Page 39

Chapter 38

Tyler

S taring at my Post-it Note on the refrigerator, I know without a doubt I’ve colossally fucked up. Whereas I told her I was going fishing, she tells me, Thank you for everything, I’ll be back in a few weeks for the rest of my things.

She left.

Four days ago.

Not that I blame her.

Who wants to be treated the way I treated her?

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Well, I do, but I never expected my emotions to waver when it comes to Lily. And then they did. Once I went down the rabbit hole, I couldn’t stop. My demons got the best of me when, deep down, after looking her in the eyes, I knew she was none of those things I accused her of being.

Wandering to her room, I sit down on the bed and stare at the pile of things she’s placed next to the closet. She’s stripped the bed, and the comforter is folded in half, and if I breathe in deeply enough, I can still smell her. The hint of citrus and vanilla makes my entire body contract with want for her.

I want her. I want her in every way, but I don’t even know where to start. I thought I was over my insecurities when it came to the fallout of my relationship with Marissa, but I guess not as I flung Lily’s character in her face like she meant nothing to me.

I never ever thought I could be that guy, but as I came down off my emotional roller coaster, I heard her crying through the thin walls of my house, and I wanted to repeatedly punch myself in the face.

Makes me feel like I don’t deserve her.

Maybe I don’t.

Those things were coincidental. I know it too.

Morgan does what Morgan wants to do, even I know that. And I believe Lily when she says she told her not to take any pictures and that I was a private person. Those rules were between us, and she knows what I’ve told her about Marissa, but not all of it, and she accepted my explanation for privacy and respected it. She’s always respected me.

I’ve also been playing football my whole life. I know what she means about girls like those, and I also agree that it wouldn’t have mattered what she said. They think she’s living the dream. The dream that they want. Nothing was ever going to change their minds.

As for the flowers, I’m just a dick, and when I accused her of timing her book release, going public with her face, and showing up to my games as planned for sales, her reaction said it all. I know how hard she’s worked at her author business and how much she desperately wanted it to be her own.

I feel ashamed, and I feel guilt. A lot of it.

Even the guys at practice this week knew something was up. While Jonah, Ryder, and Sully tried to talk to me, I just blew them off and kept to myself. I showed up to practice, meetings, film, press, all of it. I went through the motions and then went home and locked myself in the house, while slowly savoring her soup, knowing she’s probably never sharing a meal with me again.

Pulling out my phone, I look to see if she’s posted yet today. I’m a glutton for punishment and clinging to any scraps I can find from her, and this is it.

On Tuesday, sometime after she left, the first post appeared, and it was a graphic with the words, “Let’s Get to Know Each Other,” on it. The content for that post said, “Hello, lovely readers. I have made a decision. I’ve decided it’s time for me to get to know you and for you to get to know me. While I am so excited for the release of Love on the Lake later this week, if you’re asking yourself if that statement means what you think it means, then the answer is yes. This will be a week of firsts … but in the meantime, swipe to see a picture of me with my best friend, Morgan. She’s my ride or die, and she’s also the one with blond hair. Tell me, who is your best friend? Tag them so they can feel the love.”

Was this the moment she showed her face? Of course my heart was beating in my chest as I swiped to the picture. But she didn’t. Instead, she’s hugging Morgan. It’s Morgan’s face that is visible, and the comments exploded. Everyone is shocked and giddy over Lily’s announcement and her hair. Her hair is flowing down her back and so beautiful. My stomach clenches at the sight, as one of my favorite things is running my fingers through her hair. Hair that I might never get to touch again.

On Wednesday, she posted a picture of her at the beach. Her arms are out, her head is thrown back so you can’t see her face, and you can tell she’s been twirling by the way the skirt of her light turquoise blue dress, the same one she wore to Jonah’s, is billowed out. Her hair is down and also flying through the air. Morgan must have just taken this, and it’s stunning. She looks so happy, and maybe even a little bit of that happiness was because of me. But not anymore. This caption said, “I’m twenty-six years old, so here’s twenty-six fun facts about me.”

She lists all kinds of things. She tells them she’s not married but doesn’t mention if she’s single or in a relationship. She tells them she graduated from the University of Miami, that donuts are her favorite food, she loves the sound of church bells and hates spiders, and for the last one, she tells them that she has fears of not being accepted and always being judged.

My heart ached at this one because I know without a doubt I contributed to this. On Monday, in my living room, instead of lifting her up, my words tore her down. What an asshole I am. Of course I read all of the comments, and while a lot of people shared some of her favorite things, a lot understood her fears and went out of their way to leave positive comments of encouragement.

Yesterday’s post was an invitation to the book signing and these readers, her followers, lost their shit.

This bookstore that she’s doing the signing at is unique in that it is a walk-up brownstone on the Upper West Side. The first and second floors are books, the third floor is a meeting space, and I guess the fourth and fifth floors are the owners' home. While the signing was originally just going to be at six at night, they added a second session at one. Each session holds two hundred and fifty, and from the edited note on the post, it apparently sold out in eight minutes.

Wow.

She was right to draw this out over a few days. The anticipation and the buildup must be great for her sales, and at the end of the day, this is all about her, and that’s what matters. I made this week about me, and it makes me so sick to my stomach, I almost called in to practice today. But today’s post, which I’ve found and is staring back at me, finally tips me over the edge.

Lily stands in Central Park, her hair is pulled up on top of her head in a messy knot, she’s wearing a cream sweater, and she’s holding her stack of books, including the new one. She’s smiling at the camera, her eyes are nearly the color of the sky, and she looks so happy. As she should be. This is a big day for her, and the caption reads, “A love letter to my readers … Today is the day, here I am. Full transparency, I’m so nervous, I want to hide in my closet and never come out. Now some of you might be asking, ‘Why?’ and I’ll tell you. Have you ever wanted something so badly to be yours and yours alone? That’s how I’ve felt about being an author. I started this career when my life was in a different place, only Morgan knew what I was up to, and I’ve loved it so much I just wanted to hold on to it for as long as possible to keep it mine. I never wanted anyone to say that I became successful because of someone else. In a world where it’s who you know that can make or break you, I wanted to leave those I knew out of the equation. Finding this path and finding my voice has brought so much joy to my life, I’m forever grateful, I’m proud of myself, and I refuse to let anyone take that away. But as I’ve recently begun the next chapter of my life, I decided it was time to set myself free. I have so much to give and so much I want to share. With the help of someone I love, they made me realize that I’m more than just a face and more than just a name. I deserve to have it all. So this is me. I’m Lily Keegan, and it’s nice to finally meet you.”

My eyes well as I reread her post. I know how hard this was for her, but she did it. She set aside her fears, she set aside all the negativity that she’s received from those who claim to care about her—like me, and she found her worth. She stepped into the light to give herself what she’s rightfully earned, and I feel honored to have even been allowed to watch her on this journey.

There’s not one negative comment, just love. So much love for her bravery, the appreciation for her stories, and excitement that they finally get to see who she is.

Someone who I wish I could say was mine.

My chin drops to my chest, and my eyes squeeze shut.

What have I done?

I feel broken, and I have no one to blame but myself.

There’s only one person who I can talk to about this, someone who knows us both, but I fear he’s not going to be happy with me either. He said not to mess around with his sister, but I did anyway. There was no stopping it either. She is everything to me, and the way I crave her and need her outweighs my worry over him, thinking I betrayed him. I didn’t. I fell in love with her, and there’s a difference. Should I have told him sooner? Yes. I don’t know what I was waiting for, there’s never a good time for these things, but I need him now, so I suck up my pride and call him.

He answers on the second ring.

“I was wondering when you were going to call,” he says, there’s humor in his tone.

I let out a deep sigh. I haven’t even said anything to him, and I already feel better. “Lance, I need your help.” I lie back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he chuckles. “You know, I knew this would happen. I’ve known for years that the two of you would be perfect together.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the one who told me to stay away from her just a few months ago.” I hit the speaker mode for this conversation and toss my phone onto the bed next to me.

“Well, yeah. I was thinking that if I made her somehow off-limits or forbidden, it might flip a switch in you to see her differently.” There’s a whooshing sound of air behind his voice. I must have caught him while he’s in the car.

“I didn’t need to see her differently. I already saw her as perfect. It’s just . . . she’s your sister. At first, I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize our friendship, but then it became about her, and, Lance . . . she’s all I see.”

“In what world would I think my best friend is not good enough for my sister? Ty, there is no one better than you, and I’ve been praying and counting down the days until this phone call came in.”

He thinks I’m good enough for her? My eyes burn again, and I rub my chest.

“Really?”

“I swear you are so dumb sometimes.” He chuckles again.

“Well, I’m about to double down on that assessment when I tell you what I’ve done.”

“Oh God.”

“Yeah.”

I replay the entire last week for him and don’t leave anything out. He listens to me and then asks a question that I never expected.

“Why does it bother you so much if someone takes a picture of things like your fish tank? I know that it stems from Marissa, but what’s the big deal?”

Eight-by-ten images from inside Marissa and her husband’s apartment flash through my mind.

“I’ve never told anyone this, not even my parents, but you know how Marissa went out of her way to do the things I like, align our interests, be manipulative in a way that would make me fall for her? Well, when I got called into the police station to confirm my statement, they had images from inside Marissa’s real place. The guest bedroom looked like something straight out of an obsessive stalker crime show. The walls were covered with images. There were so many of me, dozens inside my apartment that showed brands I liked, books I’d read, food I ate, all kinds of stuff. There were pictures of me outside places I liked to eat, stores I like to visit, how to get in and out of the stadium, a breakdown of my family history, and an entire section dedicated to all of my friends. You were on the wall, and so was Lily.”

“What?” His tone has changed. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Nope. Those police photos caused me more damage than Marissa’s emotional games. I don’t know how to explain it. Something about having your life on display like that, it’s so invasive and exposing, changes you. I’ve just never wanted another picture to be taken. Those are my things, and they’re not meant for anyone else to see.”

“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want you to know. Rationally, I’ve always known that I wasn’t in any physical danger. This was strictly about the money, but irrationally, I’ve had a very hard time letting it go. I loved her, at least I thought I did, and that vulnerable feeling hit me hard last week. Lily . . . I just care for her so much, and I feel raw.”

I almost told him that I love her, but she deserves to hear it first. If I ever get the opportunity to.

“Did you ever talk to someone about this?” he asks, his tone deep with concern.

“I did. I almost quit football, but the team supplied me with a therapist who helped me through it.”

Dr. Schwartz-Fernandes. This man helped me, and I am grateful for him.

“I’m glad you didn’t. Football was always your dream.”

“Until your sister moved in.” I let out a deep, deflated sigh.

“Maybe you should revisit that guy as sort of a phase two.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I just . . .” I swallow hard to remove the knot in my throat. “You should have seen her,” I tell him, shame bitterly coating my tongue.

“It’s probably a good thing I didn’t because I would have slammed my fist into your face.”

“I would have let you.”

“But Lily, you know her. Talk things out with her. She’s a reasonable and rational person. She’s not dramatic or vindictive. She enjoys living in a world where everyone and everything around her is happy, including herself. Fix this.”

“I want to, but this weekend is her big weekend, and I don’t want to do anything to ruin this for her.”

“About that. You know you’re the loved one she mentioned in today’s post,” he says, and it causes me to reach up and rub my chest. My chest that aches with grief.

“I don’t know. It could be any of her friends here or Morgan.” And it could be. Once she started talking about her books with Camille, Sophie, and Lexi, she didn’t stop. They’ve all supported her.

“It’s not. She told me.”

I sit straight up. “Wait, you talked to her?” My heart starts racing, and my blood rushes over the pulse points throughout my body.

“I did,” he says, slowly.

“And she told you she loves me?”

My heartbeat now moves to my ears and starts pounding.

“You’re going to have to find that out for yourself.”

Yes, I do need to find out for myself. And although I have my worries that this might not be the right move, what if it is? I need to tell her how sorry I am, that I fully support her and want to be her biggest fan, and well . . . that I love her. I’ve waited long enough. Too long, actually. And yes, there’s a good possibility that she wants nothing to do with me after what a jackass I’ve been, but I won’t know unless I try. And I really do want to try. For her, for us.

“Lance,” I call out his name as I stand and grab my phone off the bed. “I have to go.”

I can’t be here.

Not while she’s there.

He chuckles again. “Go get our girl.”