Is the last part of what he said because he feels like I need the clarification that it’s not only me?
“Neither am I,” I tell him honestly.
I long for the connection I could still feel between the two of us, but I have no vision of grandeur. I have no intentions of riding off into the sunset with this man.
My throat continues to restrict, telling me that thought isn’t exactly true. I’ve always known that he was the only man I could ever see myself spending the rest of my life with, and since so much time has passed, I had finally accepted that it was never going to happen.
But then he came back. He showed up during the darkest time in my life, and I can’t help but see that as a sign of what we could build together if only both of us were willing to work on it.
“Kincaid offered me refuge at the clubhouse, and I think I want to take him up on that offer.” My mouth runs dry, and I hate having to explain myself, as if my choice is dependent on his seeing it as being okay. “I can’t just go back to my life in Tennessee like nothing happened.”
My feet move me across the room, my body making the choice instead of actual action on my own. I need distance and an ability to turn back time instead of asking him to come inside. Had I known this is where we’d end up, that I would feel like I’m losing him all over again when I have no right to do so, I would’ve left him standing on the other side of the door.
Wondering what things would be like between us and relying on old memories would be a lot better than the sense of loss that’s threatening right now.
He watches me, his eyes locked on mine as if he’s trying to gauge my real emotions, as if the reasoning I’m giving doesn’t add up and I’m using this as a manipulation to get closer to him.
Instead of arguing or giving me a list of reasons why this is the worst idea ever, he stands, nodding his head.
“We’re going to be leaving late this evening. I’ll make the arrangements for your plane ticket.”
He walks past me to leave the room, making a point to keep several feet of distance between us as if he’s afraid I’ll reach for him to prevent him from leaving.
I don’t reach for him, simply because I can’t get my body to obey commands right now. The whisper of the door closing behind him feels like a finality, like a door that has been cracked all this time has closed.
It hits me harder than I ever could’ve expected, but I manage to keep my emotions in check. Crying right now wouldn’t solve anything. Remembering the hundreds of ways I pictured a reunion would go between the two of us gets me nowhere.
Regret always had the ability to make me upset, my mind creating the scenario where I would run into his arms, and after he spent a second with his nose pressed to my throat, breathing me in, he would tell me how much he missed me, how much he has loved me all these years.
Reality is a bitch.
After taking several long breaths that keep me from chasing after him, I pick up the phone and use it to call my aunt. I’ll pay Cerberus back for the room and the long-distance call when I can regain access to my money back home. I don’t want to owe them anything.
Just that thought reminds me that the price tag on repayment will skyrocket if I go to New Mexico instead of hopping the first plane back to Tennessee, but I know even the threat of that won’t change my mind.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Aunt Diane.”
“Grace,” she says with what sounds like a sob. “I’ve been worried about you.”
Guilt swims inside of me for hurting the only person in my life that didn’t hesitate to step in and raise me after my parents died. I owe her so much, and that debt continues to grow.
“I’m still in Nebraska.” I debate whether to tell her about Ronald Higgle’s demise, but I decide there’s no real point. Safe to her means no longer being in captivity, waiting for depraved things to happen to me. I don’t want to give a voice to the fear that still won’t loosen its grip on me even though the man is dead.
“But you should be coming home soon though, right?”
“That’s why I’m calling. I’m going to go to New Mexico for a while.”
I figure she’s gearing up to argue when she doesn’t speak for a long moment.
“I know you’ll be safe there,” she says instead.
Maybe in body, but my heart is another matter.