And I Love You the Most (This Love Hurts 3)

“I read them,” I lie.

“The parts about you aren’t true.”

“I know,” I say to go along with her although I imagine some parts are true; not in black and white, but they’re true in the gray areas. Maybe because I know the truth and I’m holding it in. Therefore, whatever comes out is most certainly a lie.

“There’s no evidence that you were involved. They can’t pin a thing on you. It’s all—”

“Circumstantial,” I say, finishing the sentence for her. “I know,” I repeat, my voice quieter and the fight in her eyes draining.

“It’s not okay that anyone thinks you were a part of any of this.”

The steady ticking of the clock passes between us before my sister starts up again, saying, “You’re not okay.”

“I know.”

“What if …” she starts with a hint of optimism and leaves her place in the wingback chair across from me to round her desk. The drawer opens and closes quickly enough, and she presents me with a pale blue journal.

“What if you put whatever you’re feeling in this?”

“You therapists and your journals.” It has the softest leather cover, but it feels like betrayal in my palms.

“I’ll feel better if you’ll tell me you’ll at least try,” she says, attempting a compromise. Her tone is telling, as if she’s certain this is the solution. “If things get bad or start to slip even the slightest … will you come talk to me?”

“So you can be my shrink?” My response is both dismissive and playful. “I thought you got a promotion and you won’t have time for patients?”

Her smile makes me smile. It’s humble and small, but I know this is a big deal for Cadence. “The Rockford Center won’t be open for another month. So I can’t start my position there just yet, but it’ll be nice to be in a brand-new facility and with patients who …”

She trails off and the smile fades. My sister is a hero in so many ways. In ways I could never be. Christopher’s face flashes before my eyes and I nearly lose it on the spot. It takes everything in me to hide the swell of emotions.

“Well, you know.” She sucks in a breath and relaxes her posture then asks, “What’s going on with you and Cody? Have you talked to him at least?”

I struggle to answer her honestly, so I deflect, although I’m sure she’s well aware that’s what I’m doing. “ I don’t have time to think about my sex life right now, not with the board meeting coming up.” Another lie. So many damn lies.

The truth about Cody is that it all makes me feel like I’ve lost my mind.

Love and hate are both insane.

If they were products of a sane mind, the two emotions would be logical and controllable. God knows they aren’t.

Marcus

I’ve written so many notes with deep strokes that left the paper embossed with names. Too many to know for certain, but at least thousands of letters and hundreds of names. This one is so very different from all the others.

At the top of the page, the blue ink barely touched the notepad. Featherlight script trails down the page, each letter carefully placed. It’s not a warning or a message, but a question that I’m not sure she’ll answer.

Maybe I’m selfish, but I had to ask her, even if I don’t know how she’ll respond to it.

Even worse, I’m not sure how to sign it. I don’t know which name should appear at the bottom. Which man she’d be willing to meet one last time at the barn where all this began.

Christopher or Marcus. The pen hangs in the air just like the question, and it feels as if my life hovers with them.

It started at the old barn that served as my refuge and then became the hell that raised me … and it should end there. I’m willing to close this chapter, I’m willing to never write another name down for as long as I live, so long as she’ll listen to me. So long as she believes me. I’ve never wanted anyone to see me and to know my story, the way I crave for her to know every detail. Swallowing thickly, I sign the note and drag air into my lungs. Listening to the crackle of wood splintering and smoldering in the fireplace, I turn to watch the embers burn bright.

This place holds secrets in every corner, moments where I devised plans and sought evidence of justice in the keepsakes I’ve taken. Although I’ve parted with a number of them now, all in efforts to put blame elsewhere.

Whether or not Delilah meets me, I’ll leave this place and never return. Walsh will wander here, I know he will. He’s come many a time in search of me. He’s the only one I’ve met here. He must know it means something to me. After all, I brought the love of our lives here, I mended her here and lay beside her without worry. He will come back. He’ll find the note I left for him. Riggins is expecting his call if ever my brother needs anything. I’ll leave it all to him.