The Other P-Word(51)

He laughed, a bitter chuckle that soured the air between us. "You're  batting outside the ballpark." He leaned close to my face. "I'm sorry I  led you astray. You want the truth? 'Cause it's ugly and I'm doing my  best not to hurt you right now."

"I always want the truth."

"I'm not afraid to love again. I just don't love you."

I staggered, stepping back from him. He'd successfully cut all my thorns  in one fell swoop. I had no more defenses. My lower lip trembled and  the rest of me followed. He sucked in a long swig of air.

"I won't wait for you. Not one week, one month or ten years. I won't be  here when you're ready, Evan Wright. Do you hear me?" My voice quaked  with each word.

"I won't be ready. You don't have to wait."

He walked out of the front door, slamming it as he left. My knees gave  out as I gave in to it all … all the tears, the anger, and most of all, my  own stupidity.





Chapter Thirty-Four





I discovered that I could sit in the fetal position for incredibly long periods of time.

Evan moved out. He left his guitar at my door. I almost smashed it to pieces, but I stopped, noticing the note.



Billie,

I'm so sorry I hurt you. I never meant to, but I was selfish. I enjoyed  you too much. Sometimes when I was with you, I remembered who I used to  be-carefree and happy. Thank you for that. But the reality is I became  careless with us. I told you I'm not a good guy. You kept forgetting  that. I should have reminded you more. I can't return your feelings, but  the time I spent with you was the best time of my life. I will never  forget you. The guitar is for George. He has a talent for music. Maybe  he can learn to play it.

Evan



I thought about smashing it anyway. I mean, I could buy George a new  one. But I didn't. I cried instead. My eyes were splotchy and red by the  time I reported for work. Tilla took one look at me, hugged me hard,  uttered a few expletives around Evan's name and sent me back to my room.

I didn't argue.

That worst day of my life that had taken place several months ago was a  walk through the tulips compared to this. My feelings for Preston had  been shallow water compared to this dark, desolate ocean that claimed  all my tears and stole my breath. I walked around my tiny room, hating  each scuff and scratch, especially the ones we'd created together.

I sat on the fire escape, replaying it all-our laughter, our intimacy,  our little talks, all the bottles of unfinished wine that made up our  relationship. Evan did love me. I knew that in my heart. If I were  someone else telling this story, I'd have pity for this girl, who  insisted this elusive man loved her. But I wasn't telling it. I was  living it. I'd lived those nights, I'd woken up to find him staring down  at me, the slatted moonlight highlighting his features. He'd lain down,  embarrassed and turning away from me, but never letting go of my hand.  When he'd pulled me out of the water in Orange Beach, I'd seen fear in  his eyes. Mostly, I'd felt it in his kiss, his touch, his soft breath as  it had washed over my body.

‘You make me happy to be in this world, Billie.'

Trying to maintain my good employment status, I returned to work. But I  wasn't very sharp. I mixed up orders. I served Frisky Frank or whatever  the fuck his name was, and got pinched in the process. When Evan's  groupies asked about him, my answers came coiled with coldness.                       
       
           



       

Mom and Damien took the triplets to Disney World. Marley and Rick were  getting ready for their new arrival. Dillon was busy with Josh. Stevie  and Adam were helicoptering Bobby's first grade teacher.

Secretly, that was the positive thing, because I couldn't face them  right now. I didn't tell them Evan had left. I forged my voice with fake  optimism every time I spoke with any of them. Misery was best when it  served a table of one. I ate it up, occasionally pairing it with a nice  bottle of merlot and a pound of good chocolate.

Evan had been alone for ten years. The devastation in my heart was  painful, swallowing me up in depression at times. What had he gone  through? I tried to shake that sorrow for him and go back to hating him,  but each time I kept drifting back to memories of his kiss, his  chocolate-colored eyes, his jagged little scar. And his voice … the one he  used to sing, powerful yet raspy. The one that whispered to me at  night … soft and sultry. The play with me voice, the come fuck me  voice … flirty with a kick of southern twang. The choked voice I'd only  heard once in that bathtub when he'd held me, fully clothed and more  naked than I'd ever seen him.

About a month after he left, there was a knock on my door early in the morning.

Evan?

It was Tilla. Her eyes were puffy and her shoulders sagging.

"Are you okay?"

She pulled me into a hug.

"I didn't know. Evan didn't tell me. He told Mike. I knew something was  bothering my husband. I just found out last night, I swear to you. I'm  so sorry, Billie. Mike swore me to secrecy. It's what Evan wanted, but I  don't care. This is wrong. You have a right to know." Her words came  out like an avalanche, one toppling over the other with no blank space  between.

"Didn't know what?"

"Evan didn't leave. He didn't go on the tour."

Had he really wanted to be gone from me so badly he'd lied? "Where is he?"

She kept crying until my patience wore so thin it was transparent.

"Where is he, Tilla?" I asked with more force. "Tell me."

"I think he's at the doctor's right now."





Chapter Thirty-Five





The doctor's office was nondescript. Evan sat in a chair, reading a  magazine. He looked up at me before he should have noticed-before I made  a sound or said a word. This wasn't my Evan. He was pale, with dark  circles under his eyes.

I took the seat next to him.

"Mike told you."

"He told Tilla. She told me. Is it true?" I held my breath, but his expression and slow nod provided the answer.

"Let's talk outside."

He walked over to a teenage boy on the far side of the room. "Hey, Bri,  there's an article about how they do the NCAA standings that's pretty  good," he said, handing the kid the magazine. The boy's mother gave Evan  a look of gratitude.

"Thanks, Evan."

Then he gripped my hand, stopping at the receptionist desk.

"Amy, can you text me when the doctor is ready?"

She looked up, eyeing me suspiciously at first, until her smile softened. "Sure, Evan, I can do that."

He knew people here. He'd come here often. This is where he went for his … errands.

We walked outside the brick building. The September wind picked up. I  hugged my jacket closed. He went to remove his, placing it over my  shoulders.

"I don't want it."

He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his jeans. He muttered a curse  and kicked the brick façade of the building. "This isn't the right place  for this conversation."

"Don't make me wait for the answers. I didn't bring a bottle of wine. You don't get to avoid the truth this time."

He sighed, turning to me. "I have a tumor over my heart."

He paused, letting the words sink in. I repeated them, not trusting my  own ears. I choked a bitter breath. "When you said there was something  wrong with your heart, you were being literal, not figurative."

"I tried to tell you so many times, but every time I'd start, I couldn't  finish. I thought why? Why do I have to fuck up our short time together  with this? You didn't need that and I sure as hell didn't want to spend  our days in darkness. You shined a light in my life that I had no  intention of shadowing."                       
       
           



       

"Tell me about the tumor."

"Not much to tell. Apparently, it's been there for a long time … benign and just fine."

"And now?"

"It's grown into my heart … the fucking squatter," he said with a small laugh, trying to force the joke.

I swallowed the dam of emotion threatening to choke me. "What are our  options? And when I say our, I mean as in you and I. What are our  options?"

He shook his head.

I clutched his shirt. "There has to be things we can do."

He placed his hands over mine. "There are no options, my optimistic girl."

My knees shook. I would have fallen if he hadn't held me. "How long have you known?"

"I received the final diagnosis the day you put that picture on my wall. I was angry with you."

"Angry?"

"If you weren't in my life, that news wouldn't have been so difficult  for me. I thought, after the way I'd acted, you'd leave. Go back to your  family in the suburbs. I never imagined you'd stay. I didn't want this  for you, Billie. I know what it means to have someone die on you, and I  thought it would be easier if you were pissed at me-if I cut you loose.  If it was my choice, and not some random act of fucked-upness."