“You’re a fool, Cavanaugh.” Quin shakes his head, scowling at me. Good. Hate me. I need you to hate me. “She ran because she loved you. She ran because she didn’t want to hurt you. Because she knew if you ever found out what you did, the role you had in Alison’s death, you'd never recover. You’d never forgive yourself. That’s why she ran. Not because she didn’t want you but because she loved youmorethan she wanted you.”
My heart clenches, pain pulsing in my chest as I spit more lies, more venom. Anything to make him stop. Anything to make him give up.
“Well, I don’t wanther. Not anymore. Not like this. I told you I don’t share, and I don’t. This was a mistake. We never should have?—”
Quin grabs me by the collar, seething. “I know whatyou’re trying to do, Damon. And it won’t work. Do you know why? Because Iknowyou. Because I’ve known you since we were kids. Running away won’t solve anything, Damon. And that’s what you’re doing, you’re running.”
“Let go of me,” I grunt, nearly crumbling under the facade.
“Or what? You’ll punch me?” Quin releases his hold on my collar and drops his hands to the side. He angles his chin toward me. “Do it, Damon. Hit me. Show me how much you hate me. Because you do, right? Hate me? You don’t like to share, and I’ve forced your hand. So, youmusthate me. Hit me, Damon. If you hate me so fucking much then hit me.”
My hand shakes as I curl it into a fist and wind back my arm. My entire body trembles, the expression on my face nowhere near as convincing as it needs to be. “I hate you.” It comes out in a broken whisper. “I?—”
“Idiot.” Quin sighs and reaches out, cocooning my immobile fist with his palm. His blue eyes meet mine as the warmth from his hold seeps into my icy skin. “You used to be a better liar, Cavanaugh.”
“Please… Just let me leave.” Pathetic. I am so fucking pathetic. “I can’t be there, Quin. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can, Damon. Youcanstay, but you’rechoosingto leave. Do you think leaving is the noble thing to do? Do you think leaving makes you brave? Selfless? Leaving is easy, Damon. Staying… Staying is hard. If you want to prove to Emery that you’re selfless then stay. She needs you to stay. The baby needs you to stay. Be selfless and fuckingstay.”
Silence envelops us. He’s wrong. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t see the chaos my presence will inevitably create. Like a hurricane. A tornado. I’ll destroy everything in my path. I always do. I could only play house for so long. I could only pretend that I was cured and healed and optimistic for so long. I need Emery to live. I need her to survive. I need the baby to survive. Our baby must survive. And they will. If I leave, they’ll both live.
My love is a death sentence, and I refuse to watch Emery perish under the guillotine of my selfishness.
“If you need time, Damon, take it,” Quin says. “If time is what you need, I will let you go, but Iwon’tlet you leave. Do you understand me? I will not let you leave us.”
“You loved her too.” My gaze is distant. “How can you stand there and tell me to stay when you loved her too?”
Quin swallows. “Because I loved you more, Damon. You were troubled and tortured and toxic, but I loved you. You were my friend before I loved her, you were my friend while I loved her, and you were still my friend after that love faded.”
My teeth clench. “It didn't fade. I broke it.”
“Real love isn’t breakable, mate. If youwereable to break it, it’s because it was never very strong to begin with. And that’s not the type of love I want. Nor the type I deserve.”
“I hated you.” The earth beneath my feet trembles as I dare look up at him. “For years, I hated you.”
“And yet, I still loved you. I didn’t like you. But Iloved you. And I will continue to love you, Damon. And so will Emery. And that love will never fade. It’s not weak becausewe’renot weak.” Quin steps off to the side and tilts his head in the direction of the exit. “You may go, Damon, but the way we feel will never fade.” He pauses, latching onto my weary eyes. “You made a mistake, Damon. A grave one but amistake. And I knowyou.” He shoves a stiff finger at my chest. “I know you, Damon, and I know you would never purposely do something to hurt the people you love. It was a mistake… And I-I forgive you. I don’t know how many times I need to say this, but I forgive you.”
As I stand surrounded by headstones and wilting red roses, a sense of eerie familiarity pricks at my heart. I belong here. With death. It follows me. Like a ghost of the past. Every corner I turn, it’s there. Every room I enter, it breaks down the bolted door. I can’t hide from it. I can’t outrun it. I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried. But I feel it. Festering inside me. Waiting. Lurking in the shadows. Counting the minutes until it sinks its fangs into someone else. Someone I love.
Quinton doesn’t understand. He’ll never understand. Death isn’t his keeper. Death isn’t infatuated with his soul. And Emery… Emery used to understand the darkness that dwells inside me. She used to hide from the same sense of torment and unrest. But not anymore. And Christ, I am so fucking relieved. I am so grateful that she escaped, that she fled the shadows and ran straight into the light. She looks so goddamn beautiful in the light. She glows. She fucking glimmers in the hope of it all.
Emery ran without hesitation. She ran with trust and confidence and certainty. She ran because she had help. She ran because of her heart. Alison’s heart. She heard its whispers. She felt its magic. But that was her rescue. Not mine. I hear nothing but sobs. But screams. I feel nothing but pain. Nothing but longing. Emery ran toward something. My feet won’t carry me in that direction. It’s a path I was never meant to walk. I am not worthy of such a road.
I will never be worthy of that road.
“Take care of her, Quin.”
And I quietly leave my dream behind.
THE HOLLOW CHEST
EMERY
I knowwhat it feels like to have my heart ripped out. Literally. I know the agony of recovery, the uselessness of painkillers, the fear it’ll never heal, never feel the same. But this time, the pain is unbearable. This time, the ache is deeper, stronger, unyielding in its assault on every fiber of my being. He didn’t just rip out my heart, he stomped on it, crushed it under the heel of his cowardice.
He left? How could he leave? How could Quinlet himfucking leave?
Anger stews in my gut as I rearrange meaningless documents in my former office. My replacement, an older woman in her fifties sips on a delicate cup of tea, completely unaware of the turmoil boiling inside me. God, she’s clueless. Can’t she see that I’m drowningright beside her? Or maybe I’ve mastered the art of disguise. Maybe I’ve perfected the face of passive acceptance, knowing that my life, no matter how hard I try, is always wrapped in pretty little bows of chaos and unrest.
