She blinks and waves it off, seeming to shake herself out of it. “Did she leave messages when she called?”
I nod. “She was calling and leaving messages every day, begging me to give us another shot.” Pain pierces me in the chest. “I didn’t understand it, and I should have called her when the messages became increasingly teary, but I was working twelve-hour days, and with the time difference, it was difficult. I planned to go see her when I returned, but by the time I landed, she was already at the hospital on life support.”
I hang my head in shame.
“I understand why you feel it’s your fault. I’ve been in your shoes. But like everyone, including you, has been telling me, you are not responsible for Brielle’s actions.”
I lift my head, running a hand across the tightness in my chest. “There is no excuse for how I let her down. None. I could have found a gap during my day to call her, and I didn’t.”
“You were depressed, Beck. If you want to point the finger of blame at someone, point it at your fathers. They forced you into something neither of you wanted.”
“It doesn’t exonerate me. I was a shitty friend to her in the end. She might still be alive if I hadn’t broken up with her. If I had returned any of her calls.”
“You don’t know that.” She leans forward, taking both my hands in hers.
Earnest green eyes pin me in place, and I’m drowning in her beauty and the goodness that radiates from her like a beacon. Stevie has no makeup on, and she’s dressed casually, but she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
It is getting harder and harder to deny my feelings when I’m around her.
It seems there’s no end to my pitifulness.
Developing feelings for a woman whose heart is already claimed is the definition of stupidity.
Yet I can’t help it.
I am drawn to her in a way I have never been drawn to any woman before.
I am powerless to stop it.
“It sounds to me like maybe there was something else going on with her,” she muses. “Something that made her change her mind about your relationship.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, and we’re probably never going to, but you can’t beat yourself up over it forever. The truth is, this might have had nothing to do with you at all, and berating yourself won’t bring her back. Just like me blaming myself for not accepting Garrick’s gift makes no difference now. It’s inconsequential. What has happened cannot be reversed.”
“This is why I needed to tell you. You understand in a way no one else does.”
“I do, which is why I’m begging you to try to let this go. Drinking yourself into a stupor won’t bring Brielle back. All it will do is make you feel worse. I know there’s a process you need to go through to purge these thoughts and feelings. You can’t bottle them up and pretend they don’t exist. I tried that, and it doesn’t work. But I’m here for you, and maybe you need to talk to someone.”
Releasing my hands, she runs her fingers through her hair. “I’ll make you a deal. Mom, Nana, and Hadley have been nagging me for months to go to therapy. I couldn’t face it. Still don’t know if I can, but I’ll go if you will.” Her eyes search my face. “Let’s go and talk it out with professionals and see if it helps.”
“I suppose it can’t make things any worse.”
* * *
Glancing at my watch for the umpteenth time, I fight the urge to call Stevie. Today is the anniversary of the accident, and Stevie wanted to spend it at the hospital with Garrick and their families and friends. I get that, but I’m on edge worrying about her. She’s been so low this past week. Both of us have been taking turns singing the blues.
Since the night she found me in a drunken mess, Stevie has come here every day after work. We eat dinner together, and then we either take it easy with a movie and a glass of wine or we work companionably in silence in my office. I write while she crafts dried-flower pictures.
I have never been more at ease with another living soul, and I love having her here more often. I miss her after I walk her back to her place, hating coming back to an empty apartment.
We each found a therapist and have our first appointments next week. I think Stevie is really going to need it. The anniversary has dredged a lot of feelings to the surface, and she needs to confront them. Like I need to confront my feelings about Brielle. It was easier to pretend they weren’t there when she was lying in a hospital bed and I had Stevie to distract me. The funeral forced me to face up to it, and I’m struggling to move past my guilt. If I had done things differently, Brielle could be alive. As long as I live, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for letting her down.
It’s funny how we’re great at giving one another the perfect advice, yet we’re remiss in taking it ourselves.
A loud thump against the front door rouses me from my inner monologue, and I’m up on my feet in a flash. “Beck!” Stevie’s anguished cry is muffled through the wood, but her pain is visceral. She falls into my arms when I open the door, clinging to me and crying. Approaching footfalls pound up the stairs as I wrap my arms around Stevie, offering what comfort I can. Hadley appears at the top of the stairs, red-faced and out of breath.
Stevie is sobbing into my neck, and the sounds coming from her mouth are the most agonized sounds I’ve ever heard. When her legs almost give out, I scoop Stevie into my arms and step back to let her best friend in. Hadley and I exchange a troubled look as she closes my front door.
