Because I’m pretty sure he didn’t.
I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and ignore Liv’s disgust.
“This is the way it was designed to go,” I say. “So why does it hurt like this?”
She pulls me against her again as the dam breaks and tears flood my face once more. Her shirt is already damp from the first round of this, so I move my face to get a dry spot. There’s no satisfaction in rewetting a damp spot.
It’s softer, more cushiony. It reminds me more of Holden.
My body shakes as I cry harder.
I cry for my naivete, for thinking that I could pull this off without getting hurt. I cry, too, because I know I’ll never be that naive again. The Sophie who marched into the clinic and asked Holden for antibiotics is gone for good. In her place is this Sophie—a woman who knows what it’s like to actually love a man and lose him.
Two things I thought I’d experienced before.
Liv pulls away and takes a quick scan of my face. She then takes my hand and pulls me around the vacuum in the center of the living room floor and into her bedroom. Guiding me onto the edge of her bed, she finds a box of tissues and hands them to me. Finally, she sits beside me.
“This hurts because you love him,” she says. Her voice is without judgment, void of any levity at all. I’m glad for it. It makes me feel less vulnerable.
I think about her statement. You love him. I was pretty sure I might yesterday. I thought I did this morning. But tonight, I know I do. This is what love is.
If I never have love again, at least I know what it feels like. And I’d take this pain over not knowing.
“This is what men do,” I say softly. “They leave. And this is why I should’ve held to my guns and told him to kick rocks when he asked to stay at the Honey House.”
“Cut yourself some slack, sis.”
“Why? So I can not learn from it? So I can think that it’s okay to keep putting myself in positions to get hurt?” I dab at the corners of my eyes with a tissue. “I was right. I’m not cut out for this shit.”
“Oh, stop it,” she hisses.
“You stop it. You’re the one that instigated all this, anyway. You’re lucky I don’t blame you for this.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re lucky I don’t get pissed off that you’re blaming me for helping you feel love for the first time.”
My jaw drops as I look at her. “I would’ve been just fine thinking I loved Chad. That was so much easier.”
We sit on the bed and sway from side to side in a slow, rhythmic pattern. It soothes my raw heart just enough so I don’t think I might die.
“You know something?” I ask. “A thought just occurred to me. Chad and Holden both needed me. They both had something to gain from being with me. But neither of them wanted me. Neither of them fought for me.”
“He might come back,” Liv begins, but I cut her off.
“No. Absolutely not. I’m not even humoring it anymore.”
I stand up and kick off my shoes.
“Don’t rule him out yet,” Liv says.
“He’s not coming back. He made it clear from the get-go that this was a momentary thing. He got what he wanted and now he’s gone, and I can’t be pissed about it. But you know what I can do? Make damn sure the next man that walks into my life wants me as much as he needs me.” I look up at her. “Bingo, Liv. That’s the golden rule here.”
I climb up on her bed and scoot across it. Jerking the blankets back, I slide underneath and get my head cozy on the pillows. Liv watches with amusement.
“What?” I ask.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sleeping here.” I pat the blanket next to me. “Now come lie down, because I’m tired.”
She laughs. “Sophie, it’s seven o’clock. I’m not going to bed at seven.”
“Then get out of here so I can.” I watch her eyes grow wide. “What? I’m not going home. I can’t go in there and deal with it tonight.”
“Fine.” She sighs as she gets to her feet. “I’m going to wash my face and grab some snacks. I’ll be back in a few.”
I snuggle down in the blankets and close my eyes.
Holden’s face pops up immediately, his easy smile lighting me up from the inside out. My heart warms, and I wish for a split second that I could’ve told him I loved him.
It’s probably better it ended how it did. It just made it easier to say goodbye. He doesn’t need the guilt associated with a woman telling him she loves him as he leaves for better opportunities.
This is his dream. He’s fulfilling something his heart set out for way before it met mine. And that’s why I couldn’t tell him that I love him. It would be unfair.
And it wouldn’t change a thing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
HOLDEN
There have been a number of mornings in my life that have started in pain. The morning after I separated my shoulder in Little League was one. Then there was the time my kitty, Leo, got hit by a car. That hurt. A lot. Of course, the morning I took a right cross to the face in high school didn’t feel too good, nor did the sunrise after my first drunken escapade with my buddies in college.
That sucked.
But few of those events hold a candle to this morning.
Today, it’s a special kind of discomfort—a malaise that has managed to permeate every part of me. My body hurts from tossing and turning in a Nashville hotel last night, warring with myself as to what to do. I picked up my keys no less than four times to just hightail it back to Honey Creek and rethink this whole situation. My brain hit meltdown mode somewhere on the flight to Orlando. Every mile farther away from Sophie we got, I became more frantic. The Jack and Coke from the stewardess didn’t even help. And now, sitting on the patio of a hotel restaurant in Florida, the hot morning sun beaming across my face, it’s my soul that hurts the worst.
The worst kinds of pain are bottomless. You can’t fix them or repair the wound; you can’t stop the bleeding or find a cure. It just sits there, festering, an open sore that screams with every move.
That’s what this is.
“Can I get you anything else?” Roxie, the waitress, stands on the other side of the table. She’s cute with her pixie cut and bright-pink bubble gum and deserves a medal for putting up with my broody ass for the last hour. “Want me to take that?”
She points at the omelet I’ve yet to touch. The menu item I forgot I ordered.
I blow out a breath. “You might as well.”
She takes the plate and gives me an odd look before disappearing into the expanse of the restaurant behind me.
I pull the chair with my briefcase closer and take out a notepad and pen. Scribbled on the front page is a hodgepodge list of things I need to do. I started it on the plane this morning, hoping that getting something on paper—some kind of game plan—would help ease my mind.
It didn’t.
Staring back at me is a list of things to do to get my life started here. I need to call Montgomery’s office and formally accept the job. Find somewhere to live. Move my belongings from Arizona. Check on Pap and Sophie.
My temples throb, and I wince as I press them with my fingers. How this went from a best-case scenario to a nightmare is beyond me.