I wonder where he is. Come back, I think. Be here. But I know he won’t.
The distant whine of a siren gets louder and closer as we cross the parking lot to Ryan’s car. She clicks the remote key and opens her door. I watch the ambulance pull in under the Emergency sign. The siren stops, but the lights keep spinning, blue-red, blue-red as the side doors open and medics climb out on both sides.
Blue and red lights, swirling against the pale sunrise sky. The clipped voices of the medics, the loud jumble of their radios in the background.
I can’t breathe all of a sudden.
“Quinn,” Ryan says, but her voice sounds faraway.
I’m there on our road, on my knees, losing everything all over again.
The back doors of the ambulance burst open, and another medic climbs out, then reaches in and pulls the end of a gurney. Calls to the others, “Get him in there! Let’s go, let’s go!”
“Quinn, let’s go.” Ryan’s voice snaps me back here, to the present, but it doesn’t hurt any less.
Here, I’ve lost even more.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Go to your bosom; knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.”
—William Shakespeare, Measure for Measure
I SIT ON my bed, staring at my phone in my hand. At Colton’s number, ready to be dialed if I just hit the call button. But I don’t. I know he won’t answer. I’ve called, again and again, and now it just goes straight to voicemail, like he turned off his phone, or threw it away. I’ve thought about going to him, tried to imagine what words I could say that might make him understand, but there are none. I try to picture if we could go back in time. Try to see us out on the water together, or at that cove with the waterfall, or watching the sunset from the beach. But I can’t do that either. All I can see is his face, so angry, and hear the words he said to me, in a voice that sounded like a stranger’s.
Forget you knew me.
It wasn’t anger I heard in those words. It was hurt. Caused by me. No one can tell me it was an accident, or that it was beyond my control, or that I couldn’t have done anything differently.
I searched for him. I found him. I let myself fall in love with him.
I had no right to do any of those things.
They were choices I made, but in making them, I took away his, and like Ryan said, I took away any chance that we had for something real. I erased all our moments, and days, and experiences before they even existed. And now I’m the past that he wants to forget. I have no choice but to let him.
I retreat into the isolation of my own past, where I deserve to be. Where I am alone with all the things I wish I could change. I don’t sleep. Don’t eat. I tell Ryan what happened when I went to his shop to tell him the truth, and then about the storm, and the hospital. After that I hardly speak. She gives me my space. Runs by herself. Doesn’t ask questions or offer advice. I can’t tell if it’s because I don’t ask for any or if she has none for this.
A couple days later, when Dad comes home from the hospital, I pull myself out of my room to let him know how relieved I am that he’s okay. How much I love him. I try to help take care of him, but I’m only half there. Ryan, still shaken from witnessing his attack, hovers around him, giving him hugs and getting teary out of nowhere. Mom manages his recovery: doctors’ orders, prescriptions, covering for him at the office. I fade into the background, sinking lower and lower.
Losing myself again.
I’m sitting at my computer in the same pajamas I’ve worn for the last two days, scrolling up and down Shelby’s blog, when Ryan comes in without knocking. She sees the picture of Colton on the screen before I can close the window.
“Still nothing?”
I shake my head.
“Why don’t you call him?”
“I have. Lots of times. He won’t answer.”
She presses her lips together and nods. “I guess I probably wouldn’t either, if I were him. Not after finding out like that.”
I don’t feel like talking about it, so I don’t say anything. Ryan takes a deep breath and leans against the desk in front of me.
“I got in,” she says.
“What?”
“To that art school, in Italy. They loved my portfolio. Apparently, heartbreak makes for compelling art.”
“That’s really great,” I say. But it doesn’t sound convincing. The thought of not having her here chokes me up. “When do you leave?”
“In a couple of weeks.” We’re quiet a moment, and though I know it’s what she wants, she seems a little sad too. “I’m gonna miss you,” she says. “And I’m worried about you.”
“I can’t stand me right now.”
“You know how I said he deserves to know the truth?”
I glance up at her.
“Well, he does, Quinn. He deserves to know everything—not just what he thinks he knows.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“I’m talking the rest of the truth. That it started out being about Trent, but somewhere along the line that changed. That you fell in love with him. That you were scared. That you didn’t want to hurt him or lose him. Those things are all the truth too, aren’t they?”
My eyes well up, and I look at my sister. “He told me to forget I knew him.” I swallow over the lump in my throat, and my voice comes out thick with tears. “He doesn’t want to hear anything I have to say.”
“Are you kidding me? Those are the things he needs to hear you say. You think he’s not hurting right now, walking around knowing half the truth?”
Tears, one after another, roll silently down my cheeks at the thought.
“Think of all the things you’ve ever regretted not doing or saying. All the things you’ve wished you could change.” She shakes her head. “You, of all people, know how much those things can sting. You know how long they can stay with you, and change you.” She pauses and takes a long look at the picture of Colton on my computer screen. When she brings her eyes back to mine, they are serious.
“So don’t let them. Do something. Go find him and tell him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO