“That’s not how it works, Blair. I’ve never—can we just go somewhere and talk about this?” His voice is pleading. “There’s a reason I wasn’t upfront when I realized that I was falling for you.”
Falling for me?The words hit me hard, and I hesitate.
Some of the fight goes out of me as all the furious, hot energy that had been driving me these past few minutes dissipates. I want nothing more than to go somewhere with Sebastian, anywhere but here, and let him hold me. Let him explain everything. Let him make it better. But it would just be more lies.
Nausea burns in the pit of my stomach. The flight impulse accelerates through me. I have to get away from him as fast as I can.Before I make more bad decisions.
“No,” I say. “We’re done.”
I know that ending this now is the right thing to do, but it takes all my strength not to crumple to the ground. I grab the door handle on my car and fling the door open, turning to him one last time.
“I can’t believe you did this to me,” I whisper. I blink hard, trying to hold back more tears so I can look him in the eye as I tell him, “I never want to see you again. Do you understand?Never.”
He jerks back, as if I’ve hit him. Finally, some indication of real emotion—but all it does is make me hate him more. He doesn’t care about me. He’s just upset because he’s losing his toy.
“Blair. Wait. I?—”
Then his phone rings. The sound snaps him to attention, and he fumbles to dig the phone out of his pocket. A flicker of apprehension dances across his face and I know immediately who is calling.It has to be my father. My heart lurches. Does he know that I’m out here having a face-off with Sebastian?
“If you care about me, you won’t pick up that call,” I say, eyes locked on his.
But it’s already too late. Sebastian has already accepted the call. He raises a finger to his lips, giving me the quiet signal.
“Mr. Tisdale, I apologize for my tardiness. I’m still in the building, I just?—”
Oh, fuck this.
Enough. Ripping the phone from Sebastian’s hand, I lift it against my ear.
“Don’t bother with the meeting, Dad. Your secret’s out. I know exactly what you’re doing. In fact, don’t bother trying to speak to me again, either. As far as I’m concerned, you no longer haveanydaughters.”
With that, I slam the phone to the concrete, vaguely aware of the sound of shattering glass as I get into my car and peel out. I don’t look back to see Sebastian’s face one last time.
I don’t look back at all.
29
SEBASTIAN
Rachel Renae Allen.
It’s been a while since I’ve knelt before her grave like this, with a bouquet of roses in my hand. Red roses, pink roses, in every shade. Orange blooms like the sunset, some the soft yellow of sunlight, pale purple and peach and bright coral. It wasn’t the look of them that made roses her favorite. It was the scent. My eyes sting as I’m enveloped by their familiar smell, the smell that only ever reminds me of her. Earthy, sweet, like ripe fruit or raw honey spooned into green tea. Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. My rose.
I whisper her name as I set the flowers down, gathering a handful of petals to scatter all around. This is my ritual. The most connected I can get. And fuck, does it hurt. The pain is overwhelming every single time. I guess that’s why I’ve been away for so long. God, what a coward I am.
The cemetery is mostly deserted, which is typical for the middle of a workday. It’s why I normally come at this time, so I can be alone with her. At first, I would get self-conscious talking to her headstone, figuring anyone who heard me would worry about my state of mind. But then I realized that plenty of people have one-sided conversations out here, and after a few visits, Istopped looking over my shoulder. Talking to her was the only thing that kept me somewhat sane after her death.
Not that I enjoy talking to myself while staring at her name etched into flat, cold marble. I don’t like the sound of my own voice echoing in my ears as I pour my heart out to her. The introspection can be overwhelming.
Sometimes I visit without saying much at all, and just sit here in silence, remembering her laugh, replaying the times we were the happiest, the times we fought, the times we held each other on the street, in the middle of a packed bar, at home in bed. But as the years have passed, it has become harder and harder to come out here. Not because I’m finally moving on, but because I’m not.
Or at least I wasn’t until I met Blair. With her, I found myself laughing again—really laughing—without even thinking about it. There were moments I saw the world through her eyes, experienced things from her perspective. There were so many tastes, sights, and sounds that Blair perceived as beautiful and exciting and new, and she made me see them that way, too.
The last few weeks, I even started to feel like living my life was possible again. Not sleepwalking through it or forcing myself to power through the days and nights as I have been, but simply…living a good life, a decent life. Existing in the real world. Breathing without lead weights on my chest.
But I don’t believe that anymore. The darkness is back. Maybe it never left.
I look down at the bouquet of wilting stargazer lilies that lay at the seam where Rachel’s stone meets earth. A pang of guilt goes through me. Her sister must have come by recently to tend the grave while I was out of state. She always brings lilies. I should call and thank her, see how she’s doing, but we haven’t spoken in the last year or so.Some almost-brother-in-law I turned out to be.
