Becca’s eyes widen, and she bites her lip. “Sorry,” she says, finally, and gets up and hurries away.
I feel her absence, the cold, empty space where she was just a minute ago. Where she’d still be if I hadn’t been such a dick about it.
God, she must be hurting. All I want is to be her shoulder to lean on.
Except that isn’tallI want. It’ll never beallI want.
And I can’t let her reel me in again just to be cut loose. It hurts too much, and it’ll hurt even worse when Preston proposes to her and she accepts.
I hold that image in my mind, and that’s what keeps me from pulling her aside to talk to her again.
Just one more week, and I can go miserably home, lick my wounds, and try to figure out how to move on with my life.
There is no reality in which I end up with Becca, so I’m better off if I don’t let myself imagine there is.
