The man she loves, I think to myself. And the man who loves her.
I hail a cab and head back to the airport and back to the life that’s about to change forever.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Natasha
London
Present Day
I’ve never walked so fast in my life, and it’s not an easy feat when your vision is blurry from tears, your chest burning from the desperate need to cry out. Yet if I don’t walk to Baker Street station like my life depends on it, Brigs might catch up with me. And if Brigs catches up with me again, I know I’ll be powerless in his arms.
I’m already regretting it, regretting everything. The things I said—I lashed out like this was only my guilt to carry, that I was the only who lost something. I was trying to hurt him, and I don’t even know why when he’s been through so much pain already.
When he kissed me, I felt the world spin back in time, back to when I loved him. It gave me whiplash. And so much fucking fear. Fear that I would fall again. Fear that the enormity of our past would break us apart within seconds of coming together.
And I guess that kind of happened. Only it was at my hand, not his, and not fate’s. I’m finally in control.
I wish I wasn’t. I don’t always move in the right direction.
I get on the train and breathe a sigh of relief once the doors close, knowing that Brigs hasn’t come after me. It’s fairly empty, and even though my head is fuzzy and my body exhausted, I can’t help but watch a couple a few seats across from me.
The girl is petite with a blue pixie haircut and a nose ring, and she’s sitting in his lap. He looks like the typical jock you’d see in America, tanned with big muscles and a penchant for polo shirts, only I bet here he’s the captain of a cricket team or something like that.
My eyes are drawn to them, not only because of how different they both look, like if they were back in high school they definitely would not be dating, but because of how at ease they are with each other. They aren’t even talking, nor are they making out. They’re just staring at each other, smiling with their eyes, enveloped in their own beautiful world.
My heart aches so acutely, it burns.
I want that.
I need that.
I could have had that.
Twice already.
The happy couple gets off the train near my stop, so I have to stare at them in jealousy and fascination the entire time. My mind keeps circling over the look on Brig’s face when I told him we were dishonoring the dead. It’s like I slapped him as hard as I could.
And yet he still stood there, wanting us to move on, to have another chance. After everything I said and all that we’d gone through, he wanted us to start over.
Could we do that? Could we really put it all behind us and start from scratch? Forget the old love and build a new one?
I want to believe that, I truly do.
There’s just too much at stake.
It wasn’t just the guilt over Miranda and Hamish’s death that got me in the end. It was that I never saw Brigs after that. That my heart was shattered like glass while I was burning in shame.
He broke me into pieces.
And that’s something that could easily happen again. There’s no guarantee that it wouldn’t. Brigs could freak out down the line as easily as I just did. And if it became serious, what would happen when we meet his family? If he meets mine? Would we ever be able to tell them how we truly first met?
The other thing is, there’s no option for us not to become serious. We may be starting over, but the moment either of us fall into bed with each other, we’re all in. I know he is. I know I’d be. There are no baby steps here. It’s all or nothing.
I’m just not sure I’m ready for all.
And I’m not sure I can live with nothing.
I get back to the flat and Melissa, as usual, is waiting up for me. It’s almost like she stops dating and/or sleeping around the moment I start going on these dates and starts hanging around at home, waiting for me. Like my mother. Of course she thinks I’m going out with fictional “Bradley” from the art history program and had high hopes for me before I left the flat tonight.
But when she sees my face, her ravenous expression drops. She comes over to me, cooing, “What happened?”
I need to come up with an excuse, but I feel like I’m all out of them.
“He stood me up,” I say, going into my bedroom, dropping down on the bed, and taking off my boots.
“What?” she exclaims. “Why didn’t you come home right away?”
“I really wanted to see the movie,” I tell her, feeling bad that I’m lying. “I’m used to going to them alone.”
“Maybe he went to the wrong cinema. Or,” she snaps her fingers together, “maybe you did.”