She leaves, and I'm alone with my guilt and my memories.
Cara Leigh.
I haven't said her name while conscious in six years. Haven't let myself think about her too much, because every time I do, it's like ripping open a wound that has never fully healed.
But Paisley deserves better than this. Better than a man who's still haunted by his dead wife.
I force myself out of bed, ignoring the way my legs shake, the way my vision tilts because my head hurts. I need to move, need to start building my strength back. Can't lay here wallowing forever.
In the kitchen, Paisley is making soup. She doesn't look at me when I come in.
"You should be resting," she says.
"I've rested enough." I lean against the counter, not trusting my legs to hold me if I try to stand without support. "Paisley, I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For whatever I said about my wife when I was out of my head. For making you feel like you don't matter."
Now she does look at me, and there are tears in her eyes. "Do I matter, Chase?"
"Yes." The word comes out fierce, certain. "You matter more than I know how to say."
"Then why won't you say her name? You told me about her, but you can't say her name?"
"It's hard." I close my eyes, fighting for the right words. "Because saying her name means admitting that I failed. That I couldn't save her, even though I tried everything."
She makes a noise in the back of her throat. "Chase, I'm so sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Just..." I take a shaky breath. "Know that it's hard for me to say her name. It's been six years, and I can tell people about what happened to her, but I can't tell people her name," I explain, running a hand through my gross hair.
She crosses the room and takes my free hand. "Thank you for admitting it."
"Thank you for not giving up on me."
We stand there for a moment, hands linked, and I realize something. I don't want to lose this woman. Don't want to let my past ruin my chance at a future with her.
But I also don't know if I'm strong enough to let go of Cara Leigh completely.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Twenty-Three
Paisley
February
The distance between us has grown.
It's not physical, we still share the same bed, still eat meals together. But there's a wall that wasn't there before, built brick by brick from the one thing Chase won't say.
I've given him a chance. Multiple chances, actually. Opportunities to open up, to tell me about Cara Leigh, to let me in. But every time, he shuts down. Changes the subject. Finds an excuse to leave the room.
So I've thrown myself into the one thing I can control. My book.
The psychological thriller has consumed me. I write for hours every day, losing myself in a world I can manipulate, where I'm in charge of the outcomes. Unlike real life, where I have no control over whether Chase will ever truly let me in.
