Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 76592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“No,” Aunt Mel says firmly. “It’s your story. And you’re allowed to own it.”
I eat a little more, though my appetite is gone. When the dishes are cleared, Aunt Mel steers me into the family room. I sink into Dad’s old leather armchair, the one that creaks under pressure but he refuses to get rid of. She sits across from me and folds her hands in her lap.
“Henry.” Her voice is steady. “Tell me what’s really going on in that head of yours.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Where do I start? I killed a man. I don’t regret it. You know all of this. He would’ve killed Angie and Jason. But it doesn’t matter. It’s still there, stamped on me. Then I almost died. I owe my life to my dog. And now…” I struggle to find the words. “Now I’m in love. And I don’t even know how it happened.”
Her gaze softens, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“It was two days,” I say. “Two days. We hardly knew each other. But I’ve never felt like this before. With anyone.” I rub at my forehead. “And now she’s gone.”
“Is she?”
I nod. “She chose her career. Her seminar. She said she couldn’t come.” My throat tightens. “And she’s right. I basically told her we had no future. Why would she stick around for a guy like me?”
Aunt Mel leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees. “You’re talking like love is measured in months or years. Sometimes it’s measured in moments. And sometimes those moments matter more than the calendar ever could.”
I stare at the hardwood floor. “It doesn’t change anything. She made her choice.”
“And you made yours,” she says. “You opened your heart in the middle of your worst pain. That’s not weakness, Henry. That’s courage.”
The word grates. Courage? It feels like anything but.
I look up at her. “So what now? Do I just wait? Pretend I don’t care? Or keep torturing myself by replaying those two days over and over?”
She tilts her head. “What do you want?”
The question hangs in the air. What do I want?
I want Tabitha’s laughter filling this room. I want her hand brushing mine when she thinks no one’s looking. I want to kiss her slow, the way I did in her guest room after Angie’s wedding, when every nerve in me screamed to take her hard and fast, but I didn’t. I held back. I wanted her to know she wasn’t just another rush of adrenaline to numb the pain.
The memory burns through me. The curve of her back under my palm, her breath hitching when I moved slower than either of us expected. The way she looked at me afterward, like I was more than the sum of my mistakes.
“I want her,” I whisper. “Even if it’s impossible.”
Aunt Mel lets the silence stretch before she answers. “Then the question isn’t whether you want her. The question is whether you’ll let yourself believe you deserve her.”
Her words crack something open in me. My chest feels too tight, and my hands tremble against the leather armrests.
Do I deserve her?
I don’t know. But for the first time since the accident, since Ralph, since everything…I let myself wonder.
I shift in the chair and rub my forehead. “You already know that she didn’t come to the hospital,” I say. “Mom called her and asked her to come, and she didn’t. So that says something to me.”
Aunt Mel doesn’t flinch. Simply gestures for me to continue.
“She’s in Boulder,” I continue. “She got invited to a surgical seminar, one of those once-in-a-lifetime deals. I can’t blame her for choosing it. Hell, I respect it. I respect the hell out of it.” My jaw tightens. “She’s worked hard. She deserves every opportunity that comes her way. Why the hell would she give it all up for a guy who treated her like shit the entire weekend of her best friend’s wedding? I’d have told her myself to stay there if she asked.”
I glance at my aunt, half expecting her to nod, to agree. She just studies me with those sharp psychiatrist’s eyes, like she’s waiting for the real truth to slip out.
“But?” she prompts.
“But…I wanted her there,” I admit, my voice low. “I wanted to wake up in that hospital room and see her face. Not out of pity, not because I needed saving. Just because she wanted to be there.” I let out a breath. “But she chose differently. And she was right to. I told her once that we didn’t have a future. How can I blame her for believing me?”
Aunt Mel leans back, folding her arms. “Henry, respecting her choice doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. And hurting doesn’t mean you stop respecting it.”
“I know.” My throat burns. “I can’t fault her. I don’t. But it still feels like she slipped through my fingers.”