Page 1 of What He Always Knew

Charlie

Left or right.

It was as simple as that, except it wasn’t simple at all.

If I went left, the road would eventually lead me to the house on the east side of Mount Lebanon — to the man I promised my life to, the one I’d imagined building a family with, the one who’d done everything in his power to try to keep me.

If I went right, the road would take me to a house not so familiar — to the man I used to only know as a boy, the man who came back unannounced, the man I loved first, before I even knew what love was.

I didn’t have any more tears to shed. They were all dried on my face, inky lines of mascara marring each cheek like scars. I was at the fork I knew I’d eventually get to all along, the decision I never wanted to make between two choices I never knew I had before two months ago.

The truth was simple.

I loved them both.

My heart was forever severed, destined to exist in two equal halves — one with each man. But one half beat stronger, one half had the vein that ran deepest, and one half held my choice in silence well before I ever admitted it out loud.

The other half would always be a part of me, but in a softer way — a more subdued beating, a quieter presence, a different kind of life support.

A different kind of love.

My chest ached with the realization of what I had to do, of the words I had to say, the heart I had to break. Though the snow had cleared and spring was beginning to paint the earth green all around me, I still felt the harsh bite of winter nipping at my heels as I fled from it — from the cold, from the hurt, to a new beginning, to a new me.

Left or right.

It may not have been a simple choice, but I knew with every beat of my severed heart it was the right one.

So, I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and turned the wheel.

Two months earlier

Charlie

The first thing I noticed when I came to the morning after the spring concert was the splitting headache.

My ears rang, loud and shrill, and I creaked one eye open first before the other. When I tried to sit up, a sledgehammer smacked me back down. I groaned, massaging my temples as I laid back into the pillow.

The reality of what had happened the night before filtered in slowly through the waves of my headache, seeping in like frigid ice to my veins. I pressed into my temples, and then I saw a flash of Reese in the closet at school. I pinched the bridge of my nose, and then I saw Cameron’s glossed eyes as he begged me to stay.

It was a nightmare, one I’d agreed to subject myself to for two more months.

I was giving Cameron the chance to keep me, but it was Reese who held my heart now.

“Hey.”

I opened my eyes again, finding Cameron standing in the doorway of our bedroom. He was already fully dressed for work, his jaw clean shaven, tie fastened at his neck and dark hair styled neat. He balanced a steaming cup of tea on a tiny saucer plate, and when he crossed to sit on the edge of the bed next to me, I saw two small pills next to the mug.

“Ibuprofen,” he said, handing me those first. “Figured you might need these.”

My eyes were heavy from crying, heart heavy from fighting, and I pushed to sit up as slowly as I could before tossing the coated pills in my mouth. I swallowed, shaking my head when Cameron offered me the tea to help wash them down. He set the mug on our nightstand, exactly where the cup he’d brought me the night before had gone cold.

“How are you feeling?”

Cameron’s hand reached forward for mine, cupping over my fingers, and I stared at that point of contact as another sharp pain ripped through my head.

“Tired,” I answered. It was the best word I had to wrap up everything I felt. I was exhausted — from the night, from the past couple of months, from the last five years. I wanted to sleep until my nightmare was over. I wanted to cry at just the thought of what I had yet to endure, at the fact that I couldn’t just wake up to a new, brighter day where life was simple again.

Cameron squeezed my hand.