Finally, with my back still to her, I lifted the invitation again.
“What the hell is this?”
Silence.
And then…
“I tried calling you…”
Her voice was weak, and I couldn’t stop the low laugh that slipped from me as I spun to face her.
“Oh, you did? And what exactly were you going to tell me?” I pressed. “That you’re getting married? Please tell me you’re kidding, because I know that’s not what you were going to call to tell me. I know this invitation can’t be real. This is all some big joke, right?”
I saw it, the moment the surprise of me showing up on her doorstep faded, and pure anger seeped in, instead. “Excuse me?” She scoffed. “No, Jamie, my fucking wedding is not a joke.”
“So you’re getting married?”
“Yes!”
My other hand flew for the invitation, and I was ready to rip it in half, over and over, until it was confetti on her fucking floor. But I stopped myself, gritting my teeth before I threw the invitation on the ground just to get it away from me.
I ran my hands through my sopping wet hair, shaking my head before I threw a hand out to her.
“How? How, B? After everything that… after we…”
“You never called!” she yelled, throwing her hands up as the rain poured harder and harder outside. Thunder rumbled. “What was I supposed to do, Jamie?”
“Wait!” I cried, my voice breaking with an edge of desperation I hadn’t realized I felt until that exact moment.
It can’t be real.
I swallowed, voice softer now. “You were supposed to wait.”
B cracked, but then asked, “For two years?”
“Yes!” I answered quickly, stepping toward her.
She flew back just the same, like I was poison, like she’d die if I touched her.
It made me stop in my tracks, heart aching at the sight.
“For as long as I needed,” I tried.
“That’s not fair,” she said, her eyes watering. “I tried calling you, I tried calling everyone around you. You never called, you never wrote — you completely ghosted me.”
“Oh, feels kind of shitty when you’re on the other side of that, doesn’t it?”
Her head snapped back with the accusation, and I wished I hadn’t said it as soon as it came from my mouth. But her having the audacity to complain about being ghosted after what she did to me at Alder was too much for me to stomach.
“That was different,” she whispered. “That… I didn’t promise you anything.”
“Not then you didn’t,” I said as lightning cracked in the sky, lighting up the entire apartment. “But just less than two years ago, you did. You promised me you’d wait.”
“I love him!”
The declaration slammed into me like a train.
“You do, huh?” I mused, nodding.
That nod seemed to echo, over and over, because I couldn’t process those words. She loved him? Who even was he? And how? How in less than two years could she forget about me, about us, and love someone else?
My nostrils flared, teeth working the inside of my cheeks as I considered it. I thought about just walking out right then and there. I figured that was it, she loved him and therefore there was no chance.
Except I had loved Angel.
But it didn’t change the fact that I loved B more.
Silence stretched between us as I looked around, finally realizing all the boxes that were half-packed all around her apartment.
They were moving in together.
She had moved on.
But still, I wasn’t ready to let go.
I turned to face her again. “And do you love me?”
“No.”
“No?” I asked, moving toward her.
She circled the sofa, trading places with me so that it was her closest to the windows now. I felt like a wolf descending on its prey, but I didn’t believe her, and I was going to call her bluff.
“You don’t love me.”
“No.”
Her back hit the window, hands pressing into the glass at her hip as I moved in on her.
“You don’t love me,” I asked again, mouth close enough to hers that I could taste her if I really wanted to, if I didn’t want to wait for her to tell me she wanted it, too.
I was there to take what had always been mine, and she knew it.
“You don’t want me, right now, right here?” I asked, my voice singing to her along with the rain against the window. I ran my hand up her arm to cradle her neck, running my thumb along the line of her jaw.
She shook at the touch, her eyelids fluttering closed, but she said it again. That stupid word.
“No.”
Bullshit.
“Say it,” I demanded, stepping even more into her. My wet shirt soaked her tank top as I pressed against her, my body already humming to life at the contact. “Say you don’t love me. Say you don’t want me, and I’ll go.”
She cracked her eyes open, and those gray irises reflected the stormy weather as she searched my gaze. The anger and possession I felt resided a bit, and my shoulders slumped, grip easing on her.
As much as it would kill me, I meant what I said. If she didn’t want me, if she didn’t love me anymore, I’d go.
But she did. She loved me, and she wanted me, and I didn’t care what had transpired between us over the past several years. I knew I’d hurt her. I knew these past two years had been an extra torturous hell. But I could explain that all away. We could fix it — all of it.
I just needed her to say the words.
Instead, she said the last thing I expected.
“I don’t want you.”
My breath hitched, and I frowned, searching her gaze like I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly.
But she stared back at me, unwavering, chin held high.
I couldn’t admit it to myself, not even after hearing her say the words.
Still, I managed to push away from her as my heart screamed in protest. It begged me to ask again, to not let her go.
But what else could I do?
I love you. I always will.
I needed to tell her, but when I opened my mouth, I realized it didn’t matter.
She already knew it.
And it still didn’t change a thing.
So, I clenched my jaw, and then, just like I promised, I turned and walked away.
The steps I took across her apartment toward her door felt like a walk down death row. My shoulders slumped, chest aching, head pounding at the loss I couldn’t even truly understand. It was too big to wrap my mind around.
But this was it. She was getting married.
And not to me.
The door handle was cold when I reached for it, and then thunder grumbled through the apartment as B cried out.
“Wait!”
I paused, unsure if I’d really heard it or just wished for it so badly my mind was playing tricks on me.
I tilted my head, turning slowly.
And then I saw it.
She wore the look I’d seen since we were teenagers, the longing, heartbreakingly sad look that told me she loved me — even when she wished she didn’t.
And she wanted me, too.
My control snapped like a dry piece of pasta.
I crossed the room in five long strides, B’s breathing picking up more and more with every step. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, her hands against the window, and she opened her mouth to say something when I finally reached her, but I silenced whatever it was with a hard, passionate kiss.