I love him, but he’s hurting me.
I want to save him, but he won’t let me.
I want to hold on to him, but he’s pushing me away.
His arms begin to loosen, and I grip him tighter.
No. Hold on to me. I beg in my mind. “Let me love you, Wyatt.”
Wyatt rests his forehead on mine. “Let me go before I hurt you more.”
“This is what’s hurting,” I murmur. “If you love something, you have to fight for it. Fight for me. Fight for what we could’ve been.”
His eyes lift as he drops his arms. “I have no fight left, and I don’t love you. Go back home, Angie.”
Wyatt
MY FUCKING HEAD IS POUNDING. How much did I drink last night? I rub the side of my head and try to recall what happened.
I remember getting to the bar, drinking a shitload of shots, and seeing Beau, the guy who didn’t save Faith. He should’ve done something more. I remember telling him all that, and then I think my brother showed up.
My eyes open, and I look around, only vaguely realizing that something’s different. I’m still too hungover to give a fuck, though.
I grab my phone to check the time. Holy shit! It’s three in the afternoon, and I have four missed calls. Two from Presley, one from Trent, and one from Mama. I toss the phone back on the couch and cover my eyes with my arm. No way I want to hear from any of them. All three will tell me what a fuck up I’m being—as if I didn’t already know. I can’t seem to stop myself.
“Open the damn door, you asshole!” Presley yells from the other side of the front door.
Maybe she’ll go away.
“Goddamn it, Wyatt Hennington!” she screams.
I sit up and drop my head into my hands. I don’t need this right now.
“I know you’re in there.” She kicks the door.
This won’t end well. I get up and open the door to find her staring at me with so much anger in her eyes it forces me to step back. “Good morning, Cowgirl.”
“Don’t!” Her small hands push against my chest. “Don’t talk! I will beat the shit out of you with my bare hands. I can’t even believe you right now. Who are you? Do you think you’re the only man who’s dealt with loss? Do you think at all? No. I don’t think you do! I can’t believe you said those things to her! I can’t believe you just let her walk away!” Presley rants and yells as she continues to hit me.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” She shoots straight to rage.
“Presley.” I sigh. “I have no clue why you’re yellin’ at me.”
“Look around, Wyatt. Look around your house, and let me know what you see, you stupid idiot.”
I take a second and try to place what I thought was off. Everything is like I remember it, except it’s not. The photo of Presley and Angie that sat on the mantle is gone. The quilt that Angie brought from home, which was draped over the back of the couch, is missing. Little things that she put out aren’t there.
My feet move to the bedroom, and I throw open the closet. It’s all gone. There’s no clothes hanging. I rush to the bathroom to find all her girly crap is gone too. She’s gone.
Then I remember what happened when I got home. It comes in chunks, but I recall the fight. The way she begged me, and how I put the final nail in the coffin. I made her think I never felt anything for her.
I lied.
And she’s really gone.
In my head, I knew this was coming. It’s the life she wanted, so I was trying to give her a reason to let me go. Hurting her went against everything I stand for, but keeping her here was selfish. She thought she loved me. I know she loved her life before me. When we lost Faith, there was no reason for her to stay.
I saw the goodbye as soon as she opened her eyes in that hospital room.
I just helped her get there faster.
“Yeah.” Presley leans against the door with her arms crossed. “Good job.”
“She was leaving anyway.” I try to cover the pain in my voice.
“No, Wyatt. She wasn’t.”
“I saw it!” My voice rises as the self-hate flows through me. “I gave her the out she wanted.”
Presley stalks into my room until she’s right in front of me. “I’ve never seen her cry like that. Never. Not over losing her brother, not because of the hateful shit her mother says, not even over losing Faith. Not once have I seen my best friend so broken. She couldn’t talk. She couldn’t breathe. She was curled in a ball asking what she should do.” Her green eyes shine with disgust. “After I finally got her calmed down, she told me what you said. So I told her to walk away and get on that plane. I know you, Wyatt. I know who you are, and this . . .” She huffs. “This isn’t who you are. But you lost her. Good job, buddy. I hope this was what your master plan was. I really thought you loved her. I thought you were just in pain and lashing out. Turns out I was wrong.”