“I don’t want your protection. Not if I can’t have you. All I want isyou. Every part of you. Every fear, every dream, every sad thing, every good thing—everything, Grant. I am so in love with you, even now, even after you told me to go, even after I tried to stop. I love you and it isconsumingme. I don’t want to stop loving you but even worse, I’m afraid I won’teverbe able to stop,” I tell him on a sob, and his exhale is shaky. “I know I hurt you. I know that it felt like I abandoned you. But listen to me when I tell you I willneverdo it again. You have to know that. You have to believe me, Grant. I don’t want to accept that this is it, that I won’t get to have every moment with you but—“ I stop, pulling in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “I can’t fix you. And I won’t try. I’ve done that before.”
He sucks in a breath, our bodies impossibly close as he studies me, jaw twitching as tears well in his deep sea eyes. And it’s there—the pain, the hurt, not just from me but his mother.
“Gen, where did you—“ Liv’s voice cuts through thesnowy veil of the moment, abruptly stopping at the sight of us, pulling us both back to reality. I step slightly back, feeling weighed down by the finality of this. But I want everything with him, and I know that anything but complete surrender to each other will keep us from that.
“Come to my show tomorrow. Or don’t come,” I tell him, my lip quaking as I even give that option. “But I can’t do this forever. Can’t hurt like this forever,” I tell him, my nose twitching as more tears dampen my face.
He nods, face straining with the torrent of emotions running through them, and I hope it’s enough. “Okay,” he says, throat bobbing as he nods. I pull away from him, the growing distance between us feeling like a sick joke.
Maybe we could be leaving here together. Maybe I could’ve just brushed everything under the rug.
But how long would that have worked? How long until we’d fracture again, splinter and shatter, bleed from the fallout?
I spare him a glance as I walk back toward Liv, grateful that she brought my coat, and when I look at Grant his face is turned toward the dark sky, snowflakes disappearing on his skin as tears glisten there, falling softly.
“Come on. Ben’s going to take him home,” she tells me, and I break down, relieved that someone is there for him, even if it can’t be me.
We pile into my car: Liv drives, Jean takes the back bench without protest, and I lean against the passenger side window, the glass foggy from my hot tears. No one turns on the radio or connects their phone; Liv and Jean don’t even make idle chatter. But I can feel their thoughts silently churning, and I can feel them replaying the night over and over. I don’t know how much they heard, but they saw the end of it.
“I don’t know if I did the right thing,” I finally admit, my intake of breath a small gasp for air amid my tears. “Fuck. I hate this.” My face crumbles in on itself as Jean’s hand comes up to grasp my shoulder and Liv’s free hand holds mine.
“Choosing yourself is never the wrong thing, G,” Jean croons, and I breathe it in. Let it settle deep inside me as we drive into the night.
36
Grant
The fabric of my suit itches against my forearm as my truck skates across the icy highway, the steady thud of the wipers in sync with the beat of my heart as they slice the snow away from my windshield. The traffic into the city has taken way longer than I expected and every time I check the clock on my dash my stomach plummets a little further.
I can’t be late.
I can’t be.
Gen’s face flashes in front of me breaking through all my defenses, the pain written in her eyes so palpable it feels like my own and hell, maybe it is. When I saw her at the mixer, saw all the hurt that I caused, heard that Ibroke her heart…I suck in a deep breath. Seeing her made me realize my heart was never broken, but missing completely. She stood there in front of me, tears streaming down her face, holding it out to me, asking if I wanted it back. It was so clear in that moment that it was right where it belonged, that the choice to trade mine for her’s was made up for me the very first time I saw her bite that bottom lip, witnessed the corners of those plush lips twitch at whatever backhanded comment she threw my way. Even just holding her hand felt like the first time my bare feet touched grass, grounding me, and the absence of it has left me free falling in a way I couldn’t truly place until I saw her. All I know is I’m going to get it back, all of it, even if it means spending the rest of my life convincing her that her heart is safe with me.
I clench the steering wheel, turning off the exit leading to the conservatory, each mile I inch closer my nerves spiking a little bit more. I glance back at the clock—I’ll make it. Just in time for the curtain, but I’ll make it. The ornate building starts to enter my periphery just as my phone vibrates on the passenger seat. I glance at it and see Sloane’s name. She’s probably wondering where I am. Hopefully she went in to grab our seats instead of waiting outside like we originally planned. I click the button to answer.
“Hey, sorry traffic’s been?—”
“Grant…” Her voice is a muffled cry, the kind that puts all your senses on high alert.
“Sloane what…what’s wrong? Where are you?” I ask, the muffled beeps and shuffling in the background an indicator that she isn’t at the conservatory.
“Grant, I’m so sorry—” she sniffs, trying to catch her breath on a sob. “Can you come to the hospital?” My knuckles grasp the wheel, fear like fire burning the inside of my throat.
I glance over one more time at the conservatory approaching on my left, rolling my lips together before taking a sharp U-turn.
“I’m on my way.”
The hospital is a flurry of nurses with clipboards and frantic families asking the status of whichever patient they came to see. I rush to the check in area, drumming my fingers against the desk to get out some of my nerves. Images of Sloane, hurt and in a room all alone, keep spinning in my mind and it takes everything in me not to charge through the hallways of the hospital and look for her myself. The nurse to the right of me, a kind, older woman with soft eyes, finishes with who I assume is a patient's mother and makes her way toward me.
“Who are you here to see, honey?” she asks, her voice calm amongst the anxiety that coats the rest of the waiting room.
“Sloane…Sloane Fielder,” I choke out, tears springing to my eyes knowing she’s here in this hospital and I’m not there with her.
The nurse squints down at her computer, typing and clicking through whatever inventory of patients her computer holds.
“Is that the only name she goes by?”
