“Hey . . . sis?” Bob says.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure you’re doing the right thing with Tristan? Everybody seems pretty damn heartbroken over there.”
My eyes fill with tears. “No, Bob, I’m not,” I whisper.
“You might want to work it out pretty soon . . . before it’s too late.”
I get a lump in my throat. “I know,” I whisper through tears.
Too late.
A feeling I am all too familiar with. After Wade died, there were so many things that I had left unsaid . . . it was too late to tell him.
“You okay?”
“Uh-huh,” I lie as I wipe my tears. “It’s been a rough week. I’ll survive.” I smile sadly. “I always do.”
“Bye, darlin’. Love you.”
“I love you too.”
I sit and stare at my phone for a moment until I can’t stop myself anymore. I text Tristan.
I love you,
xoxo
I hit send and stare at my phone, and eventually the word appears.
Read.
He’s read the message.
I wait . . . and I wait . . . and I wonder what he’s doing right now.
Text me back . . . please.
But he doesn’t, and I cry because I know that it’s probably already too late.
I sit in front of Fletcher’s building in the loading bay. It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m picking him up from work. The boys left to go on their fishing trip straight from school. It’s just the two of us for three days.
I watch him walk out the front doors with Jameson. They’re talking and laughing.
Does Jameson know about Tristan and me?
Jameson glances over at the car and nods his head. He turns his attention straight back to Fletcher.
He knows all right, and he’s pissed.
The whole world thinks I’m doing the wrong thing . . . maybe I am.
I love Tristan. With all of my heart, I love Tristan. I would give anything to have him back in my life. But I can’t give control t
o someone over my children; I just can’t.
It’s nonnegotiable.