Bree sees my struggle, so she moves in, clinging to it. Taking my hands in hers, she squeezes me gently, a silent plea registering through her touch. “Melody, listen to me. If you need someone to blame, blame me. Don’t blame Parker. I take full responsibility.”
The bitterness crawls back up my throat. “He’s known the truth for months and didn’t tell me,” I bite out, pulling my hands away. “I could have gotten past it then, if he had just been honest with me, but now…”
Her sigh is deep, her eyes closing. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were the woman he’d developed feelings for,” she explains. “I thought nothing ever came of it. I followed up a few times that month, but Parker told me you never got in touch.”
“It took me months to finally reach out. I didn’t know what to say.”
“God…” Bree brings her fingertips to her temples, stepping back, her expression full of anguish. “I’m so sorry, Melody. I never meant to add to your pain. And for all of Parker’s flaws, he’s not a vicious person… I’m sure he was scared to tell you.”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t make it right.”
“No, but it makes him human.” She paces forward again, gripping my shoulders with taut fingers. “Parker has never had feelings like this before. There’s never been anyone like you. And I’m not trying to justify it, I promise, I’m just trying to paint a picture, so maybe you can see things from a different perspective.” Bree dusts her thumb over my collarbone, her copper-tinged eyes glistening with remnants of her tears. “My brother has been through hell. He’s suffered the worst out of life, truly, and I’ve done everything in my power to keep his head above water. And maybe I’ve kept him afloat all these years, but it’s you who has finally taught him how to swim. I’ve seen the difference you’ve made. I’ve seen a light in his eyes that has never been there before.”
My throat stings with sentiment, and I’m flooded with confliction. Parker’s desperate, candid plea for forgiveness flashes to my mind, cutting deep, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. My soul feels conned, but my heart still beats with yearning and empathy.
I realize now why Parker didn’t want me to pronounce my love to him last night.
He didn’t want to take possession of such a cherished thing under false pretenses.
“I fucking love you. Just… know that.”
Tears burn my eyes until I’m unable to hold them in any longer. They trail down my face, one after the other, adding to my rising pool of mixed emotions.
Bree brushes the tearstains from my cheekbones, a solemn smile pulling at her lips. She continues. “You’re special, Melody. You’re special to him. And maybe I’m a little biased, but Parker is special, too, and maybe… maybe this all worked out exactly how it was meant to.”
My eyes lift to hers, my insides spiking with a new surge of gall. I take her words to heart, perhaps more than I should, but my mind is spinning, and my feelings are all over the place. I latch on to what I can. “Meant to?” I repeat, pushing her hands off of me, my tone dripping with quiet outrage. “My husband’s death, this deceptive matchmaking ploy for your brother, toying with my emotions when I was at my most vulnerable, was all… meant to be?”
Bree’s head swings back and forth, her eyes widening, lashes fluttering. “No, God… that’s not what I meant. I’m not trying to minimize any of this. I’m just trying to find the good in it all.”
“There’s no good in lies and broken trust.”
She nods, soaking up my truth. “No, you’re right. I’m so sorry for putting this all in motion.”
I inhale a rickety breath, the tears still spilling. Everything is too fresh, and my emotions are raw and heightened. I need time, space. I need to calm down and look at this rationally. “I-I should go,” I whisper, darting around her towards the door.
“Melody… please.”
Hesitation seizes my steps, my hand curling around the doorknob.
Bree’s voice cracks as she urges, “Please forgive him. He loves you.”
Her final plea meets my back as a harrowing cry breaks loose, and I race out of the office.
He loves me.
Parker loves me.
And I think that’s why this hurts so much.
—THIRTY-FIVE—
Ten days.
Ten fucking days without her, and I’m going out of my mind. Bree has been breathing down my neck ever since Melody confronted her at the hospital, checking in on me, bringing me food, bringing me even more food, and making sure I don’t go off the deep end.
But this isn’t like last year, after my injury that sent me into a black, depressive hole, inciting my sister to enroll me in the suicide support group.
No, this is different… I’m different.
Melody fixed me, and I’m determined as hell to fix us.
My initial, pathetic text message to her shortly after she’d left my house that day, broken down and hollowed out, went unanswered for forty-eight hours.
Me: I fix shit for a living… I can fix this, too. Tell me what to do, Melody.
Then, she finally responded.
Melody: I need time and space to process everything. I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but that’s just what I need.
After a week of stewing in my miserable guilt, overworking myself just to keep my mind distracted, re-reading her text, and missing the fuck out of her, I’ve reached a sickly point of desperation. Melody hasn’t even been to the meetings.
She hasn’t been to the damn meetings, all because of me.
She’s avoiding me, and I get it—I fucking get it—but I’ve lived my entire life remaining idle and inactive. Maybe it’s time to fucking fight.
I’m just not sure how to fight for something so goddamn important. I don’t know what weapons to wield, or how much armor to possess. Do I go at her all bare bones and bleeding heart? On my knees, pleading and shaking, defenseless, with the blade of a dagger to my chest?
Stick it in, Melody. Twist it deep. What’s one more scar?
Or is fighting for her giving her the time and space she’s requested?
But then again… how much time? Do I wait for her to reach out, putting more and more distance between us?
Time is the greatest measure for healing, after all.
It’s the greatest measure for forgetting, too.
Fuck, I’m all over the place. I’m clueless and unprepared for how to deal with the consequences of my selfish fucking choices, so I’m throwing myself into work as a distraction. At least I have that. It’s more than I can say for this time last year.
And luckily, my job today is a final project at the Jameson residence, finishing up painting and adding crown molding to one of their fifty-thousand extra rooms.
Owen.
I’m going to miss that kid when I’m officially done here.
“Parker!”
Owen comes barreling at me in the foyer, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, a heartening contrast to the defeated little boy I discovered that first day. A smile lifts, despite my own inner turmoil, as Owen’s mother follows behind him with a mug of coffee, her silk robe trailing her feet. I nod my greeting, setting down my tub of primer. “Morning.”