I was trapped.
Trapped between trying to do the right thing and being given permission to do the wrong one.
I didn’t want to leave.
The thought of walking away from Della ripped out my guts and left me dying, but how could I ever relax around her again? How could I speak to her without second-guessing if it was too affectionate? How could I ever touch her without fearing I was giving her mixed messages?
The carefree innocence we shared was forever lost.
John came closer and clasped my shoulder with his large, hairy hand. “I don’t like that you lied to us, but I know you’re a good man, Ren Wild. It’s late. Go to bed. I’ll come see you in the morning.” His eyes flashed with more, but he held his tongue.
With nothing else to do, I murmured goodnight and returned to the barn where I’d assumed Della would be curled up tight in bed. I should’ve just headed to the hay loft to sleep amongst the grain and grass, but something made me check. Something clawed inside to see…to make sure she was okay.
She’d been just as distraught as I was and had no one to console her.
Part of me was glad she suffered—if it taught her the valuable lesson never to do it again, then so be it. But most of me twisted with agony, knowing she was sad and I hadn’t been there to dry her tears and hug away her heartache.
My thoughts were tangled as I snuck into the bedroom, my eyes locking onto Della’s bed.
Then nothing else mattered.
Not the kiss.
Not the mess.
Nothing.
Because she wasn’t there.
Her bed was empty.
The barn, too.
It took me two minutes to learn that the emptiness inside the place we called home was just the beginning of the emptiness inside me.
I tore apart every hiding place she’d ever used. I galloped over the fields and screamed at the top of my lungs for a reply.
But she wasn’t there to answer.
She wasn’t there at all.
And now, after pointless wastage of time, trying to decide what I should do, I made the only decision I could.
I couldn’t let her be out in the world on her own.
I couldn’t forget her and turn my back.
I would never forgive myself, just like I would never forgive her for every disastrous consequence she’d caused by kissing me.
What was the right thing to do?
The right thing was to chase after her, keep her safe, and bring her back here…to where she belonged. I was the one who should leave.
My hands shook as I hurried to our one piece of furniture and pulled out one of the lined workbooks she’d given me to practice with. The shared dresser beneath our TV held a jumble of hers and my belongings—blending together, just like us.
Her socks on my socks.
Her dresses beneath my shorts.
Even our goddamn clothes liked to be close, and I slammed the drawer with a nauseous roil.
Perching on the edge of my bed, I quickly—or as fast as I could with my chicken scratch—wrote my third apology for the night.
Della had run, and I was about to vanish after her.
There were no times for goodbyes.
Dear John and Patricia,
What can I say?
I have to go after her. It’s the only thing I—
“Ren.”
My head shot up, my pen skidding across the page.
John stood on the threshold, his face tight and a black dressing gown thrown over his plaid pyjamas. “Can I speak to you?”
I stood, tossing the unneeded letter onto the mattress. “I need to talk to you, too. I’m leaving. She’s run away.”
“Oh, shit.” His eyes turned forlorn as he nodded. “Of course. You must go after her.”
I didn’t know why he was here, but I was grateful he’d come, if only so he knew why I was about to walk out of his life with no guarantee of coming back.
John stood awkwardly while I yanked up my sheets and ducked to yank my old backpack out from beneath the bed.
Only, it wasn’t there. Just a dust-free patch where it used to be, along with a skid mark from where Della had pulled it free.
“Shit,” I breathed. “Shit.”
Clambering upright, I glanced around the room. There was nothing else I could use to carry the supplies we might need.
“Eh, here…this is for you.” John cleared his throat. “Take it.”
An eerie sense of déjà-vu hit me. Years ago, I’d stood in their guest bedroom as he offered my first salary, and I’d traded it in for Della’s well-being.
Now, he held out an even larger envelope.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“It’s the rest of your income and bonuses.”
“But I thought you were spending it on Della’s education and things?”
“She’s in public school, and she costs very little to run with most of our produce coming straight from the garden. If Cassie cost half what she did, I’d be a rich man.” He smirked half-heartedly. “Never a day went by that I didn’t ensure I was paying you what you were worth. Patricia ran the books. With the bonuses and business increase you helped create, you have more than enough saved to put a deposit on your own place or do whatever you need to do.”