“I’m so sorry,” she says, her words caught on her tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“Then stop it. Stop it if you’re sorry, baby.”
I reach for her. When she pulls away, my heart shatters.
“This has nothing to do with you,” she says. “Please understand that. I just … I need some time. I need to think. My head is a mess, and I … I don’t want you to be upset.”
My eyes bulge. “You don’t want me to be upset? What should I do? Turn on the television and relax?”
“Nate, please …”
“Do you want time? Will you consider coming back?” I take a step toward her. “Dammit, Paige. I’ll give you anything you want. Just don’t end this for good.”
She backs away, clearly struggling as much as I am. So why won’t she just stay?
“Thank you for all you’ve done for me,” she says.
“No. Don’t say that. That sounds like goodbye.”
“You are the best man I’ve ever known and I think you were made for me.”
What?
None of this makes any sense. I just stand in front of her, speechless, and watch her disappear down the hallway. I don’t go after her because I’m frozen in place.
She’s leaving me.
But why? I consider every one of our interactions today, yesterday, last week. All I can conclude is that she was happy. Yet here we are, and she’s wanting space.
“You are the best man I’ve ever known, and I think you were made for me.”
So why the hell is she thanking me and leaving me? Leaving us?
She comes around the corner with her bags in her hand. “I love you. I want you to know that.”
“You don’t get to say that and then leave me with no fucking explanation,” I say, my frustration turning to anger. “What else can I do? Just tell me. Don’t do this, Paige.”
Don’t break my fucking heart.
“This isn’t easy for me either,” she says softly. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for everyone.”
“You are what’s best for me. How is that a question?” I pause. “Are you saying that I’m not best for you? Is that it?”
“No,” she says, the tears streaming again. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
I lunge toward her and take her face in my hands. Her body shakes, wracked with tears, as I press my lips to hers.
The kiss is wet and salty and tastes like goodbye.
When I pull away, I’m not sure if the dampness on my cheeks is from her tears … or mine.
“I’ll call you,” she whispers. Then she bows her head and walks out.
She’s given up on us. On the possibility of a family. On the possibility of forever.
And that shatters me.
Because we both know she’s not going to call.
THIRTY-ONE
PAIGE
I cover my face with my hands.
The light coming in the bedroom is on the wrong side. I reach over for Nate and get a fistful of sheets.
I scramble to sit up and then remember.
Breathing is difficult as the anxiety constricts its ugly head around my body. My head pounds from a mixture of overthinking, crying, and the tequila that Hollis finally let me have to help me sleep.
I grab my phone to check the time. My heart sinks.
Nate: I miss you.
I miss you too.
There are three missed calls from Kinsley, two of which I sent directly to voicemail last night. I just couldn’t talk to her. She knows me well enough to see what I would have done with Marcie’s words. Self-sabotage.
My feet hit the floor, and I stand, wishing I was being guided to the kitchen by a little boy not asking me for pancakes.
The thought makes me smile.
I walk down the hallway with tons of black and white pictures of Hollis and Larissa and other people I don’t know. They all look so happy.
I take the stairs slowly and then across the dining room to the kitchen. Larissa is standing by the refrigerator.
“Good morning,” she says softly. “How are you?”
“Do you have any coffee?” I ask, ignoring her question.
She grins. “I’ll make some. Have a seat.”
“You don’t have to make it for me. I don’t want to put you out.”
“Sit.” She shakes her head and busies herself at the Keurig. “You are so much like your brother it’s crazy.”
“Really?”
She looks at me over her shoulder. “Yeah. You both deflect questions you don’t want to answer. You always think you’re bothering people. And you’re hardheaded as all get-out.”
I can’t deny that.
She presses a button, and the machine makes a noise.
“So did a night of rest help you make sense of things?” she asks.
“I don’t know. I didn’t get a night of rest.” I take a banana out of the fruit basket on the counter. “I just wish …” That I hadn’t heard Marcie. “I don’t know. I wish a lot of things, I guess.”
“You have to do what feels right to you, Paige. If that means giving yourself space until you’re sure, then do that.”