“So he was a complete ass,” Celeste murmured, “because he loved you.”
“And when he found out he’d left scars, he wanted to make it better.” Lucy was on the verge of tears. “Because he still loves you. Why else would he feel the need to tell you the truth now?”
Tatum froze, going numb. No. He didn’t love her. He couldn’t love her. He wanted her. “Maybe he just needed to clear his conscience?” But she wasn’t sure she believed that. If Spencer wasn’t the heartless bastard she’d thought, who was he? Too many years had gone by for him to be her Spencer. No, not her Spencer.
Her head throbbed. It didn’t matter. She had a hangover—that was why she was emotional. Spencer, the past, none of it mattered. It couldn’t. With him, she was...vulnerable. Vulnerable and needy. She didn’t want to be either.
“What are you going to do?” Celeste asked.
She shrugged.
“What do you want?” Lucy asked. “That’s where you need to start. If he does love you, it makes more sense for you to know what you want first.”
She nodded, sniffing the air. “Chocolate.”
“Always a good place to start,” Lucy agreed, laughing.
“The cake.” Celeste hopped up, running into the kitchen.
She looked at Lucy.
“Where was I?” Lucy asked. “Why wasn’t I there?” She shook her head. “I should have been there to back you up, to scream at him when you wouldn’t.”
“Different lunch periods.” She shrugged. “I called my dad as soon as I got home.”
“That was the weekend you left.” Lucy looked at her. “That horrible weekend. Spencer fell apart.”
“I’m not going to feel sorry for him right now, okay? Not yet.” Tatum flopped back on her bed. “Why do we make things more complicated than they need to be?”
Lucy flopped back with her. “Human nature, I think.” She looked at her. “Are you going to come tonight? To dinner and caroling?”
Tatum closed her eyes. “I don’t think so. I need time to pull it together. Right now, the only thing I know is my heart hurts.”
11
SHE SKIPPED DINNER and caroling, claiming a headache. But when they stopped by, she wrapped herself in a blanket and stood on the porch to listen. She hadn’t seen Spencer, but she’d felt his absence.
The next day Lucy came over and helped her start weeding through things. It wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. Brent had hired a professional organizer after her mother’s death. They’d done an exceptional job of clearing out ever
y piece of clothing, shoes, toiletries... Almost all signs of her mother. There were three large boxes she and Lucy tackled together. But there wasn’t much. Mostly pictures and keepsakes gathered from before her father had left them. Nothing from Tatum’s high school years, none of the letters Tatum had written when she and Brent had settled in his hometown.
When she’d pulled all the things she wanted, they’d hauled the boxes onto the front porch.
“I can call Dean?” Lucy offered. “He has a truck.”
Tatum shook her head. “No, please don’t. I feel terrible for what I did. I can’t keep leading him on.”
“You kissed him under the mistletoe.” Lucy nudged her. “I didn’t see tongue, or groping.”
Tatum laughed. “Because there wasn’t any.”
“Then you’re fine.”
They sat on her front porch swing, enjoying the crisp air. Even though her yard was coated in a layer of white snow, the sun was shining down.
“It’s a beautiful day,” she said.
“It is,” Lucy agreed. “But I’m starving. I think I’ll order a pizza.”