencer had made him promise.
He stopped for a handful more photos on the way, mostly because he had to finish what he’d started—but the joy of this trip had been left behind in the parking lot of a little café in Missouri.
They entered Illinois, and he pointed to the green and white sign, with “The Land of Lincoln” on it. “Hey, look, almost home.”
She sighed a heavy sigh. “Yeah.”
Driving from the bottom to the top of Illinois was a long prospect even on the best of days, but Will felt this last leg of their trip interminable.
Finally, after almost a week in the car （and what felt like another week in just Illinois） They pulled off the interstate toward Pleasant Valley. It was well after dark, and as he parked in front of his house, it gently started to snow. Big, fat, Illinois flakes that stuck in crystal clumps.
Snow had a way of covering things up and quieting the world. Will said a silent prayer that it would carry with it some magic that cleaned slates, too.
Lauren got out of the car and tipped her head back, giant flakes landing in her hair and on her eyelashes. The lamppost overhead bathed her in white light, and she smiled.
In that moment, Lauren Richmond looked more beautiful than anything Will Sinclair had ever seen. It was a cruel reminder that what he wanted was right in front of him—and still just out of his reach.