ELLE HADN’T SHOWN up to work on Monday nor on Tuesday, and had it been any other week, I would’ve been concerned. I was concerned actually, but I knew why she hadn’t come, and I couldn’t blame her. After the weekend we’d shared, I had left her. Again. Only this time, I had good reason. I was hopelessly in love with her, and because I was in love with her and didn’t want to see her hurt, I had to put a permanent end to us. Walking away from her had been the hardest thing I’d ever had to do in my life.
It killed me.
So when Wednesday morning came rolling around and she finally made her appearance, storming into my office with fire in her eyes, my heart started to beat once again. I instantly remembered how alive I still was, and I rose from my chair, hurrying around my desk to meet her.
She stopped in front of me, and I was desperate to pull her into my arms—to inhale the sweet scent of her perfume and feel her heart beat wildly against mine. I wanted to apologize and tell her I’d never meant to hurt her, but the words were forced back down my throat as her hand flew through the air and slapped hard across my face, whipping my head to the side. I clenched down on my jaw, biting back a curse as the stinging sensation numbed my cheek.
“That’s for leaving me.”
Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply, trying to reclaim the words I’d lost. “Elle—”
Whack!
She slapped me again, and I didn’t flinch this time. I took it. I gritted my teeth, fighting the pain. I deserved it. I deserved her anger. I deserved to hurt for what I’d done to her. For leaving her without saying goodbye or giving her an explanation.
“And that’s for paying off the mortgage on my parents’ restaurant, you son of a bitch!”
My eyes watered, and I didn’t know if it was a result of the blows I had just taken to my face or if it was because I couldn’t bear seeing her like this: so upset, so damn distraught. Tears glistened in her big blue eyes, and the hurt and sadness pouring from them rivaled the strength of a tidal wave, knocking me back and dragging me under, making it impossible to breathe. I gasped for air, my lungs on the verge of collapsing.
“Elle—” Her hand came up to smack me for a third time, and this time I caught her wrist, stopping it mid-air. I yanked her entire body toward me, pulling her into my arms and pleading with her. “Stop. Please stop.”
She fought my hold, her tiny fists curling and beating hard against my chest in an attempt to break free, each hit another strike to my wounded heart. “I hate you, do you hear me! How could you do this to me? How could you sleep with me and then cut me loose by paying off my parents’ mortgage? I’m not some whore, Owen. I—”
“Jesus Christ, Elle.” I shook her shoulders, trying to pull her from the nonsense she was talking. “That’s not why I did it. Goddamn it, that’s not why I did it.”
“Then why!” Her voice screamed from the top of her lungs, echoing throughout the entire room, and despite my words and my gentle embrace, she was no calmer than when she walked into my office. Her entire body hummed with barely contained emotion. “Why did you leave me? Why do you—”
“Because I’m fucking in love with you, Elle!” I held her tightly, shouting the words as the tears burning the back of my eyes bled through to the surface. “I’m fucking in love with you, okay?”
She stilled in my arms, but I wasn’t done. There was still more to say. More hurt to experience. I had never intended to let it get this far. I took her face in my shaky hands, my voice softer now, my heart breaking at the apprehension in her eyes. “I’m in love with you. Do you not realize what we did Saturday night? We made love, Elle, and I realized if there was any woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life making love to it’s you.”
Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, and I reached up catching them with the tips of my thumbs, swiping them away but knowing there’d be more to follow in their wake. A painful lump clawed its rapid way up my throat, but I couldn’t swallow around it.
This hurt. This hurt so goddamn much.
“I want to give you forever. I want to give you everything.” Licking my lips and tasting the salty wetness of my own tears—not realizing they had fallen—I breathed out slowly. “But I can’t give you forever.”
Confusion marred her delicate features, the creases on her forehead multiplying and the corners of her eyes tightening as she gave her head a little shake. “You’re not making sense, Owen.”
I sighed.
Of course, I wasn't.
Releasing her from my hold and leaving her standing in place, I slowly walked behind my desk. I pulled open the drawer where I kept the orange prescription bottles which housed the cocktail of drugs that essentially did nothing for me, and with trembling hands, I grabbed them out, placing them on top. I lifted my head to look at her. Even through a vision blurred by tears, she was so heartbreakingly beautiful. “I can’t give you forever, Elle, because I don’t have forever to give. If I’m lucky, I have about seven months.”
Her gaze darted from my eyes and down to the orange bottles where it lingered, and I saw it. I saw the exact moment all the pieces of our broken puzzle finally clicked together: my skull-splitting headaches, the medication, my inability to let her in, and how I couldn’t possibly give her all of me because in a few short months there would be nothing left of me to give.
A sharp and sudden gasp parted her lips as air punched from her lungs, and her eyes snapped back to mine, a fresh round of tears lining them and readying themselves for release. “What?” Her chin quivered uncontrollably.
I choked back a sob, having no choice but to spell it out for her. “I’m dying, Elle. Four months ago, I was diagnosed with an aggressive form of brain cancer. At that time, I was told I had about eleven months, at best.”
Stumbling back from the impact of my words, she shook her head, her gaze roaming over my face searching for any signs of deception. “No…” Her tears streamed faster, soaking her already wet cheeks, and I moved quickly around my desk, getting ready to pull her to me.
I needed her in my arms.
As I came closer, she held her hand up, jerking away from me as if any physical contact between us would burn her, and her rejection was like a frozen fist, slamming right through my chest and ripping out what was left of my shattered heart.
She blinked fast, her eyes wide and desolate, and this time a soundless “no” fell from her lips.
Fear and panic turned my blood cold. “Elle…” My voice broke. “Baby…please.”
I tried to reach for her again, and this time she turned on her heels, nearly tripping over the chair in her path as she fled from my office. I staggered backward. My head pounded fiercely— the pressure pressing against my skull excruciating—as if to confirm everything I had just said, and the ache in my chest amplified my inability to breathe.
Standing still, I watched helplessly as the woman who had given me so much to live for not only walked out of my life but ran from it.
Anger and frustration like I’d never experienced before—not at Elle but at my entire situation—shot through me, and I whirled around, sending everything on my desk flying through the air and crashing loudly to the floor.
“Fuck!”
Raw and painful emotion consumed me. Gutted me. Broke me.
My hands fisted in my hair, and my knees gave out, hitting the hard tiles beneath me. I attempted to force air into my lungs. It was no use. I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t...
“Owen?”
Millie’s concerned voice broke through the sound of my heartbreak, and I heard her choke back her own tears. And although I felt her pull me into her arms and her fingers stroke gently through my hair as she cradled me against her, I felt nothing inside.
I was numb.
The fire Elle had ignited within my heart with her laughter and smiles, her love, completely extinguished.
It would suffice to say that I wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night. I didn’t even want to try, which was why I was walking around the streets of New York, my feet carrying me in the direction of the only place I wanted to be. The dim yellow glow of the streetlamps cut through the darkness, providing enough glow to navigate around at the late hour, and my chest squeezed tight as I recalled how my earlier interaction with Elle unfolded. She wasn’t meant to find out the way she had, but something told me that no matter how the heartbreaking revelation had come to light, it still would’ve ended the same.
She still would have left.
She needed time to process everything I’d told her, I knew that, but that knowledge didn’t stop it from hurting. It didn’t stop it from cutting through my chest and ripping out my heart.
I don’t know what hour it was when I’d finally left the office. After Elle had taken off, Millie refused to leave my side and it wasn’t until I raised my voice and threatened to fire her that she finally walked out of the building. It was wrong, holding her job over her head, especially considering she was more family than she was an employee, but I couldn’t be near her.
I couldn’t be near anyone.
Like Elle, I needed to make sense of everything that had happened on my own terms, in my own way. I needed to learn to accept the fact that the people Elle and I were would never be the same. We were no longer boss and employee—two people with a shared mutual attraction. We were two lovers, defeated and broken—two people destroyed by one harrowing truth.
As I rounded the corner of the next street and walked up the concrete steps to the familiar red door, I hesitated. It was late. Everything told me I should probably leave and come back another time, but I needed to be there. I needed them. Fingers trembling, I gingerly lifted my arm and pressed the doorbell affixed to the wooden frame. With my heart in my throat and an unbearable ache in my chest, I waited for what felt like an eternity. The hope that anyone might be home dwindled as I stood there, and I took a staggering step back, getting ready to turn on my heels and walk away when a light from the living room window flickered on.
My heart started to race, and as the door swung slowly open, I unconsciously held my breath.
The one man who I had grown up idolizing, and who somehow now seemed like a complete stranger, stood before me, dressed in his favorite pair of loafers and his red and black flannel robe.
He blinked twice as if he were seeing a ghost. “Owen?”
“Dad.” The word fell from my lips, full of emotion.
My mother’s voice echoed down the hall at the same time. “Honey, who is it? It’s really late—” She appeared a moment later, glancing over his shoulder, and as her weary eyes drank me in, she gasped. “Owen?”
Any remaining strength I possessed slipped, and my face contorted in pain. “Mom.”
She shoved my father aside, throwing herself at me, her arms holding me tightly as she cried my name. “Owen.”
Right there on the front porch of my childhood home, at nearly one o’clock in the morning, I fell completely apart in my mother’s loving and supportive embrace. Nothing else really registered except for the feel of my father’s strong hands as they tugged me against him, and I held on to them both, four months of pain and regret crawling up my chest and gripping me by the throat. I choked on a sob for all the time lost between us, time lost because of me.
I had thought by cutting them out of my life I’d somehow save them from hurt, that I’d be able to protect them from unnecessary pain.
I was wrong.
So incredibly wrong.
Standing in the center of my old room, I twisted around slowly, allowing my gaze to rake over the collection of things that created my life. A solid wall of bookcases sat to my left, holding every one of my favorites. To the right was another set of shelves, filled with endless awards and trophies—accolades that should have held some sort of value. At one point in time, they had.
Now, they meant absolutely nothing.
There was a reason why we’re told to live every moment as if it’s our last. At any given second, it could be. Life was short. Time was invaluable. We didn’t get to press pause or rewind. All we could do was live our life to the best of our ability and hope that when it’s over it held meaning.
Had my life held meaning?
I didn’t know the answer to that question. Four months ago, I would’ve said yes, but when you’re faced with the unthinkable, when you find yourself sitting in your doctor’s office being told that you have less than a year to live, you begin to question everything. You begin to wonder if you’ve made a difference. You wonder if your life held any purpose at all. Things that once mattered become second thoughts, distant memories, and you quickly learned the only reason why life was so precious was because it ends.
Life. Ends.
My life was ending...
Tears burned in my eyes, and like always, I fought against them and the painful lump in my throat. I wanted to bury the realization, but the crushing weight of it sat heavily on my chest, dragging my knees to the ground and the breath from my lungs. I dropped my face into my hands, feeling the wetness on my cheeks and the fear that was working its way up my throat. It released itself on a raw and agonizing scream, and I barely heard my old bedroom door creaking open.
“Owen?” Footsteps grew closer. Thin arms pulled me into their warm embrace. Slender fingers stroked through my hair. “Shh...”
I clenched fistfuls of my mother’s shirt, and suddenly I was that little boy again, the one who would fall off his bike and scuff his knees, the one who had needed his bruises mended with a simple kiss. Gone was the self-assured, independent man I had grown to be. I was just a boy who needed his mom. I needed her to tell me everything was going to be okay, even if it wasn’t.
“I’m scared.” The words were barely audible through my cries, but I knew she had heard them because her protective hold on me tightened and her lips pressed harder against my forehead. I repeated the words because it was the first time I’d admitted them, not only out loud but to myself. “I’m scared, Ma.”
She rocked me gently, not bothering to wipe away her own tears that fell. “I know, baby. I know.”
Pain was a strange thing.
I had experienced varying levels of it over the last four months, and when I thought I knew how much my body could tolerate, I was quickly proven wrong. My migraines paled in comparison to the ache that now lived permanently in my chest. A week had passed since I had shattered the heart of the woman I loved, and I wanted to make it right. I wanted to piece her back together and make her beautifully whole again, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t because I was dying and there was nothing I could do to change that.
I had accepted my fate.
I was learning to live with the cards I had been dealt.
Then Elle Callihan stumbled into my life with her wet hair and broken heel, her coffee-stained blouse, and I knew—I knew the moment I saw her that I’d never be the same. And the more time I spent with her, the more I realized that she’d entered my life for a reason. She was an angel in disguise, here to save me with her smiles and her laughter, with her selfless love. There was no saving me from the cancer, but I could still be saved from the pit of anguish and despair that the disease had forced me into.
And maybe, just maybe, I could save her, too.
It was why I constantly pushed her in the direction of her dreams—why I had paid off the mortgage for her parents’ restaurant. Standing on the beach, I’d made her a promise that everything would be okay, and it was a promise I intended to keep. I would do everything within my power to make sure she had a fair shot at living the life she’d always dreamed.
She deserved that.
With one elbow resting on the arm of my desk chair, my fingers stroking the five-day-old stubble on my jaw, I stared out at the skyline, watching the sun disappear behind the buildings. The sunset here didn’t even come close to the one I’d witnessed on the beach in Maine, and I was starting to think Elle was right: perhaps it was where heaven existed.
The sound of my door creaking open pulled my attention away from the view, but I didn’t turn around. “What do you need, Millie?”
There was a pause before her voice floated across the distance and over my shoulder. “It’s getting late. Everyone else has already left for the evening. I was getting ready to leave myself, and I wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re okay.”
No. No, I’m not okay.
Swiveling my chair around to look at her, I nodded softly. “I’m good, Mill. Get on outta here. I’m going to sit and watch the sunset for a little while longer.”
Walking toward me, she set her purse down on my desk and grabbed hold of one of the leather chairs positioned in front of it. Dragging it around to where I was sitting, she pushed it right up beside me and sat down, a sad smile on her face. “I think I’ll sit with you, if you don’t mind.”
“Something tells me I don’t really have a choice.” I smirked as soon as the retort left my mouth, and she took it as a good sign, seeing as it was the closest I’d come to smiling all week.
Reaching over, Millie placed her hand over mine, squeezing it gently. “Have you heard from her at all?”
The painful lump was back in my throat, and the ache in my chest magnified. Squinting away the burning sensation in the corner of my eyes, I shook my head. “No.”
“Give her time, Owen. She’s just feeling lost and broken, that’s all. We all process our grief differently. You of all people should know this, but I have no doubt she’ll come around. She loves you.”
“Will she, though?” I glanced over at her, unconvinced. “I don’t have forever, Mill, and while I’m ready to give her every single second I have left, how can I selfishly expect her to want to be a part of it?”
Millie frowned. “None of us have forever, sweetheart. We’re all going to die someday. Some of us sooner than others, but it’s not the amount of time we have left that matters. It’s what we do with that time. And if you want to spend the rest of yours loving her, then love her, Owen. Love her the same way you’d love her if you had forever to give.”
Loving her wasn't the problem. I did love her. But you couldn't force love on somebody who didn't want it.
As if Millie had read my thoughts, she repeated herself. “Give her time.”
I'd give her time, even if it meant wasting all of mine.
Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling, feeling the pressure of an oncoming migraine pound painfully against my temples. Like most nights over the last four months, sleep hadn't come easy, and that night, it was in the realm of impossible. My mind was too occupied with thoughts of Elle. Not knowing where she was or how she was doing ate me up inside, and I was worried about her. I wanted to go to her, but every time I'd work up the courage, Millie’s words echoed in my ears, and I'd resist the urge.
She was right. I needed to give Elle time, but time and I didn't get along. Not at all. I was impatient, and time was an asshole.
You hear that, time? You’re an asshole.
Shifting restlessly, I grabbed my phone, squinting against the brightness as I unlocked the screen.
It was almost midnight.
They didn't start selling the good shit until at least two-thirty, so that meant channel three was out. Scrolling through my apps, I opened my text messages. Elle's thread remained and I clicked on it, a heaviness crushing my lungs as I read through each one. My lips tugged a little in the corners as my eyes scanned over the one I had sent her when we were in L.A.
You missing me, Elle?
I had missed her that day. Not nearly as much as I missed her now, but yes, I missed her. I continued to scroll through the rest of the thread, and as I made it to the bottom, I typed out a message.
One message wouldn't hurt, would it?
It’s midnight, and as always, I can't sleep, but for once, I'm not thinking of my regrets, Elle. I'm thinking of how hopelessly in love with you I am, how hopelessly in love with you I was the moment I saw you, and how hopelessly in love with you I'll still be even after I'm gone.
My thumb hovered over the send button, and as I started to delete the words, a knock on the door echoed throughout my silent apartment. Setting my phone down on my nightstand, I sat up and swung my legs off the side of the mattress. Who the hell was at my door at this hour? Walking over to my dresser, I grabbed a white T-shirt from the top of the pile in my drawer, and as I pulled it over my head, I padded quietly down the hall. I slid the chain from its lock and twisted the knob, slowly swinging it open.
My heart stopped.
“Please tell me it was all a nightmare. Please tell me it’s not true. Please tell me that you're not dying, Owen, because I can't bear it. I can’t bear to lose you.”
My vision blurred, distorting the beautiful image of her standing there in my doorway, and my voice cracked on a painful whisper. “I wake up every day wishing it wasn't.”
My response wasn’t what she wanted to hear, I knew that, but it was the truth, and I couldn't fill her with false hope.
I wouldn't.
Elle shook her head, tears falling fast from her red and puffy eyes, and I didn't give her a chance to run from me this time. I reached out, sliding my hands around her waist and dragging her into my chest before burying my face in her hair and holding on to her as if she'd fade away if I didn't.
I loved her. I loved her so goddamn much. And I was going to continue to love her whether she wanted that love or not.
Her arms immediately came up to loop around my neck and she held me just as tightly, her tiny frame trembling uncontrollably within my grasp. “Oh God. Why?” She cried the words over and over again. “Why?”
Feeling her knees give out beneath her, I slipped an arm under her thighs and hauled her against my chest. She nuzzled her face in my neck, her wet tears rolling off her cheeks and splashing down on my skin, and I kicked the door shut with my foot. I walked her through the living room and down the hallway to my bedroom where I laid her gently on the mattress before crawling in beside her.
Pulling her tightly against me, I cupped the back of her head and pressed my lips to her forehead, kissing her hard. “I love you, Elle Callihan. I love you so much.”
And I always would, in this life and the next.