Starless Nights (Hale Brothers Series Book 2) (36 page)

Rubbing my hand over my face, I let out a deep sigh. “I want to believe you. I really do. I want to believe that what we have in here,” I pat my chest, “what we’ve always had, is strong enough for us to hold a future, but I have many layers of trust issues with you, and right now, I’m just not so sure. You believed her over me. All these years have gone by. How am I to know that should something happen again, my words and actions won’t matter?”

“I understand this, I do.” She throws her arms out. “After having all of the details finally come to light yesterday, I realized that I am the reason we ended the way we did, but now you know too. Please, it’s in the past. I want to move on. I want to move on with you. How long are you going to punish me for a decision that I made when I was fourteen-years-old?”

She starts fidgeting with her fingers and I start pacing again, back and forth in front of the windows.

“It isn’t even just about when you were fourteen. What about when you came back and you were sixteen? What about when you were eighteen and you spent the night with me after my father was arrested? How about now at twenty? You have had many opportunities to talk to me, to ask me!”

“Well, what about you? You could have done the same!” She’s frustrated because she thinks I’m not considering what she’s saying, and honestly, I’m so mad at her right now, I don’t even care.

Walking to stand in front of her, she cowers a little. My hands are balled into fists and my jaw is locked tight. She can see just how angry I am as I glare down at her.

“You left me, Leila! I did not leave you. I did not leave you an irreversible heartbreaking letter. I did not leave you with no way of contacting me. Up until that day at school in the photo lab I thought you were right across the bridge. I didn’t even know you were in Atlanta.”

She blinks and the tears that were floating in her big blue eyes begin drop. She takes a step back away from me.

“Night after night for years, hell even now, I lie in bed and stare out the window at the stars—our stars—wondering what
I
did wrong. I’ve replayed that last day down at Bean Point over and over in my mind. The only thing I could ever come up with is that you were upset that I kissed you. You didn’t seem upset at the time but maybe you changed your mind. That you didn’t return the feelings and now somehow felt we couldn’t be friends. I don’t know! And then there were those last couple of months on the island before you moved here to the city, you didn’t mind being affectionate with me then. I never could understand. All this time of wondering why . . .”

“You could have asked too.” She pins me with a look to let me know that she thinks this should be a shared blame.

I pinch my lips together and try to rein in the anger, rage, frustration, heartache, loneliness, and disappointment of the last six years.

“We made plans that night. You knew how important it was to me to say goodbye to you and do you want to know why? I needed to tell you how much I loved you before you left. I really wanted you to know that no matter where you went, I was always going to be with you. God, I would have waited forever for you.”

“You loved me?” Her eyes widen with what I think might be hope.

“Yes, I
did
.” There’s no mistaking my use of the past tense.

The color drains from her face and more tears slowly drip out. “Did,” she whispers pulling down on the T-shirt again.

“How could you not have known that?”

She looks away from me, doesn’t answer, and that’s when I decide . . . this did just break us. After all these years, doubts, her walking away, and all the unanswered questions, it finally hits me . . .

“In the end, Leila, now that the entire picture is so brilliantly painted and complete in front of me, I guess I think I deserve better than some girl who will just bail on me and never give me the benefit of the doubt. Three minutes for six and a half years. You let one, three minute conversation, that you had with my mother on our front porch, ruin us. You ruined me. No matter how many years go by, the fact remains, I never would have done that to you.”

“But didn’t you?” she asks, eyes bright and mixed with half challenge and half defeat. She still thinks I should have chased after her, that I should somehow own some of the responsibility in this.

“No, I didn’t. I laid in a hospital bed for months and cried because the only girl I had ever planned on loving, didn’t love me in return.”

“I’m sorry.” Her lip quivers.

I can’t watch her cry and see her tears anymore. I turn away. Walking over to the window, I look out at the street. The dusting of snow has melted but it’s overcast outside and still looks cold. Cold, that’s a good description of how I’m feeling too.

“I need to be alone. You should go.”

STUBLING OUT OF Beau’s apartment, the walk of shame takes on a whole new meaning.

It’s cold out but I don’t feel it. I am in complete shock. Walking to the corner of the block, I lean against the building, everything has become blurry, and I try to catch my breath.

I’m so hurt.

He’s so hurt.

He’s shut me out.

He’s walked away from me, yet again.

How can he not see things from my point of view? I’m devastated that he doesn’t, scared that he never will, and livid that he is pinning this all on me. How can he put this all on me? Is he not looking in the mirror and seeing that he too is to blame?

Pushing off, I start walking. I don’t see people, cars, or even streets. The numbness is so strong, I’m not even sure how I get home. Over and over in my mind, I just keep repeating
This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.
The last eighteen hours flash through my mind. The way he was with me, how his hands held me, the things we did, the things he said, how could he just tell me to leave? This can’t be happening.

Standing at the door to my apartment, it finally swings open, and Charlie is standing on the other side.

“I heard you trying to get your key in the door, what’s wrong?”

Something inside of me snaps at the sight of him and I start crying.

“Oh my god, Leila, what happened?” He pulls me into his arms and slams the door.

“Beau.” It’s all I can get out as I sob into his shoulder.

“I swear that guy pulls more emotions out of you than anything I have seen. What did he do this time? Because I’ll kill him.”

“I broke us,” I stutter.

“What does that mean? How did you break it?”

“It means he asked me to leave.” I pull away from and glance toward the hallway. “I can’t talk about it, I’m just going to go to my room okay?”

“Okay, love,” he says frowning at me and wiping away a few tears. “If you need anything just holler.”

I nod my head, walk to my room, and close the door.

How could I have been so wrong about him over the years? Better yet, how could I have been so wrong about myself?

He’s right, the Beau that I knew back then, he never would have let me leave without saying goodbye. I’m to blame for my decisions. Charlie’s right too, I am a coward.

Why did I listen to her? I did believe her over him. For years, he called me his best friend and in off-handed little ways, he would tell me that he wasn’t sure what he would do without me.

Climbing under my covers, I pull the blanket over my head, and let the tears fall. He told me I ruined him and I ruined us.

It’s funny because I’m not sure exactly what I’m crying for at the moment, but I can’t stop. The numbness and shock are still lingering and I fear the repercussions that I am going to be assaulted with tomorrow when I wake up.

Three minutes for six and a half years.

Monday morning, the alarm goes off, and for a split second, I float into that space between being asleep and awake, and everything in life seems perfect, calm, and at peace. Then my eyes open and I see things differently. My life without Beau. Curling up in a ball, I squeeze my eyes back shut, and rub my chest as the pain and grief set in. I don’t understand what’s happening to me and I feel sick.

How I managed to get out of bed, get dressed, and get the café open, I’ll never know. I’m moving on autopilot and not one person this morning asks me what’s wrong. Every customer looks at my funnily and stays quiet. I’m glad because there’s no way I would be able to talk about this, him, or me. As the morning passes, what washes over me is so excruciating that after work I turn around and walk straight back home. The pain in my heart is unbearable and the weight that is pushing on me, I just need to lie down. What should I have done differently? What should I have said? I feel haunted by the disappointment that was radiating off of him and in return I am disappointed with myself. The look on his face—that devastated look that I see every time I close my eyes—was of compete betrayal and it’s all my fault.

We aren’t over. We can’t be. We just found our way back to each other. This has to be just another hiccup. I have to believe that this won’t break us and we’re strong enough to overcome this. I have to hang onto hope, because if I don’t, I will crumble. How do I get him back?

Lying in bed, I hug my cell phone to my chest willing it to ring, beep, anything. At some point, I hear my door open and Charlie peeks his head in. I close my eyes and pretend to be sleeping. I don’t want to talk to him. I want to talk to Beau.

Three minutes for six and a half years of unanswered questions.

On Tuesday, I wake up and I’m just mad.

Stomping around my room, getting ready for work, I feel the blood boiling inside of me. Yes, I listened to his mom and yes, according to Beau, I did write an irreversibly damaging letter, but what else have I really done wrong? I didn’t ask why, but neither did he. If I was so important to him, or if we, as in he and I, were so important then why didn’t he try to find me and ask me? I gave him all of me and he let me go. Bottom line. He’s putting all of this on me, and that’s not fair. He’s broken my heart enough too, over the years.

I spot the picture of us at prom on my desk and I walk over and lay it down. What’s the point in keeping it up? He ended us. He made us something that will forever be in the past. He asked me to leave, but it’s more than that, in his way, he threw me out.

I carry this anger with me throughout the day. Work keeps me busy and my mind preoccupied and school flies by. No one questioned my absence yesterday and I’m glad because if they had, I might just have gone off. I feel like a rocket that’s about to explode.

Instead of heading into my studio, I go for a walk. I need to move, I need to process, I need to cool off this feeling that is burning inside of me.

By the time I get home, it’s dark out, and Charlie has ordered us a pizza. I flop down on the couch, swipe a slice, and scarf it down. I try to remember the last time I ate, and then it comes to me, at Beau’s house Sunday morning.

The image of sitting on his counter, with him smiling at me, hits me like a sledgehammer. Immediately, all of the anger dissolves, and I glance toward my bedroom and feel panic because I laid the picture down trying to hide us.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Charlie hands me a beer and I drink half of it in one shot.