When I end the call, I sink down to the wooden floor amidst the bottles of butterfly lavender essential oils, the eye masks promising calmness, and the dried sachets offering peace.
I don’t feel calm or settled or peaceful. I feel terrible. My heart absolutely bleeds for Banks. For me, but mostly for him. Because I know Banks, and I know how awful he must feel right now. Like he failed. I know, too, that he’ll do the right thing.
This means there’s only one right thing I can do now, even if it feels like I’m excavating all my insides with a bulldozer.
I push up to my feet, intent on finding him, my curious pup rising too. Only, I don’t have to look far—Banks is already knocking on the door.
That’s so him. He always knows where to find me. He just does. He has a sense for me.
I wish I could revel in that connection. But I can’t. With a bruised heart, I open the door and let him into the tiny store as the sun rises over my farm.
“Hi,” I manage, and my voice sounds scratchy and raw.
Hudson trots over and wags his tail, licking Banks’s hand. Briefly, Banks pets the dog, then meets my gaze. Pain etches his eyes. His hair sticks up everywhere. He drags a hand through it, like he’s been doing that all morning.
“I really fucked up, Ripley,” he begins, regret thick in his voice.
“Me too,” I say.
He shakes his head as if rejecting that thought. “It was my fault. All mine.”
“It was ours,” I say.
“No. It was mine,” he insists, proving that heonlyblames himself. He scrubs a hand down his face. “Webflix canceled the meeting. Just now.”
My heart plummets. This is worse than I’d thought. So much worse with him losing business. “Because of the pictures?”
He breathes out hard through his nostrils. His fists are clenched. Every muscle in his body is taut. “Because I didn’t act like a fucking professional. Because I didn’t do my job. Because I’m a goddamn liability. I prided myself on protecting you at all costs. I take every job seriously. I looked out for you every second of the day, and what happened? I wound up in the press for falling in love with you.” He stabs his chest with his finger. “I’m not supposed to fall in love. I’m supposed to protect you.Perfectly.”
My heart aches so much I can’t even process the terrible beauty of those words—falling in love.
The words come with a cost. And the cost is coming. Still, my impulse to take care of everything is too strong to ignore. “You can’t beat yourself up,” I say gently, trying to shoulder some of the blame.
“But I can, and I will. This is on me. I’m just like my father.”
This poor man.“You’re not,” I say, emphatic as I shake my head.
He’s silent for a beat—a long, thoughtful one that lets me hope he’ll see the difference between himself and the man who lied about an entire second family.
“Fine. Maybe I’m not,” he says quietly, and a sliver of sunshine warms me. Then it disappears behind a cloud when he adds, “But I still can’t get away with this.”
I brace myself. I knew this was coming because I know this man. He’ll take it all on. He’ll think he can control everything. And he’ll want to pay the price.
So I have to do the right thing, and I must do it before he can. If he says the next thing he came here to say, he’ll hate himself even more than he does now. I won’t let that happen.
“Banks,” I begin, the word scraping my throat raw. But he’s not the only one who knows how to protect the people they love. I can protect him too.From himself.I won’t make this any harder for him than it already is. I won’t fight it. I won’t try to convince him he’s wrong. Nor will I let him be the one to pull the trigger.
I get the words out first: “I think we should…stop.”
The word burns my tongue as I break it off.
But when he nods gratefully, muttering a terribly heavy, “We should,” I know, too, that I had to be the one to do it. This way, he won’t entirely blame himself. I suppose that’s the only gift I can give him right now.
Sometimes you just have to let go of the ones you love.
45
YOU AND NOTTING HILL
