Christian shrugged. “I have,” he says. “Just…in regrettable ways.”
He doesn’t have to say anything else—I know. He was probably drunk for all of his birthdays, wreaking havoc or with women.Women that weren’t me.
“Oh,” I breathe, and I leave it like that for now. “So…”
“July third was just another day I had to get through,” he says quietly with a shrug. “And I…did what I had to to get through it.”
“I…”
“Every year on my birthday,” Christian rasps, “I missed you. Not just on those days, I missed youevery day. But on those days especially because no one in my life has ever made me feel more special as you do on my birthdays.”
I shake my head. “That’s not?—”
“It is true,” he insists. “You always did something for me. Every year. You’d bake a cake, you’d invite over our friends, you’d take me to the gardens or the lake or to dinner. You’d buy me these cute little gifts…”
I sniff, my nose wrinkling and my eyes burning.
His parents… Well, his parents are and always wereshit.
Christian deserves love. Always did. Still does.
“No one has ever made me feel as special as you do, Lana.” Christian sniffs and I stare into my tea. “No one has ever made me feel like my life meant something.”
A tear slips. “Your life always meant something.”
“No, it hasn’t.”
“Yes,” I croak. “It has. Itdoes.”
Christian shakes his head. “Not to me. Not really.”
I put my mug down and scoot toward him. I rest my head on his shoulder and hug his arm. “Your life means something to me,” I whisper. “Youmean something to me.”
I feel his head shake and he wipes his face with his hand. His left leg starts to bounce and I put a hand to his knee. I sit up just a bit and kiss his cheek before I whisper,“You mean something to me, Christian Calloway.”
Christian is staring out at the sunrise, stoic and frozen in a way that stabs me between the ribs. I sit up further and put my hand to his cheek, turning his head toward mine.
He blinks and there is a sad red surrounding his beautiful coffee colored eyes when he looks at me. My thumb traces up his cheekbone and my nails lightly scratch the thin stubble around his jaw.
“You mean something to me, Christian Calloway,” I say again, my eyes looking directly into his.
He swallows and his hand covers my own on his cheek, andhe leans into the touch. I catch the tear as soon as it falls from the corner of his eye and wipe it away as though it never existed.
I’ve seen him cry one too many times, the image of each occasion worse than the last. The heartbreak of bearing witness is enough to last a lifetime. I don’t want to see anymore of it and, if it’s up to me, Christian will never cry again.
“My life was empty, you know,” he rasps, breaking my heart again. “Before you. After you.”
I shake my head. “Don’t say that.”
“Whether I say it or not, it will always be true, Lana.” He turns and kisses my palm.
He might have broken my heart four years ago, but he’s here and he’s mending it. “And now?”
“And now it’s not empty anymore.”
I feel my lip tremble, but I try my best to control it. “Neither is mine.”
“Lana?”
