Took you long enough to admit it.
Dad grumbles about changing the channel. Mom laughs. Life goes on. I set the phone down, lighter and heavier at the same time.
Whatever Brennan does next isn’t mine to manage. But as I stare out the kitchen window at the quiet street I grew up on, one thought slips through anyway.
If he’s back, our story isn’t over.
10
CLEAR THE ZONE: SENDING THE PUCK OUT OF THE DEFENSIVE ZONE
Doors and cabinets are slammed as I shove groceries away. It’s completely indicative of my mood after seeing the ease with which that guy was with Amy.
My Amy.
Listen, prick. You’re the one who abandoned her. Remember?
Bracing my arms against the counter, I try to center myself. Does it surprise me Amy moved on? No. But I can’t deny the territorial feelings surging through me. Years apart is more than enough time to build a life, to let someone else step into the space I abdicated.
Sure, I dated. Nothing serious, nothing that could touch my heart. I taught myself how to smile across restaurant tables and pretend I wasn’t comparing their looks, their brains, and every touch to a woman I let go.
So, why am I having this response after all this time?
The realization hits me sideways, sharp and unwelcome. She moved on.
And whose fault is that?
I scoff aloud. “Easy. Mine.”
Then I’m overwhelmed with the memory of Mark tentatively broaching the spread of the rumors.
“Dude, I’m not certain if you heard.”
“What the hell are you going on about?”
“There’s this rumor going round…”
I make a derisive noise. “When isn’t there a rumor?”
He turns toward me. “This one impacts you.”
My brows draw together. “What do you mean?”
He clears his throat. “Actually, more Amy than you.”
My body locks up, tension invading every pore. “What is it?”
After Mark told me, I felt like I’d taken a puck to the nuts without any protective gear.MyAmy would never have done this. The woman I was prepared to spend the rest of my life loving could never.
But she did.Or did she?
Once Mark showed me the photo, there was no denying it was her as I could easily see the constellation of Orion tattooed on her shoulder—a tattoo I used to trace with my lips when we were making love. But instead of those memories being justours, she was in front of a mirror showing off her flat stomach, ample breasts barely restrained by white lace, and smooth shoulders. It was a vision of her I hoarded as all mine.
You still think of her as yours.
I want to tell my conscience to fuck off. But standing here now, even the photo means less. It’s background noise to the understanding she’s lived a whole life I wasn’t part of. I feel…not just jealousy but I know it’s something worse than regret.
What I feel is that I let my judgement go to waste.
