I didn’t plan on yelling at him like that. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure where it came from. All that has had too much time to stew, I guess. When he pushed the right buttons, it just boiled over.
I could have gone home after that. I only came to town to talk to him, and I think we both said about all there is to say. But it felt like Gran’s was calling to me. Since it hasn’t sold yet, I couldn’t come up with a reason not to take a detour before I head home.
Sitting by the lake, I kick off my shoesand stretch out my legs. I wonder what Gran would say about this mess. She’d definitely know about it by now. Talk about airing out your dirty laundry.
It needed to happen, though. He needed to hear me out. I did what I did for Maggie. It wasn’t about hurting him. Once I found out about her, the shit between Gabriel and I took the back burner. It was only about Maggie.
I did the right thing.
Gravel crunches, and I turn to find JT’s black truck coming down the road. He parks several yards from where I’m sitting. With a warm smile, he lifts a hand, and I return the gesture. As the passenger door opens, my heart clenches.
Gabriel appears from around the truck.
It’s only been a few hours, and I’m not sure I’m ready to go another round with him. He’s in fresh jeans and a black T-shirt and has pulled his hair back.
He stops in front of me with red puffy eyes and puts his hands in his pockets.
Shifting onto my knees, I say, “Gabriel?—”
“I screwed up. Ash, I should’ve—I missed out on my own damn—” His voice breaks, and he pulls a hand from his pocket, pressing his fingers to his eyelids. “I know where you were coming from, keeping her from this place. I get it, really. But you could have told me. I would’ve been there.”
“I didn’t know,” I whisper. With a deep breath, I continue, “After everything that happened, I felt like I didn’t even know you. What was real—” Biting my top lip, I drop my gaze to the grass.
He crouches in front of me and places a hand on either side of my face. He smells like him but also like alcohol and cigarettes. This close, every bloodshot vessel in the whites of his eyes is visible.
As tears begin to well, his blue eyes darken. “I fucked up. I royally fucked up, and I’m so sorry. You were never a fling. You weren’t pathetic. You were everything. My whole fucking world.”
The fist squeezing me from the inside twists.
Wrapping my hands around his wrists, I stare up at the man I loved so much it almost killed me. I don’t know where we stand anymore, but I don’t want to hate him. And I’m so tired of hurting each other.
A single tear rolls down his cheek as he says, “I owe you a hell of a lot more than an apology, but there aren’t enough words in the world to make up for this shit. So, I’ll just keep telling you how fucking sorry I am.”
My heart cracks open and I sob. How can I not? This is an impossible situation. Neither of us are wholly at fault, but it’s fucked all the same.
There are years of wear etched into his forehead that weren’t there before. That mask he wears to keep everyone out has been in place for far too long.
Like a white flag, I pull him to me, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as they shake and his chest heaves. I think all these years, I assumed he’d been out living his life while I was trapped in the dark corners of my mind that were created that day, but he has his own demons.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, but eventually I pull back, taking in his tear-streaked face.
He’s broken, and I hate it. I’ll always choose my daughter over anyone else, but I wish choosing her didn’t mean hurting him. The problem is, I don’t know where we go from here.
Ravens Ridge isn’t a place I can bring her. He was right before. He lost years with her. Years that, no matter how this turns out, he’ll never get back. But there will be moreyears, and my stance on things hasn’t changed. The only difference is, he’ll feel every one of those years without her now.
Maybe not telling him before was actually the kinder choice.
He eventually shifts to his butt and rests his elbows on his knees. “This is a mess.”
“Yeah…” I sit beside him.
A long silence stretches between us.
Finally, with his eyes trained on the water, he says, “Did you mean it before when you said that you wished you’d died that night?”
I knew he’d take that hard. It’s not really something I’ve talked about outside of therapy because she says that’s a pretty common feeling with people who experience that type of trauma.
“I did. Especially before I found out I was pregnant. Things changed after that, but before I felt like it was pointless for me to have survived instead of him. He had a church full of people who were devastated that he was gone. And I—” I swallow, trying to get the words out. “I kept getting thrown away by people I loved.”
