All I keep thinking about are the times she came back. That night before my birthday. I felt her. I knew I did. It was static in the air and buzzing in my ears. The blond? Well, Maddox enjoyed her anyway. I couldn’t stop thinking about the little pixie that would always be in my blood.
Then the times she thought she was going to my apartment. The blond that answered the door? I have no idea who she was, but I have a good idea why she was there. What I don’t know is why my mother was there. It’s like she knew Heaven would show up.
Somehow, I find myself hammering into the punching bag, no gloves to be seen. Everything running and replaying through my mind. Picturing my pixie every time she tried to come back. Every time she needed me. How much it must’ve hurt her each time. How can she even look at me?
I want to hold on to my anger with her so badly. But how can I? How can I be angry when everything I’ve believed all this time has been wrong?
She came back. Again and again. And I’m the sad, worthless piece of shit that never even tried to go after her once that check cleared.
She’s right. Iknewshe would never go through with it. But, like her, I let circumstantial evidence cloud my judgment.
And now I find out that she’s sick. I don’t know what to do with that. Before she said the words, I already had one foot out the door. The thought of watching her suffer, of losing her forever, it’s more than I can handle.
I pound the bag, my shoulders and arms aching, screaming for a reprieve. It’s so reminiscent of all those years ago when she walked in at the worst possible time. I feel my hands beginning to swell. Sweat pours down my face.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look possessed. I walk closer, seeing my eyes, dark with anger and resentment. This time with God and the universe. This time with time itself. It’s cruel joke, it’s laughter at how I’ve wasted so much fucking time.
The reflection I see is a man full of rage and fury. And loathing. I hate myself. I hate who I’ve allowed myself to become. I hate the reflection staring back at me.
Why? Why is everything trying to break me down?
“AAAHHHH,” I scream out as my fist slams into the mirror. The cracked reflection is a better portrayal of the man I am. The man I never wanted to be. Again, I crack my broken, bleeding knuckles against the glass, hoping as I connect that it will shred that face I see. On the third strike, glass flies across the room and I fall to the ground.
I’ve barely cried a tear since I’ve been a kid but I’ve shed a few in the last two weeks. Now, the dam is breaking. I am broken. I fall to my knees, crying out, begging the universe to rewind the years. Give me that time back that was stolen by evilness and stubborn pride.
I told her she took my heart with her when she left. The truth is, she is my heart. How am I supposed to live in a world where my heart isn’t?
“What the —holy shit, Ryder?” Dane comes to my side. “What did you do?”
“I can’t,” I shake my head.
“What’s going on?” Maddox calls out. I look up to meet his eyes. More tears begin to fall.
“I can’t,” I repeat.
“Shit,” Maddox hisses as he grabs my hand. “You’re bleeding. Fuck, there’s glass in your side. Why did you do this?”
“She came back, Mads, and I wasn’t there. I’ve wasted so much time and now, I don’t know how much time I have left.”
He jerks back with his brows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean, Ryder?”
“We need to get him to the hospital,” Dane says, pointing to my side.
“Wait,” Maddox holds up hishand. “What do you mean you don’t know how much time you have left?”
“She’s sick.” The words barely leave my lips as my chest clenches painfully. “She has MS.”
“Holy shit,” Dane whispers.
“How am I supposed to watch her like that? When she starts getting worse? When she’s in a wheelchair? Or maybe when she can’t hear or see me?”
“Easy,” Maddox shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t. Just go back to the way things were before she showed up again. Pretend you know nothing about Tyler. Problem solved.”
My eyes shoot to his. Anger, different from any other kind I’ve felt, fills me. “You want me to pretend I don’t know that she came back? That Tyler doesn’t exist? Pretend she never told me everything she did today?”
“Why not?” he shrugs again. “It solves all your problems. It’s not like you want her. And until a couple of days ago, you didn’t know about Tyler. He won’t miss you. No harm, no foul.”
“Fuck, you Maddox. I fucking love her,” I yell getting to my feet.
