Her dark brown eyes are full of shock and…well, I can’t be sure. Longing, maybe? Desire? Unless that’s just wishful thinking.
I step closer once more and lean in. "Hey, I heard you were going to be here tonight, and I came here because I have something to tell you.” I pause, but only for a beat. I don’t want her to stop me from saying what I came to say.
“I want you to know that…losing you is the biggest regret of my life." My voice breaks from the truth of that confession. Thetip of my nose grazes her silky, fragrant hair as I speak closer to her ear, not wanting her to miss a word.
"I know you’re getting married tomorrow…” The admission makes my voice shake. “If Ross is the right one for you, then I’ll…be happy for you, I really will. But if there is any doubt in that pretty head of yours…” I cup a palm around her shoulder. “If you ever spend sleepless nights like I do, wondering what could've been between us, then I'mbeggingyou to hold off on the wedding and consider giving me a chance.”
My head spins. My pulse spikes. Every event in my life has led me to this very moment. A moment I would have seized sooner if I’d had the chance.
It might seem like a jerk move to drop this bomb the night before her wedding, but being the nice guy is what got me here to begin with. If I hadn’t been thinking of her best interest, I would never have suggested we step back from our three-year relationship.
The thing is, Ashley and I went on our first date when she was just fifteen years old. By the time she turned sixteen—Ashley in her junior year and me in my senior—we became exclusive. We were known as a power couple, in fact, staying strong until we both graduated.
During my first year of college, I was inundated with advice about the importance of dating around. I started to worry that—if Ashley never dated anyone else—she’d come to resent me one day. I addressed it after Ashley had a year of college under her belt as well. I didn’t think I was ending things; I thought I was giving her the chance to date around if she wanted. To make sureshewas sure that I was, in fact, the one. I wanted to do right by her.
Talk about a misfire.
“I don't know about you,” I add, “but I don't want somewhat-ifquestion haunting me for the rest of my life. What I did was stupid, and I want a chance to make it right.”
I straighten and pull back enough to look at her.
Her brow furrows, her lips get tight, and she turns her head to look decidedly away from me.
I stand there, unmoving, barely breathing, willing her to say she feels the same. To say she, too, wonders nonstop about what could have been.
It’s not the first time I’ve reached out. After the breakup, I sent texts, showed up at her work, I even reached out to her sister, Annica. It’s not that I didn’t respect her choice to split up if that’s what she really wanted; it’s that she misunderstood my reasons for taking a break. I wasn’t being selfish. I didn’t want to see other women. I was only in love with her.
I let her be, relying on the old butterfly adage, praying that she really was mine and that she’d come back to me one day.
A year ago, I gave it one more try. I sent her a handwritten letter with sentiments to rival that of the sappiest sucker in town.
Nada.
My heart wallops, hot, sloppy thumps out of beat as Ashley lowers her chin and looks down at her feet.
Oh no,this is it, isn’t it? It’s the moment I’m supposed to walk away and move on with my life.
I take a single step back. "I mean, only if you feel the same way,” I say loud enough to be heard over the music. “I don't want to sidetrack you or make you second-guess something if you're sure it’s right." It’s sort of a lie, though; that’s exactly what I want to do because I’mpositivethat Ross Freaking Brynn is not the right guy for her.
Ashley glances at her friends on the dance floor, down to her feet again, and then back up at me. I can’t believe I’m actuallyface-to-face with Ashley Chen right now, at this very moment. I want to pull her into my arms and feel her warm and snug against me.
Nostalgia, longing, love, and heartache, it’s a cocktail so strong my knees go wobbly and weak. She's the same in so many ways—the same girl I fell in love with, but she’s different, too. I'm used to reading her mind by simply gauging her expression. Yet now, as I look at her full, beautiful pout, as I sense the chaos flashing behind her brown eyes, I’m at a loss. I have no idea what she's thinking. No idea if she feels the same. No idea if I’m making a fool out of myself.
"The um…”
I step forward, anxious to hear what she has to say, but she shakes her head and dies off there. Her chin quivers, and tears well in her eyes. The sight is razor sharp and dagger deep in my chest. It’s like déjà vu, a momentous spot in our lives, and I’m making her cry yet again.
"Did you get my letter?" I blurt.
I want her to say no, she didn't get it. I want her to say that if she had gotten it,I’dbe the one standing at the altar tomorrow, not Ross Freaking Brynn.
Ashley nods but says nothing. Nothing like, ‘it made me miss you. It made me want to call you or reach out, but I was just too proud or scared or unsure.’
I stare at her, waiting for one little word of acknowledgment. Anything that says she thinks about me, too.
It doesn’t come.
The song changes, seeming to say, ‘time’s up, pal. Move along.’
