Page 31

I groaned, poking at the inside of my cheek with my tongue, unsure of how to explain the woman who’d never been much of a mom despite always being there.

As present as a lingering ghost. “She might as well have not been there at all,” I explained.

“I used to think she just didn’t give a fuck, but now that I’m older, I think there’s more to it.

Severe depression maybe. Could be something else.

I don’t know. But she’s a shadow, and she hates me about as much as he does.

I have no clue why. I just existed for them to despise me, I think. ”

Her questions stopped with that, and I looked ahead to watch a sadness blanket her face. I laughed good-naturedly and shook my head, pointing a finger at her.

“Oh, don’t you go feeling bad for me now. I don’t want your pity.”

“Too bad. No kid should grow up feeling like their purpose in life is to be hated by their parents . God, that is so fucking sad, and you don’t even see it. That makes it worse.”

“Well, I should warn you now then: I am an absolute shit show.”

She nodded, never allowing that sadness to leave her eyes. “I can understand why. Is that why you messed up with that girl? ”

I laughed at just how well she had figured me out already and nodded slowly, scraping my teeth over my bottom lip. “Very likely, yeah.”

She tipped her head gently to one side and stared at me with a thoughtful look in her eyes, like a dog trying to figure out the words her owner was stringing together.

There was a hint of longing in her gaze, one I dared to hold out hope for because, fuck, I was longing for her too.

Desperately . And why? I didn’t know her.

I didn’t even know her name, for fuck’s sake, nor had I asked—did it even matter?

But there was no denying this connection between us. A fucking blind man could’ve seen it.

Then she laughed and laid a hand over her face, ineffectively hiding her blushing cheeks. “Oh God, you are bad news for me.”

I chuckled along with her, confused, unable to wipe this stupid grin off my face. “What do you mean?”

“Okay.” She dropped her hand to the table and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, like she was intentionally avoiding my studious gaze.

“Since we are being brutally honest here, I’ll make a confession of my own.

” Then she folded her arms on the table, leaned forward to stare straight into my eyes, and whispered, “I have such a weakness for broken men. And it’s a legitimate problem.

Like, I shouldn’t be like this. I should want stable guys without any issues, but I can’t help myself. It’s a curse.”

That made me snort. “That’s not weird or anything. A lot of women like a project. You want something to fix.”

To my surprise, she shook her head. “No, it’s not really like that. I just … ”

Her words faded as she tipped her chin downward, staring at her folded hands.

Boldly, I shuffled my foot forward beneath the table, nudging hers.

She looked up into my eyes, and she stretched her lips into a smile, releasing a contented sigh, like she could somehow find comfort in my gaze, as I had found in hers.

And, God, if only I could’ve turned this night into a thousand.

If only we could’ve managed to be more than this .

“It started with this, um … this guy I knew … kn- know …” She worried her bottom lip and diverted her gaze before continuing, “He’s a, uh …

a friend of mine. And he’s always been a little messed up.

Like, one of those guys who has to get into trouble—like, it’s just who he is .

And it doesn’t help that his life has just been so sad , and, um …

I met him a while ago, and ever since I’ve just …

I want to help him. But there’s more to it than that.

It’s like … I want to feel like … I don’t know …

like I’m useful for something. Needed, I guess.

Like, if I’m not helping people, my existence is a waste of air.

And I hate the idea of trying and trying to make someone better, only to fail, because then not only have I failed them, but I’ve failed me too.

So …” She exhaled and pulled her arms in toward herself. “There you go.”

She was shrinking before me, disappearing like the words of her confession, vanishing into thin air.

She hid her eyes from my watchful gaze, disguising her shame with the distraction of eating a fry.

I hated that she wanted to disappear, to run away, all from admitting that she wanted to feel like her place on this earth was worth something of value to someone .

So, I blurted out, “All I want in my life is to do something that’ll make my father love me.”

She looked up, sympathy clouding the shame in her eyes. “Do you think that’ll ever happen?”

I thought about the accomplishments in my life.

Straight A’s. Good listener. Halfway decent cook and a diligent worker at home.

Graduated second in my class. Excelled quickly in the military.

Became a skilled sniper and a respected soldier.

Yet I still hadn’t seen my father look at me the way he always looked at my sisters.

I huffed and shook my head. “Probably not. But until he does, I think there’ll always be a part of me that feels like I’m a complete waste of air too.”

She sniffed and nodded, unfolding her arms and grabbing another fry as she said, “I don’t think I’m ever going to save my friend either.” Her voice warbled a bit, like the confession weighed more than she was letting on.

Then she looked up at me, a melancholy sparkle glinting in her crystalline eyes. “We’re kind of a wreck, huh?”

I sniffed a laugh that couldn’t come close to touching the pain in my heart and lifted the corner of my mouth. “I don’t know anybody who isn’t.”

***

An hour passed, then two. We talked about so much, never sparing a second for silence. She made me smile, she made me laugh, and when she wasn’t doing either, she made me feel .

This woman was beyond just a pretty face to admire. She exceeded her beauty with intelligence and a soul so familiar that I felt like my knowledge of her spanned centuries. And that was insane, right? Completely batshit crazy … yet it made more sense than anything had recently.

Maybe ever.

The whole time we sat and talked, the jukebox played.

The music hadn’t added anything more to the conversation than background noise, but now, I listened.

An old Eric Clapton song crooned through the speakers—“Wonderful Tonight”—and I looked off toward the dwindling bar crowd to find a pair of couples swaying together in the center of the dark room.

An urge swept over me to ask her to dance, to make this moment last a little longer, even as an ache in my chest grew because I knew how quickly it was all slipping through my fingers, no matter how hard I tried to hold on.

But when I looked across the table, I saw the light glowing in her eyes had been extinguished.

“Everything okay?” I asked, my stomach in knots as the music played on.

She sighed regretfully, blowing out a heavy breath, then shook her head. “I should probably get going.”

What? No, no, no! “Oh, right. Sure.”

She twisted her lips into an apologetic smile that seemed more like a grimace the more I looked at her. Pained. Sad. “It’s just that it’s getting late, and the grocery store is already closed, but if I go now, I can grab a few things from 7-Eleven or— "

“Hey, you don’t need to make excuses to me,” I interrupted gently, even as my heart begged to make her stay. “It’s okay.”

She cleared her throat and stood from the booth. I thought she’d walk away immediately without another word, just like that, like we hadn’t spent the most incredible handful of hours together. I steeled my heart, prepared it for the blow of a lifetime, but she stopped herself from hurrying off.

And she turned around to face me.

“Look, I know it doesn’t matter,” she said hurriedly.

“I know it doesn’t change anything. But this …

this was really nice. You’re really nice.

I-I probably shouldn’t be saying this at all, but I like you.

And if things were different, if you weren’t just passing through, if I wasn’t …

” She clamped her lips shut and swallowed as if she wanted to say something and didn’t know how.

Then she shook her head, quickly backtracking.

“No, I don’t wish they were different. It’s not that. I’m just saying, if they were …”

“Right.” I nodded, thinking I understood as a crashing wave of loss and sadness pressed against my chest. “If they were.”

***

The next morning, I awoke in a strange bed with my phone ringing on the nightstand. It took me a moment to remember where I was—some random town in Connecticut—and that I’d spent hours talking to a woman who felt now like a dream .

The sweetest dream.

I hoped it was her calling me. I hoped foolishly that she’d changed her mind about … whatever was keeping her away, but it wasn’t.

It was Luke from the mechanic’s shop to let me know that he had managed to get the job finished overnight.

“What? You didn’t have to work crazy hours for me, man,” I said, feeling guilty if he’d given me any sort of special treatment.

“Nah, it’s all right,” he said. “Actually, I got into a fight with my girlfriend last night and didn’t wanna be home.” He chuckled. “You know how it is.”

I chuckled with him, albeit bitterly, as the ache of missing Laura struck cold and swift, despite her never being my girlfriend in the first place. “Ah, okay. Well, thanks a lot. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He sighed into the phone. “Oh, before I forget, she’s not in the office today, so when you come by, find me in the garage. I’ll get you the keys, all right?”

“She?” I asked, slowly sitting up in bed as an image of my dream woman came into view. Strawberry-blonde hair. Pretty blue eyes. The softest, most alluring lips I’d ever seen in my damn life.

“Yeah, my girlfriend, Melanie. You met her yesterday. She usually works the desk, but …”

My lips parted with an exhale as I leaned forward and rested my forehead in the palm of my hand.

Her name was Melanie, and she was someone else’s girlfriend .

I replayed her words to me— "If things were different” —and now I understood.

If she hadn’t been with someone else. If I hadn’t been leaving.

If things were different.

If they were.

God, why did it hurt so badly to know now that someone else was lucky enough to call her his? She had seemed so perfect for me, like the jagged edges of our puzzle pieces just fit . It didn’t seem right for her to belong to anyone else, like she had been made to be mine and only mine, but …

No, no . Was I fucking insane? I had spent a total of two and a half, maybe three hours with her.

We’d had dinner, chatted for a bit, and then parted ways.

There was no way I could’ve determined whether she was right for me or not in that shred of time, nor could I make the judgment that he was wrong for her.

I’m grieving. I miss Laura, and I’m deflecting , I reasoned with a nod, then cleared my throat.

“Right, okay, yeah. Uh …” I scrubbed my palm over my eyes, shaking off the disappointment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it, man. It’s covered.”

My hand fell to my lap as I stared off toward the opposite side of the small motel room. “What? No, I can’t—"

“Mel’s dad owns the place,” he interrupted, and although I didn’t know Luke well, I knew he was smiling. “He said it was on him, from one sergeant to another, and to thank you for your service to our country. ”

I grunted a forced chuckle and repeated the words I had said to Melanie the day before. “It’s all I know how to do.”

And it’s all I’m good for.