“My parents. Maybe when they pass, things will be different.”
“But now you’ve got legal control over the family trust, right?”
I shrug. “Technically, I suppose. But I’ve never gone against anything my father or any of the other trustees want.”
“But that could change.”
“Now’s not the time,” I say. “I’ve never seen her so vulnerable since my father’s been in the hospital. And my father, despite his… condition. He’s still alive. I couldn’t change things so dramatically. I wouldn’t want to challenge the status quo while he’s…” I don’t want to finish the thought.
“The thing you have to remember,” Bennett says. “Some things you can’t get back once you have let them go.”
He’s talking about Iris. But honestly, what choice do I have? I can’t leave my responsibilities in New York. And Iris can’t come here. After what my mother’s said, I don’t know if I could ask her to. I don’t want her to be anyone but herself and I’m not sure she could be herself in New York. I wouldn’t want her to be unhappy, and the way my mother described it, there isn’t another option.
There are so many things that are different about Iris and me, but we also have a lot in common. We’re both tied to our parts of the world. “Some things aren’t meant to work out.” I tryto swallow past the lump in my throat and push down the panic that threatens to rise at the thought of not being with Iris.
“Jack,” Fisher says. “I’ve seen you two together—in fact, I haven’t seen thatmuchof you together, because you’re almost always one-on-one. I’ve never seen you like this with a woman.”
“I’ve never been like this with a woman.”
“Then you can’t let her go,” Worth says.
I owe Worth an apology. I thought he was crazy, when he fell for Sophia as hard and fast as he did. It’s been exactly the same with Iris. Except I haven’t married Iris. We’re not going to get our happily-ever-after.
“It’s not so easy for me, Worth,” I say. “I have obligations and I won’t put those on Iris.”
The front of my cell lights up and then goes black. I check it. I’ve had a missed call from Iris. I’ve wanted to hear her voice all day. I’ve called her twice, but she hasn’t picked up. We’ve exchanged a few messages to try to fix a time to speak. We’ve still not landed on a time.
Why am I dragging this out? I just need to get past this bit—rip the Band-Aid off and tell her I’m not coming back to Colorado. The thought makes my gut churn. The idea that Iris isn’t going to be a part of my life is almost impossible to imagine. From the moment I laid eyes on the woman, I felt a connection to her that I’ve never experienced before. When I’m with her, it’s like I’m the best version of myself. I’m lighter. Hopeful. More me.
Just the thought of giving her up cuts like a knife. But keeping her hanging on isn’t fair. It will make things more painful for her in the long run. And Iris’s happiness comes before my own. I need to tell her.
My friends might think I can change the life that I’ve been born to live, but none of them inherited the life I did.
THIRTY-THREE
Iris
It’s not until this moment that I realize how completely and utterly I know Jack.
Down to his bones.
As soon as I answered his call, I felt him. He’s sad. So sad. I hear it in his voice, so thick I can feel it between my fingers.
I know what’s coming, and even though it’s so devastating that I can’t stop my eyes from overfilling, at the same time I want to comfort my Jack. I hate hearing him in such pain.
“It’s important that I’m near the hospital,” he says.
“Of course it is.” I hope he can’t hear my pain like I can hear his.
“And his recovery is going to be slow and…”
“You have to be in New York. I understand,” I say. And I do. If I switch my heart off, everything makes logical sense to my brain. He has to be in New York. I have to be in Colorado.
But my heart isn’t switched off. It’s on full volume and it hurts like it’s trapped under ten tons of rubble.
“And with all the additional responsibilities I have now, I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to come to Colorado again.”
The knife sinks deeper and I close my eyes, trying to shut out some of the excruciating pain that comes with his words.
