Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
The gold, the green, the brown intermingle in a kaleidoscope of colors shining back at me. So lovely even that hurts. And then she whispers, “What happened to you?”
The question is simple in nature, but the origins don’t register. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry. Have I overstepped? I . . . I thought we were sharing and assumed something had . . . My apologies.”
I thought I could hide, but like Nikki and Shane, Poppy sees right through me. And she’s right. She’s been open with me, though she owes me nothing. I reply, “You don’t need to apologize. You’re right. I lost someone.” My voice is lower, my coffee getting cold. This conversation is too important not to acknowledge and continue down the path if there’s a chance for resolution.
Sitting forward, she sets her cup on the table near mine and covers my hand. “I’m sorry for your loss. I can tell how deeply it has affected you.” If she only knew . . .
“Can I ask you something?”
She smiles so gently that I find comfort in it. “Okay.”
“You said you don’t remember the accident, but what about the rest of the weekend?”
I had it all, her hand on mine, then lost it in an instant. “How do you know I can’t remember that weekend?”
Not wanting to lose her twice, I confess, “You said you couldn’t remember. Do you have amnesia?”
She slips out the other side of the seating area, putting distance between us as if the past few years weren’t enough. “I don’t like talking about the accident. I shouldn’t have sat down in the first place. It’s against the rules.”
“What rules?”
“I appreciate you allowing me to stay here overnight and the coffee, but we’re better off with boundaries.” She’s packaged me up in a neat box, not based on the man I am or the one who loved her, but on reactions to seeing her again, being close, and not being able to love her like I want to. It’s easier to deal with me that way, I suppose.
My gut tells me to confess everything we were to each other. My head gives me pause. I need to do some research and then make it up to her. “I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Everything.”
Her stance softens, but I catch her eyes glistening in the morning light. “I wish it were that easy to heal pain.”
I stand. “If I can do anything to make this up to you—”
“I wish you could, but you didn’t cause my accident,” she says. “It was a drunk driver. Unexpected at eight o’clock in the morning.”
“Eight o’clock?” I had already had two coffees at the diner. If I’d known . . . if I had gone to her instead of having her meet me . . . If I’d never left her bed in the first place, none of this would have happened.
“That’s what the police report stated,” she replies offhandedly. Her lips part as if she’s going to say something more. Please say something. Anything. She only turns away and heads for the bedroom.
“Poppy?” I hate that I’ve caused her pain, even if unknowingly in defense of mine.
When she turns back, our eyes meet across the room and the years we’ve traveled together. She might not remember, but I was a part of the story. “Yes?”
“Laird. That’s my name.”
As much as I wanted to hear it from her so badly, now I know the reason I didn’t. So I refuse to keep dangling it out there based on my hopes or fears.
The smile is soft on the tail end of an allayed exhale. “If we had met in another way, I think we could have been friends, Laird.” If only she knew . . .
My name coming from her lips is a shot to the heart, but I hold myself together, waiting to fall apart when she’s not near. “Probably.”
When she’s gone, I fall back in the chair again. “Fuck,” I groan with no energy left to yell. “What do I do now?”
There’s so much going on and too much to discover still. She doesn’t remember me because she doesn’t remember anything about our time together, complicating the situation more than I realized.
For her, I might have already blown it. For me, the pain she involuntarily caused dictated my reactions instead of seeing what was right before my eyes.
She didn’t fall out of love.
She didn’t stand me up that day at the café.
I don’t know if she would have married me. It was a big proposition said on a whim and a prayer, but I know she would have shown up to tell me either way.
Patience was always one of my worst virtues. Waiting around for time to forgive me was a battle I knew I would lose. I assumed too much and took everything personally. What happened to her wasn’t about me at all. It wasn’t about her either. We had no say in what the universe did.