“I know, sunflower.”
Suddenly, she stiffened, her hands dropping to her sides. I knew exactly what I’d done wrong.
Shit.
“You can’t call me that,” she said quickly, looking like she instantly regretted it.
The nickname had been on the tip of my tongue the entire trip, but I’d carefully avoided letting it slip. She was easy to scare when it came to our past, and remembering what it was like back when I called her that may have been the last thing she wanted.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I just saw the tattoo this morning and it was in my head. I won’t do it again.”
She used her opposite hand to touch her shoulder, almost hugging herself.
“I got that tattoo on a stupid whim when I was getting over you. It doesn’t mean anything to me now.”
I had a feeling that was the case, but the words still hit me like a punch to the gut. It might not mean something to her, but it meant something to me.
When we were younger, she’d fill with delight at the word, as though it always surprised her. And here I’d gone and reminded her of a time that she obviously still hurt over. A small part of me wondered if she had just been detached, compartmentalizing our moments as kids from our time here and ignoring the memories she’d tucked into a small imaginary box.
I pulled away from her and pursed my lips. A distressing look passed over her face. It went from incensed to crestfallen, and my stomach bottomed out as tears filled her eyes.
“Autumn—”
“We have to go catch up—” She gulped. “We have to catch up to the group.”
I reached for her hand, but she pulled back from me. I looked deep into her eyes as a tear escaped, rolling down the side of her face. She quickly wiped it away.
In court, there were three possible ways to address a potentially damaging truth about your client. Deny, distract, or defend. You could deny reality and confuse the jury into seeing as many truths as possible. Denying was the easiest option unless the evidence was indisputable. If that was the case, you could distract the jury by drawing their attention away from the evidence and on to something more compelling. Or you could defend, which was the hardest option. You could make the jury understand why your client would make a choice to break a law and why you would likely make the same choice in the same situation and how, sometimes, the line between right and wrong was a bit blurry. I knew what I had to do.
“Go ahead,” I implored. “You can ask me anything, and I’ll tell you the truth.” It was time for the truth.
I couldn’t leave here knowing she had no explanation, no understanding of my regret, even if she slept with me and acted like closure didn’t matter.
She looked into my eyes as if searching for honesty, and she must have found it because she finally asked the one thing she’d been avoiding this whole time.
“Why did you end it?” Her eyes were filled with tears, and it nearly broke me. “You can tell me if it was someone else. I… I’m more understanding as an adult than I would have been back then.”
The pain in her eyes told me otherwise, and it filled me with an overwhelming sense of anguish.
“God, Autumn,” I started, unsure how to even explain.
“You didn’t say why, Jamie, not really. And I get that you were venturing off on your own and didn’t want to be held back by your high school girlfriend—” Hearing the words I’d used took me back to the most painful conversation of my life. I was thirty, and I still felt like I was swallowing nails every time I thought about it. “It was so sudden. Like you didn’t even try. Just confirm it for me, please. Put me out of my misery.”
Autumn twisted her hands nervously. I knew what she was worried about but she was so far off base it wasn’t funny.
“All this time you thought… There was no one else. There could never be…” I shook my head angrily, ready to rip the Band-Aid off. “I did it for you, Autumn.”
The silence that followed was broken by a gust of wind wrapping itself around us and blowing a strand of her hair over her face. I almost reached out to move it, but I knew better.
“You…” Fury lined her features as she pushed it away, her voice breaking. “You did it forme?”
“No, I… What I mean is… Goddammit, Autumn.” My lungs tightened. I’d been holding on to things for so long. It was time to own up. “I missed you so much. I know it had only been a few weeks—”
“We didn’t last a month, Jamie…”
“You were talking about driving down to see me in thesecondweek. You were barely holding it together.” It was a harsh truth, but it had to be said. I’d been sitting in my dorm room every night thinking of my gorgeous girlfriend and how she’d been ready to give up her weekends to see me. During what was supposed to be one of the happiest times of her life.
“Neither were you.” Her eyes flashed defiantly.
