“Then why ask?”
“I guess I just don’t get why you’d bother keeping it.”
“Despite what you might think, I did love you.”
“Did?” I say, without thinking it through first.
“I did,” she confirms, and my bare feet feel as if they’re sinking deeper in the wet sand. “I still do.”
I whip my head to face her and my heart thrashes against my ribcage. She’s smiling, her cheeks aglow and her golden-rimmed green eyes sparkling against the low setting sun. She attempts to push her hair behind her ears as it blows crazily in the wind.
“Don’t look so surprised.” She rolls her eyes playfully.
And I can’t sort through my emotions fast enough. My hands tremble and I wring them out. Is this genuine, or is she fucking with me? Because my heart couldn’t handle that.
“Last night?—”
“My pride didn’t let me admit it,” she interrupts. “Not before you did. But then when I woke up this morning and found myself face-to-face with the urn holding Dottie’s ashes, I was reminded just how short life can be.” She takes her eyes off Charlie for a second and glances my way with something that resembles pity reflected there. “But, Beck…”
“No buts,” I interject, the muscle in my shoulders stretching taut as I draw in a breath.
“I’m engaged to someone else. When he proposed and I said yes, I made a promise to him.” There’s pleading in her misty eyes.
Hot blood rushes through my veins as anger builds in me. “Yeah, and you made a promise to me too.”
“I know.” She bites her lip, nodding. “I will always love you. That will never change. But I think it’s time we come to terms with the truth. We both played a part in our breakup. The fact that I left and you didn’t come after me—that I leftat all—should tell us that our love wasn’t enough.”
“That’s not fair,” I bite out.
She bobs her head. “It’s not. At least we agree on something.”
My throat goes thick, and I can’t think straight.
“We need to just focus on what’s best for Charlie now.”
I turn and watch as she runs to the waves, taps the water with her toe, and then spins around and races back toward us. I squeeze both of my fists into tight balls, stretch out my fingers, and squeeze them again in some sort of attempt to keep the anxiety at bay.
“Can you please do something for me?” I don’t wait for her to answer, or maybe I don’t hear her as there’s a blaring poundingin my ears. I turn to look at her intently. “Promise me you’ll really think about moving here.”
“Beck.” My name slips out of her mouth like she’s exhausted with me.
“Not for me. For Charlie. Please.”
She purses her lips before finally nodding. “Okay.”
Then I turn and tug my phone free from my pocket and take pictures of my daughter as she plays in the waves. Because these photos of her—now—in Golden Harbor may be the only ones I’ll ever get of her here. That thought is almost enough to send me spiraling. But I repeat the mantra in my head that Dr. Sam taught me.
Inhale. Hold, hold, hold. Exhale.
Inhale. Hold, hold, hold. Exhale.
Inhale. Hold, hold, hold. Exhale.
I refuse to miss this precious moment with my daughter because of a damn panic attack.
20
ROSIE
