“Him? You care about him? Come on. You enjoy pushing your mother’s buttons.” His tempestuous eyes betray his contained rage. “Helene saw it, but I’d have never believed you’d be so gullible. You can’t care about him.”
“I’m not gullible. I do care about Levi. A lot. I won’t pretend my feelings aren’t real simply because you and my mother don’t like or understand them. Maybe I don’t completely understand them yet, either, but it doesn’t diminish their significance. Please don’t force me to hurt you by pushing me to say more.”
“You don’t love me anymore?” He looks humbled.
My throat aches. “I suspect I’ll always love you in some ways, Rob, in spite of everything. I’ll always want good things for you.” I gulp. “But I don’t see the same future for myself that I once did. I’m sorry, Rob. Marrying you now isn’t what I want, and it may never be. I don’t expect you to wait for me.”
I’m shocked to hear the words leave my mouth, but the instant they do, a weight lifts. “I think we should say good-bye.”
Rob’s face clouds over. He turns to me, repulsed. “You’re a piece of work, Lindsey—a cold, punishing piece of work. So, this is for the best, then, because God forbid I be tied to an unforgiving bitch for the rest of my life.”
He’s lashing out because he’s in pain, but it stings.
“I’m sorry you see me that way.” A tear falls down my cheek. “I never set out to hurt you.”
“I’m sorry I ended things with Ava when you left. That’s my second-biggest mistake, the first being chasing after you.”
His words leave me cold. I’d always suspected more went on between him and her. His comment confirms my suspicion. Now I’m equally revolted.
“Then you’d better hurry and catch the next flight back to New York.” I grab the roses on the table—his predictable gesture—and hand him the bouquet. “Under the circumstances, perhaps you should take these to Ava.”
He snatches them from me and stalks toward the door. Just before leaving, he turns and snarls. “When things fall apart with your neighbor, don’t come crawling back to me. If I never see you again, it will be too soon.”
A picture in the hallway rattles against the wall when he slams the door closed behind him. A loud screech tears apart the air as Rob’s car peels out of my driveway.
Sinking to the floor, I cry over all of the pain we’ve caused each other. I was naive to believe we could end things as friends. Despite his abominable behavior, I don’t hate him. I loved him. A tidal wave of nostalgia causes me to erupt into sobs over lost years and lost love.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Levi
I’m going to lose her. Goddamn it, she’s going to forgive that dishonest ass. When she discovered he’d arrived, her shame over being with me thrust a dagger in my chest. I’m disgusted by my own foolishness.
I march over to the closet, take the box of ashes off the shelf, and then set it on the kitchen counter. I place my hands on either side of the box and just stare. Somewhere in the great beyond Pop’s shaking his head. I can almost hear his big ol’ “I told you, son” echo through the house.
My fingers grip the box more tightly. What have I been thinking these past months? How’d I convince myself I could handle this? I’ve never acted like such a moron as I have this summer. Lindsey enticed me with her “friendship” and promises of the benefits of baring your soul. Jesus, she sure played me.
It ends now.
I refuse to sulk around my house or run off and hide for another week. I’m gonna treat today as I would have treated any fine Saturday afternoon in August before I met her.
Before Lindsey. Is this how I’ll think of my life now, in terms of before and after Lindsey, like she’s the second coming or something? Good Lord.
I should be riding my bike up the coast. The doc gave me the green light to drive, but we never discussed my bike.
On my way to my garage, I put Pop back in the closet, then I admire the new Ducati I had delivered last week. The shiny red-and-black beauty beckons me to touch her. I sit on her for the first time, to get a feel for the equipment. Feels pretty good.
Subconsciously, my hands rub my lower back. I consider whether or not I can endure the ride. Probably not advisable, but I’m sick of listening to everyone’s advice. I’m done being a patient—a victim.
I’m about to strap on my helmet, then I pause. Despite the mixed emotions raging within me, I never want to end up in the hospital again. Doc’s warnings about the danger of pushing before the fusion takes whisper in my ear. He said it’d be a minimum of four months . . . possibly a year. In either case, it’s too soon to ride the bike. Goddamn it! Everywhere I turn, I’m facing a wall.