“Everything allright?”
Shaking my head, I drop down beside her and bury my head against her shoulder. She eventually strokes my hair—timidly at first, then with firm, comforting strokes. We sit like that for a long time before I let out a shuttering breath and relay the entire conversation to her. She’s quiet, absorbing everything before resting her cheek against the top of myhead.
“You can have everything again,darling.”
I shake my head against her dress, my tears darkening the expensive material. “Not everything. I’ll have toleave.”
Although I never say his name, sheknows.
“Do you lovehim?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Then you need to tell him goodbye, or you’ll never forgive yourself. Chase your dream, my love, but give closure to the other before youdo.”
* * *
Cary isoutside his apartment under the hood of his car when Malcolm drops me off with a promise he’ll be right around the corner. The engine’s running, and he’s got his iPod cranked as loud as it will go. It doesn’t sound like the head banging music he usually listens to. The beat is slow, haunting even. I stumble as I step up behind him and recognize thesong.
Prayingby Kesha. A song about change andfinality.
My eyes burn. I hope he finds his peacetoo.
“Did you make a wrong turnsomewhere?”
I stop, unable to reach out for him, but unable to turn away. I’m stuck. My heart is about to pound straight through my chest, but Bianca’s right. We both needclosure.
“How’d you know I washere?”
“I can feel you when you’re near,” he says, wiping his greasy hands on a rag and slamming the hood. “Alwayshave.”
“I know thefeeling.”
He turns around, and my heart slams against my chest. His white t-shirt is smeared with oil stains, and his ripped jeans are just as soiled. Sweat beads across his face, matting his dark hair as it hangs recklessly across his cheek. “Did you need something or are you here to twist the knife a littlemore?”
“I’m leaving, Cary,” I blurtout.
He chuckles and drops the rag. “Well, thanks for the info. See yaMonday.”
“No, you don’t understand,” I say, laying a hand on his arm. “I’m leaving for good. My agency offered my contract back. If all goes well, I’ll finish out my sentence inLA.”
A darkness flashes in his eyes, but he keeps his expression solemn as he gathers his equipment. “So, when do you leave? In a couple ofweeks?”
“Tomorrow.”
Forty-One
Cary
Shiloh followsme when I turn around and climb up the two flights of stairs to my apartment. Neither one of us have say much as we walk through the door. Hell, I’m still trying to process the word “tomorrow” without losing myshit.
But mainly I’m trying to process losing her to the worldagain.
I stare at her as she sits tucked into the far corner of my worn couch, her arms folded politely in her lap as she tells me she’s leaving and plans on letting a plastic surgeon’s knife carve out the soul she’suncovered.
How the hell can she be so calm when it’s all I can do to hold myself back from taking her in my arms and refusing to let hergo?
“Say something,Cary.”
