His hand paused, no doubt surprised by the abrupt demand. Then he brushed his hands off and focused his attention on me. “Of course. Anything.”
“Why…” I breathed deep, digging for the courage to ask this question and listen to the answer. “Why did you do it?”
A soft, sad smile curved his mouth just a little. “I did a lot of things, Libby. Can you be more specific?”
“You were off the narcotics. I got you off of them.” I tried not to be accusatory, but one of my fingers shook at him, remembering how he had almost killed himself, and hating him for nearly throwing his life away when some people were stolen away without any warning at all. Like Jonas.
He nodded. “You did.”
“Then why?”
“That’s what addicts do. They find excuses,” he answered, his eyes clear and steady.
“So you’re an addict?”
“I am.”
How strange that those words would leave me relieved.
Still, I had more questions. “You told me, the day you showed up, that you had been sober for years. You said years.”
He nodded. “I did.”
“Why would you say that when it’s not true?”
“It is true.”
“I’ve seen you drinking. Photos in articles and magazines, of you at parties with a drink in your hand.” I held a clawed hand out in front of me, like I was holding my own invisible bottle. “So when you say you’ve been sober, do you mean you’re just sober from the narcotics? Because I thought sober meant sober.”
“It does. And I am. Those drinks never had alcohol in them.”
I breathed for a moment, trying to let that information settle into my new reality. “Okay,” I said, then turned around and went back into the house. I wanted to believe him. I didn’t know if I did.
♪♫♪
Two days later, I drove home in a haze. I was having a girl. My baby, the little it that was running around inside of me was a girl.
Parking my car in my driveway was mechanical. I looked up at my home—the house I would bring my baby home to. The house without a father. Jonas would have been elated at the news of a little girl. I wanted desperately to be elated. But it was just me and this empty house, and nothing was the way it was supposed to be.
I forced myself out of my car and found another bunch of flowers on my front step. An arrangement of autumn-colored blooms. Orange roses, yellow sunflowers, and red mums.
Tears stung my eyes and I blinked them back. Getting these flowers at this moment felt like a boon. I knew they were from Sean, and it was so sweet. It was also confusing. We’d had one conversation in the last two weeks and I hadn’t been particularly nice. He was here, trying to infiltrate my empty house and fill my lonely heart. But for how long?
I took the flowers inside and put them on my kitchen counter, then looked out the back windows.
He was in the backyard again, not working this time, but just sitting on his little back porch with his guitar. He seemed to spend a lot of time there, probably using the privacy wall to keep away from prying eyes.
I went and opened my back door, but then I got stuck. He saw me standing there and his hands stilled on the strings as he raised a brow in question. But the invitation wouldn’t push past my lips, so I just stood aside, waiting to see if he would come in.
He did, and he brought his guitar with him. That almost made me smile.
I closed the door and turned to see him watching me as he leaned his guitar up against the back of the couch. “You invited me in.” He looked a little stunned.
“I just need to know. Why are you really here?”
His smile was the epitome of patience. “I’m here for you, Libby. I’m trying to be here for you, just like you were there for me. You were always there. You held my life together with two hands and sheer force of will. For years, you did that. And I”—he cast his eyes to the ceiling for a moment—“am in awe of that. I don’t know how you did it. I don’t know how you lasted that long. And then when you did leave me alone, you—my precious friend—didn’t actually leave me alone.” His head bobbed just a little as he nodded to himself. “You sent my mom back to me. The selflessness that must have taken isn’t something I can even comprehend. And I never got to thank you for any of that.”
I blinked, floored by the honesty and sincerity rolling off of him. “I couldn’t—” I sucked in a breath, trying not to lose it. “I couldn’t just leave you to drown. I couldn’t—”
“I know. And that’s what I’m trying to do, too. I don’t want you to drown, Libby. And your burden is so heavy that I’m afraid you will if you don’t have someone to hold you up.”
Did I need him for that? Was I not strong enough to do it myself?
“But what if—” I gulped.
“What if what?”
“What if you leave?” My voice shook.
“I won’t.”
Lies, my inner voice jumped up to say. “You have a job. You have a career. Your life is in New York, Sean. It’s not in North Carolina.”
“It is now.”
“You can’t promise that! What if you get too tired? What if it’s too much?”
His eyes went so soft, it took my breath away. “You’ll never be too much for me.”
I pressed my lower lip into my upper and blinked at the ceiling as I swallowed. He said that now, but he couldn’t know. “That’s what I thought too.”
I turned and walked away once again. A few moments later, I heard the door open and close, leaving my guilt to settle across my shoulders. A part of me hated that I was treating him this way, but it was what I had to do when it became too much. I said something to remind him of our broken past and then I turned my back on him. Because somehow feeling alone felt right. Jonas was gone, so wasn’t I supposed to feel alone and wretched? Accepting Sean, his friendship and his comfort felt like I was taking the easy way out. And I didn’t want the easy way out. I wanted Jonas. So I kept shoving Sean away.
And he just took it. He never fought back. He never took cheap shots at me. He just absorbed my blows, and I wondered at what point he would tire of being my punching bag.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I stood there on your doorstep
Asking you to let me in
Your face was white
Your hand was cold
Your frame was far too thin
You don’t trust me, that’s just something
I’ll have to work to earn
I’ll prove my love
I’ll guard your heart
Take care to heal the burn
I’m not leaving this time.
I’m not leaving.
—Sean Amity
CHAPTER TWENTY
He showed up again the very next day. I looked through my peephole and saw him there, waiting to see if I would answer his knock.
I did. I opened the door and he offered me a smoothie and a smile.
That smile. He hadn’t smiled like that for months before I had left him. But somehow, five years later, the smile I loved, the one that made his eyes shine and his nose crinkle, was back. Just like the healthy glow of his skin and the fitness of his body. It all spoke of changed habits and positive results. I wanted to trust the evidence in front of me that begged me to believe in him, but bad habits were hard to break. Grudges were hard to let go of, and the pain of unhealed hurts couldn’t be ignored indefinitely.