Fuck. That’s almost a year.
How the fuck did I not see it. I feel like the rug has been pulled out from under me, but it took the ground with it, and now I’m hurtling down into an endless abyss.
“Why?” I ask, my voice coming across calmer than I feel, too calm for the storm raging in me.
“I don’t know. The guys at the office had it one night when we went for drinks after work, and I tried it.”
“Was it worth it?” I ask with that same steely calm. Fury whips inside me, begging to be let free, but I don’t lash out. I can’t even look at him without feeling my stomach roll.
“Not if I lose you,” he says, his voice wavering as the tears start to fall in earnest. “Please say I didn’t ruin us.” He falls to his knees in front of me. “Baby, I’m begging you. I promise I won’t touch the stuff again. I will do anything as long as you stay mine.”
Looking down at him, I feel nothing but disgust, but he’s right about a few things. I would be throwing away way too much if I ended it now. His family, his sisters: they are too important for me to give up on. If he is serious about never using again, I think I can forgive him, in time. I have to. I can’t let a few months of mistakes overshadow a decade of good.
“Fine, but if you touch that shit again, it’s over.”
His arms wrap around my waist, constricting me as he buries his face into my stomach. “Thank you. Thank you. I love you, Ophie. I’m so sorry.” Tanner utters the phrases like a mantra as he clings to me. Prickles of unease crawl across my skin, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I clutch the crumbled note to my chest like a lifeline as my throat grows thick with tears of my own.
Chapter 19
Morgan
James hasn’t talked about what happened at the beach. Really, she hasn’t talked to me at all. Our schedules seem almost cosmically misaligned; it’s been almost a week since the incident, and without fail, if one of us is coming, the other is going. If it weren’t for the daily notes,I’d think she’s been avoiding me. But every morning, something waits for me on the bathroom mirror, either asking me about my day or telling me about hers. Yesterday, the normal orange sticky note was replaced by a piece of notebook paper that she taped to the mirror and filled both sides with the details of her night out with Chelsea and Evelyn. Today, though, the note is short, but it’s enough to send my heart into overdrive.
The note joins my collection, and I leave the apartment feeling lighter than I have in days. The walk to class passes in a blur, my head too busy running through tomorrow in my head a million different ways.
Will things be different now?
I don’t know what to expect after what went down last weekend, but something has to have shifted. No one walks away from something like that with everything staying exactly the same.
My phone rings, breaking me from my daydreams, and my chest tightens at the name on the screen. With a heavy sigh, I answer the call.
“Hi, Mom.” The manufactured cheer in my voice rings hollow.
“Hi, baby.” The familiar soft rasp of her voice soothes an ache in my chest that I had learned to ignore. “I’ve missed hearing your voice. You never call anymore. How are classes? Have you made many friends? Have you met anyone special? Tell me everything, it’s been too long.”
“I’ve missed you too.” The growing thickness in my throat chokes the words. I try to shrug away the sudden wave of melancholy, focusing on answering her questions instead of how much I wish I could tell her these things in person.
“Classes have been good. Tough, but good. I’ve made some friends, they also train and have been bugging me to join their gym,” I tell her.
“What about a special someone? I’m sure there are lots of nice girls in your program.”
My eyes roll, and I fight to suppress a groan. I love my mom, but every phone call turns into an inquisition.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but no, I haven’t met anyone special.” Technically, that’s a lie, but my mom doesn’t need to know I’m hung up on an unavailable woman. Sometimes, meeting someone special isn’t the issue. It’s everything that comes after.
“I swear, every time we talk, it’s like I’m on trial,” I tease.
“I wouldn’t have to ask so many questions if you would call your poor mom sometimes,” she jokes back, but the words skewer my heart.
“I know. I’m sorry, Mom. I promise I’ll call more,” I lie again.
Hearing her voice is too hard. It reminds me of everything I’ve missed over the past few years. I think she feels the same because she only calls every couple of months now. Maybe she just got tired of me not answering.
“I know you’re busy with school,” she says, giving us both something to blame when I inevitably never call. “Do you have any plans for your birthday? I hope those friends of yours are throwing you a party. You only turn twenty-five once.”
“Yeah, we have plans.” The lies keep coming. It’s difficult to make plans when I haven’t told anyone about my birthday. I’m sure if they knew, they’d drag meout to Cutter’s, but that would ruin my plans of locking myself in my room and pretending the day doesn’t exist.
“That’s good. I wish we could be there for it.”
