Of loving her enough that losing her would destroy me.
“Rowan isn’t the problem,” he finishes. “You are. You were just looking for a reason to push her away.”
The kitchen is quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the echo of my own breathing.
I think of Rowan laughing in this kitchen. Of herdancing with Presley as they cooked together. Of her singing and making silly faces with Jemmy.
Twenty years.
I would have given anything for twenty more years with Cora.
And I threw away the chance at twenty with Rowan because it might end someday.
“Grief doesn’t get to dictate your life anymore,” Jude says, placing his hand on my shoulder once more. “Only you get to do that. You just need to decide if you want twenty years of happiness, or twenty years of being an absolute bear.” He flashes me a smirk. “I know which one I’m voting for.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
ROWAN
I’ve been drivingfor five days.
Five days of highways blurring into each other. Gas station coffee. Rest stops. Audiobooks I’ve barely paid attention to.
I thought if I just kept moving, something would call to me.
But nothing has, and I’ve somehow ended up back in Illinois.
The Chicago skyline rises in the distance, familiar against the gray afternoon sky. My chest tightens as I drive through the suburb I grew up in. Tree-lined streets. Tidy lawns. The same bakery my nanny always took me to after school on Fridays.
I don’t remember deciding to come here.
I guess my heart did.
After making my way closer to the city, I pull up infront of Emily’s townhouse and cut the engine, not immediately moving. I haven’t told her I was coming. But within seconds, the front door opens and she runs outside.
I step out of the van, and am instantly assaulted by my best friend’s embrace.
“Oh, my god. You’re here. I’ve missed you so fucking much.”
I sigh, relishing in the love I always feel around her. “I’ve missed you, too.”
“But why are you here?” She pulls back and I meet her gaze.
Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s wearing a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt with Northwestern emblazoned across it.
It reminds me of Hayden’s faded Northwestern t-shirt, and I have to fight back the tears.
“I promised I’d be home for your birthday.” I shrug.
“My birthday isn’t for another four months.”
“I guess I didn’t want to be late,” I choke out.
“Oh, sweetie.” She pulls me into her arms again, and the tears come.
And not the quiet, dignified kind. The kind that have been locked up tight for days, waiting for permission to be set free.
“It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. What have I always told you?”
