Page 37 of When I Should’ve Stayed (Red Bridge #2)

Clay

Josie clings to Breezy as she cries, the two of them highlighted by the soft light of only a single lamp. The town is quiet, the wedding decorations are stowed, Bennett and Norah have Summer resting at home, and all that’s left is the damage I’ve created.

I stand there in the street for a long moment, watching the two of them embrace and wishing things were different. Wishing I could be the one to comfort her—wishing she wouldn’t rather anyone else on the planet but me.

If I were a better man, I’d say I regret keeping us married, even though I don’t. That tomorrow, I’m going to call my lawyer and tell him to file the papers. I’d give her what she wants and do it without consternation or guilt trips.

But I’m not a better man.

I’m a desperate man. A man who still loves his wife more than he loves anything in this world and knows we should be together.

I can’t make myself give up because it’s not an option.

It doesn’t matter that my best friend got in my face and read me the riot act or that we nearly came to blows after Josie ran off, and it doesn’t matter that half the town gave me reproachful looks as I knuckled down to help clean up.

Josie Ellis is the love of my life. And I’m the love of hers, too. After seeing the way she looked at me during those damn vows I’ve been sitting on for all these years, I know it.

I want to rap my knuckles against the glass window of her coffee shop and beg her to talk to me. I want to tell her the truth—that I love her, that I’ve never stopped loving her, and that I’m sorry for all the ways I went wrong.

I want her to tell me why she had to leave—to tell me where the hell I went wrong so I can fix it.

There are so many things I want to say, but as I stand here, peering in her store’s window like a fucking creep and watching tears stream down her face while Breezy rubs a comforting hand on her back, I know now isn’t the time.

I may be impulsive and fucked up and self-serving sometimes, but none of those things are going to help heal my wife. She needs space and support, and she needs patience.

That virtue has never been my strong suit, but tonight, come hell or high water, I’m going to exercise it. After one last look at her perfect face, I turn and head for my truck.

It’s a short drive home, but it feels long, spinning thoughts racing through my mind at a million miles per hour. There are a hell of a lot of us here in Red Bridge hurting today, and for the most part, it’s not even because I’m an asshole.

My truck rocks to a stop in my parking spot in front of the bar, and I pull out my phone.

Me: I’m sorry for losing the plot today, dude. I know that shit was for Summer, not for me, and I hope you can forgive me for how I handled it. How is she?

Ben: She’s tired. So fucking tired. But I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I slam my palm into the steering wheel and let out a scream. My sweet Summer girl doesn’t have much time left here on earth, and it’s so unbelievably unfair. It feels impossible, but I compose myself anyway. What Bennett must be feeling is a thousand times worse, and I have to be strong for him.

Me: You want me to come over?

Ben: Not yet. But soon.

Me: Just say the word and I’ll be there.

I’d do anything for that little girl. Anything. Sadly, though, there’s absolutely nothing I can do. There’s nothing anyone can do. Time, now, is our number one enemy.