When we make out, I find the nearest corner, press my back against the wall, and focus on breathing.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Somewhere in the other room, the auction is about to start.
Somewhere down that hallway, the man I love just accused me of being too scared to choose him.
And the worst part—the absolute worst part—I'm pretty sure I was about to choose us.
Until this.
Until what he said.
I've spent eleven years carrying the weight of what Idid to him. Eleven years knowing I was the one who broke us first.
Who chose fear over faith.
Who sent him away because I couldn't stand the thought of losing my brothers if they ever found out.
I've owned that. Every single day.
But this?
He took the story he told me at 2am—the one about Eleanor and Jedediah, the initials carved into the same log, the love that survived even when it was separated by a construction mistake—and he turned it into a knife.
He made me the mistake.
The thing that couldn't be fixed.
The reason we'll never be whole.
And maybe a part of him is right. I have kept us apart.
Maybe I've been so busy preserving everyone else's history that I forgot I'm allowed to have one of my own.
But I can't think about that right now.
I can't think about anything except the way his voice went cold when he saidyou'd never approve that renovation, would you?
Like I'm the wall. The obstacle. The thing standing between him and happiness.
I've lost people before. I know what it feels like to love someone and have them disappear—my mother's face fading from memory no matter how many photographs I take, no matter how hard I try to hold on.
But this is different.
This is someone choosing to leave. Choosing to seethe worst in me. Choosing to believe I'm the villain when all I've ever done is try to protect us both.
So maybe it's a good thing I didn't break my heart open for him after all.
At least this way, I'm the only one who knows how badly I wanted to.
Chapter Thirty
