Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
“I love you, Natasha.”
My chest tightens as a fresh flood of tears threatens to fall.
“I know you do,” I say. “And you love Ollie, too. But he’s hurting. You’ve been hurting him for years now.”
“You’re right, I have,” he says, his expression torn. “I’m not proud of it. But I don’t want to lose you, Natasha.”
“I don’t want to lose you either. But choosing you would just give Ollie yet another reason to hate you. I won’t do that to you.”
A painful understanding passes between us. Evan nods.
“I’ll talk to him,” he says. “I’ll make this right.”
I don’t know whether this situation can ever be made right, but I don’t have the heart to rain on his newfound determination.
As much as it hurts me to do it, I shut the door on Evan.
“Ready to leave?” Hailey asks me.
“No, I’m not,” I say. “But it’s time to go.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
EVAN
The days pass in a dull haze without Natasha.
I go to work and the gym. I pump extra iron and pack more patients into my already busy schedule, all in an effort to wear myself out. None of it helps. I’m still up at all hours of the night thinking about everything that happened this summer. Turning the events over and around in my head, like I’m looking for the reset button.
But there’s no coming back from this. I fell in love with my son’s best friend, and now I’m facing the consequences of that inappropriate love.
The guilt, the pain, the longing.
It’s been two weeks since I watched Natasha drive off. I don’t know where she’s staying. She won’t return my calls or texts, and the one person who might know where she is isn’t speaking to me either. I tried talking to Oliver the day after the party, but the wound was too fresh, too raw.
“I hate you,” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls in the beer-scented kitchen.
“That’s fine,” I said. “Hate me all you want. I deserve it.”
He shoved his chair back and began pacing back and forth across the sticky linoleum.
“I’m such a fucking idiot,” he muttered. “I actually thought you were coming up every weekend to see me. But you were really just coming to see her.”
“I wanted to see both of you.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because it’s the truth. I know I’ve been absent, neglectful. I’ve missed so many important moments in your life. And I hate that I can’t change that. I can’t go back and be there for you then, but I want to be here for you now.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my son and I love you.”
He shook his head, eyes full of disdain. “I wish you’d stayed gone.”
Oliver drove off shortly after that. I left, too, and I haven’t been back to the lake house since.
Instead, I’ve been haunting my Knoxville apartment like a ghost.
Sunday mornings are when I feel her absence the most. I come back from the gym and immediately hop into the shower, grateful for the white noise drowning out the silence. Though Natasha has never visited me here, somehow it feels emptier than before.
I can usually distract myself well enough to ignore the pang of missing her, but today I feel it like an open wound—the need to be close to her, even if it’s only her scent on the sheets.
I’m in the car driving north before I realize where I’m heading. When I pull up to the lake house, I’m surprised to see Oliver’s car parked in the driveway.
He’s on his way out the door with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. I step out of the car, bracing myself for whatever he might throw at me, secretly hoping for anger over silence.
“How’ve you been?” I ask him.
Oliver stares at me for a while, unmoving.
Finally, he says, “Okay.”
“Good. That’s good.” I pause. “Where’ve you been staying?”
“With Logan.”
“In the city?”
He nods. After a long, taut silence, he clears his throat and asks, “Have you heard from Nat?”
My chest tightens. I shake my head no. “Have you?”
“Not a peep.” He seems genuinely hurt by this, and I know exactly how he feels.
Oliver sucks in a breath and takes a step toward his car. Panic surges through me. This can’t be the last time I see my son. I have to do something.
“Wait, Oliver.” I approach him slowly, like the wounded animal he is, and rest a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. We shouldn’t have lied to you.”
“You’re not sorry that it happened?”
“No,” I realize. “I’m not. I regret how you found out, but I don’t regret a moment of the time I got to spend with Natasha. I’m sorry if that hurts you.”
Oliver rubs the backs of his eyelids. I press on, not willing to let him go until I’ve laid my cards on the table.
“I love her,” I tell him. “I’m in love with her.”