"There's nothing to work through," my grandmother said, latching her arm through mine.
Ryan glared at her, the first sign of anger coming into his expression. "Can Lily and I have a moment alone, please?" he asked, his jaw tight.
"Absolutely not. Lily, darling, we need to go. You look positively shaken anyway." She looked at Ryan. "Can you see how delicate she is? Can you see what this has done to her?"
"It's for the best," I said weakly. "What my grandmother said is true. Everything you know of me is all a lie. It was me living a lie. It's for the best that I walk away, Ryan."
"For the best?" he asked incredulously. "For the best?"
He looked back and forth between my grandmother and me, his eyes slightly wild again. "You can't just walk out of here!"
"We certainly can," my grandmother said, leading me away. "Lily's right. It's for the best. You'll come to realize that. Go back to your date, Ryan. It's good to see you doing well." Ryan stood there, shaking his head in disbelief as I allowed my grandmother to lead me away. I felt like my knees would buckle at any moment. Everything in me was screaming to run back to Ryan and beg him to take me out of there, take me with him, but I couldn't. More misery engulfed me.
Ryan, take me back to our woods where we can be together, where we can just be us, where you were free to love me and I was free to love you back. Take me there. Oh please, please take me there.
But, no. My grandmother was right to separate us, and the woman inside was waiting for him.
"Lily," Ryan repeated bleakly, but he didn't attempt to stop us again. He let us walk away. He let me go. Just as I must let him go. I dared to look out the window of the limo as it pulled away from the curb. Through the glass doors, I could see Ryan still standing in the lobby, watching as our car drove away. He grew smaller and smaller as the distance between us grew, all my hopes shrinking the farther we drove, until he finally disappeared completely. Again. Finally, unable to hold the anguish off for one minute longer, I put my face in my hands and sobbed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ryan
The glass struck the wall and shattered, the sound breaking the silence of my apartment, jolting me free of the shock still holding me tightly in its grasp.
Lily.
Here in San Francisco.
She was real—she'd been right in front of me.
And she knew who I was, too. I'd been certain she'd figured out I wasn't Holden.
Do you know about me? Do you know?
Yes, love.
But I hadn't known if she knew who I really was. Hadn't known if she’d made the connection. Of course, I hadn't even known if she was real so I hadn't allowed myself to think too much about that aspect. Each time I did, it made me wonder if I was going crazy again—even considered whether it would cause me to go crazy again—and so I would shut it down. Christ. I didn't have to wonder anymore if she was real, and so I let myself think about it now. About how she'd stopped using my name, only calling me Boy Scout after she'd looked at the picture of Holden on the magazine cover. Yes, she'd definitely known. My God.
Maybe you don't even know me? Do you feel that way? You must.
No, no.
Lily. I'd found her, and I'd watched her walk away. What else could I have done? Tackle her? She'd wanted to leave. She'd looked as if she was going to collapse. But truthfully, I'd only allowed her to leave because I knew her name. Lily Corsella. Her name was Lily Corsella and her grandmother was Bianca Corsella. Her family owned Whittington. Holy fuck.
And she was mentally ill? She'd been hospitalized? For a year? I didn't know what to do with that, didn't understand. My mind was still reeling. I loved her. God, I did. I still loved her. If I'd had any doubt before tonight, seeing her in front of me, feeling a wild surge of joy as if she'd suddenly come back from the dead—which in essence, for me, she had—took away any and all question about the depth of my feelings. Her mental illness—that was why she thought we couldn't be together. She'd spent the last year in a hospital and she thought . . . what? That I'd have looked down upon her for it? Why would she think that after what she knew of me, of the battle I'd been fighting the entire time I'd been in Colorado? Of the battle I might fight for the rest of my life.