Yardley

These things I know to be true: he was my past, and he may be my present, but he’ll never be my future.

The hot shower did nothing for the shaking. At first, I blamed the relentless rain and the cool tepid in the spring air. Now I know it was the icy pierce of Nevada’s stare, the frigid tone in his voice, and the stone-cold façade he kept while standing mere feet from me.

The first man I ever loved—and the only man I’ve loved since—has turned cruel and heartless.

And as much as my soul once knew his, I need to accept the fact that we’re nothing but strangers now.

Perhaps that’s all we’ll ever be.

Wrapped in an old robe, I pace my room while Bryony sits cross-legged on my bed, listening as I expel the contents of my fragmented heart, voice broken and mind running a thousand miles per hour.

“He won’t even hear me out, Bry. After all this time.” I shake my head, massaging my temples. “I don’t understand how he could love me so much and then write me off. Like what we had was nothing. He knows damn well it was never nothing. It was everything.”

“Guys don’t hold onto the past as much as women do,” she says.

I stop pacing and turn her way. “If he wasn’t holding onto the past, he wouldn’t be so callous. Clearly he’s still hurting. And remember what Mom always says? Love is the root of all pain.”

“I think she heard that on some Oprah show,” Bry says. “Doesn’t make it universally true. I think he just moved on, you know? As painful as it is to say … he went on with his life. And you should too.”

Her words are spoken with tenderness and care, and I know she means well, but I refuse to accept that this is it. That this is the end. That I’ve been pining away for almost one third of my existence, subsisting off hope that we might one day be together again … that he might someday give me a chance to tell him all the things that might mend his broken heart.

This is just as much for him as it is for me.

I just wish he’d understand that.

I’m not the selfish monster he must think I am.

“Maybe it was too soon?” Bry asks. “I mean, his wife just died, like, six months ago. He uprooted his entire life. I highly doubt reconnecting with you is at the top of his priority list, you know?”

“I’m not saying it should be.” I take a seat beside her. “Look, the whole reason I went over there tonight was to tell him we needed to be adults about this, that we’re going to run into each other, and that he needs to treat me with some kind of decency.” I exhale. “But then I was standing there, feeling all these things, and I said a bunch of other stuff.”

My cheeks warm when I replay our conversation in my head. I can’t believe I asked him why he bought that house. He must think I’m completely off my rocker for assuming it had anything to do with me—and he wouldn’t be wrong. It was an irrational assumption rooted in hope that had no business being there in the first place.

If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t have gone over there. I’d have given him more space, more time.

But what’s done is done. Can’t go back now.

“Next time I see him, I’m going to apologize,” I say.

“Why bother?” Bryony asks. “What will that do? He’ll just think you’re looking for another excuse to talk to him, and if you keep going to him, it’s going to make you look crazy and desperate. Maybe you should lay low for a bit?”

“And what, crawl into my shell? Bury my head in the sand? That’ll really make me look pathetic.” I huff, running my palms down my clean face. I’m not sure when, but the shaking subsided. “I hate that the first time we spoke in over ten years, I acted like some lunatic. Some crazy ex-girlfriend.”

It’s not the way I ever imagined it would be, and when I think about it, really think about it, I could cry.

“Don’t beat yourself up.” Bry rubs my knee, leaning in. “You’re going to be okay and everything’s going to work out. Maybe not with him … but I think you needed this closure. I think you needed this so that you could finally move on with your life.”

I don’t want to agree with her, so I do it silently, in my head.

“I can’t believe this is the end,” I say. “The end of hoping there might still be the tiniest sliver of a chance for us.” Dragging the back of my hand across my cheek, I dab at a few spilled tears before laughing at how silly I must look right now, a grown woman crying over a teenage boyfriend. “I’m an idiot, Bry. I really am.”

I’m an idiot for thinking what we had was real and transcendental. I’m an idiot for thinking any part of our love remained long after the fire put it out.

It did for me.

It did for me.

And while I would never admit this to anyone, it still does. Part of me will always love Nevada Kane. I couldn’t shut it off if I tried.

“Let’s go out on Friday, okay?” she asks, brows rising and mischievous smile on her lips. “I want to take you out, get you trashed, and show you what a Friday night in Lambs Grove looks like.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m a cliché, Bry. Admit it. My life is a giant, living, breathing cliché.”

She shrugs a single shoulder. “But it doesn’t have to be. This is the first step. Get out there. Meet new people. Live your life for you and the woman you hope to be. Not for the girl you once were. She doesn’t exist anymore. She’s gone.”

My mouth presses together as my chest aches and tightens. “Fine. I’ll go.”