“The thing is, logically, I understand. Because you’ve got a Connection to him, too. But I guess I’m the failure of an Emotional my father warned I’d turn out to be, because in the last six months, I learned that I can’t always live logically. I can’t pretend, either. You deserted me. I’m not okay with that, even though you thought you were doing the right thing. I know you think that; I feel it in you.” He pauses. “I guess I’d thought—hoped—I’d meant more to you than that.” Another pause. And then, “I’m not okay with you having a relationship with us both. It’s not who I am. It’s not what I want. At one point, I wondered if maybe I could, if I could just learn to control my feelings better. If I could just pretend better. Be the better person. Be who you two needed me to be.” He shakes his head. “I’m not that guy, Chloe. I’d rather live with the pain. I’m sorry, but . . .”
He stands up. My legs jerk me up, too, but then refuse to move anywhere else. And all I can think is, oh my gods, oh my gods, this is not happening.
Now that I know what I want, this cannot be happening.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. His hand must be cramping by now. And then he takes my heart out of my chest. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m . . .” He swallows hard, and then, voice barely loud enough to hear, “Done.” Louder, “I—I have to go.”
The urge to scream, plead, fall to his feet and beg for forgiveness, another chance, anything at all, clamors against my skull and rib cage. But in the end, I simply nod, because if he needs to go, I have to let him. All I’ve ever done is take from him. It’s time to give. If he needs me to let him go, I must do it, even though it’s the absolute last thing I want.
When he passes me, he slows down, the pull between us vicious and unforgiving. He must feel the love I have for him. It’s impossible to hide any longer. But his feet are better than mine, stronger, too, because they keep moving. Down the hallway, out the front door.
Out of my life.
Will and Cameron, accompanied by Erik, come home from their walk to find me still standing exactly where Jonah left me. I’m not sure if I’m still crying. I don’t know how much time has passed. I vaguely hear Erik telling Cameron words like shock and time, and then Will pushes me toward my bedroom and gets me into bed. He offers to stay with me, but I send him away. I need to be by myself right now.
I lie here for the entire night, awake, thinking about what I’ve done. I want to fight for Jonah, for us, but if he’s done with me, would I be only prolonging the festering wounds I’ve inflicted upon his soul? They need to heal. All of the injuries we’ve developed this last year need to heal. Scar tissue needs to develop. But it’s hard to give him that room now that I know what I want.
I don’t know what to do and it terrifies me. I won’t run, though. I’ll never run again. I’ve got to prove to him that I’ve changed. That I understand things better now. Running doesn’t solve anything.
But I’m helpless right now. There’s nothing I can create that will fix this. Only time, and time is the most brutal of all solutions, because there is no way to manipulate it in your favor.
Kellan shows up the next morning as I listlessly roam around the apartment. Dark purplish smudges under his eyes tell me right away how his mission went, and old habits die hard, because guilt festers in the bit of my belly for asking him to come over so I can explain why I abandoned him last year when he clearly ought to be resting. Nothing says loving support like breaking someone’s heart after a grueling day at work.
We linger at the door for several minutes, him right outside the threshold, me right inside. Our awkward conversation goes like this:
Me: “You look tired.”
Him: “I’m fine.”
Me: “We can do this tomorrow, if you want to go sleep first.”
Him: “I said I’m fine.”
Me: “Want to come in?”
Him: “Who the hell owns this place anyway?”
Me: “Cameron. It’s—I guess it was his wife’s. And his. I mean, they were married, so—”
Him: “I can’t believe you’re living with these guys. Why are you living here? You have an apartment of you own. It’s still there. Everything’s still there.”
Me: “Oh. I’d wondered. Want to come in?”
Him: “Fine. Whatever.”
And now we’re in the kitchen, me making him a cup of coffee because I genuinely fear he’s going to pass out from exhaustion and him leaning against the counter, watching me.
The thing is, as I study him, I can’t help but acknowledge just how much I love him. But now that I’m here—we’re here—and after everything that went down yesterday, it crushes me to know that, despite everything, despite my feelings for him, his for me, how good we are with one another, and how I still dream at times of a life we could have together, I need his brother more.
And I don’t hide it from him. Maybe that makes me a bitch, but I can’t do this anymore. I have to be honest. We have to be honest.
“I fucked up,” is what I tell him first. Thankfully, with him here, with at least this Connection being satisfied by being around its match, I’m no longer the zombie I was just minutes before.
“No shit.”
He’s got every right to be angry, and I know it. I try not to let it get to me. “I’m sorry I left without saying anything.”
Will chooses this moment to come into the kitchen. And, just my luck, he’s shirtless, with a towel hanging from his neck. “Chloe, you’ve got to—” He stops when he sees Kellan. “Oh. Apologies. I didn’t know you had company.”