“No. I can’t do this with you—I won’t do this with you. You betrayed me—us—our plans. You know what Teddy’s death did to me—what it still does to me—to everyone!”
“Won’t do this with me? What’s that supposed to mean?” he narrows his eyes on me, clenching his jaw.
“I—it means I’m done,” I say raising my hands up in surrender. His eyes bug out and he reels backward as though I’ve hit him. My heart aches at the pained look on his face but I have to stick to what my gut is screaming. He deceived me! And if they send him off to war…
I’m scared senseless.
“Y—you’re breaking up with me?” The waver in his voice is something I’m not used to and this time I am the one stepping backward.
Never, my heart cries while slamming against my ribs but I keep my lips pressed together, refusing to answer him.
“You’re ditching me?” He steps closer, closing the open space between us. His warm hands grip my upper arms softly. He leans forward pressing his forehead against mine. He touches his lips against mine, feather soft and warm. I sniff away my tears and inhale deeply, cataloguing the scent of his body wash, bayou salt grass and the unique scent of our young love. With as much courage as I can come up with I bite my lip and pull away from him. Everything in me immediately laments the loss of his warmth, the feel of his touch, the promise of life together that is now changed.
“No, Sylas. You ditched me first, and you did it in secret,” I mumble weakly, nearly catatonic, then turn my back on him and leave our favorite place, promising myself I’ll never come back to the old magnolia on the hidden bayou.
I drive from one side of our parish to the other and back home again. By the time I put my car in park the sun has disappeared beyond the horizon leaving only purple, pink and orange phantoms lingering in the sky. I fully expect my momma to already be informed of our breakup. Audrey would have called right away if only to warn Momma. I climb the front steps of the house and tiredly drag myself inside. My eyes are puffy and swollen, my heart is aching, and I just blew my weekly allowance of gas money on driving around hoping the ache would disappear with every mile of blacktop my tires ate up. It didn’t work. My heart feels bulky, too big for my chest and heavy. The minute the screen door slaps closed against the doorframe, momma appears from around the corner leading to the kitchen wearing a concerned expression.
“Honey,” she clicks her tongue and her eyes crinkle at the edges.
“Momma, I don’t wanna talk,” I mutter tearfully. Her lips turn down at the edges and a wrinkle of worry deepens between her brows but to her credit she doesn’t chase me upstairs demanding I unload my grief on her. That would be typical of Momma. She doesn’t know how not to meddle.
In truth, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers soothingly that I won’t need Momma’s counsel, that this is a dumb hiccup and Sy and I will get over this somehow. If there is one certainty about my relationship with Sylas is that god knows we are stuck with each other. Will this work out? Can this be fixed? Can I still go to college with him off traipsing the world as a Marine? Will the military change him so much so that what we have will be gone completely? Will it make him mean? Will the lighthearted guy I know be turned into a cruel man? And why in the hell did he think it was wise to deceive me? Can I forgive this?
Questions I don’t have the answers to whirl through my mind as I slip into my bedroom and collapse into my bed. With my tear-streaked face pressed into my pillows I cry fully, uninhibited. I had to watch the road while I was driving and the idea of scrutinizing eyes watching me at intersections kept my tears to a minimum but now I let them free.
I was so sure of my future with Sylas. So terribly, painfully, naively sure of the life I saw laid out in my mind’s eye and this is definitely not what I saw. I saw us both going to school and getting degrees of our choice and landing a nice job and we’d marry and have a couple kids that would have his eyes and my hair and we’d take our children to the bayou for picnics and we would be stupid-in-love and live happily ever after.
How stupid of me.
Chapter 17
Raegan
“But you are coming back, right?”
“Yes, Bethany, of course.” I nod my head in front of the camera showing my face on the video call. “I’ll be back in, hmm,” I pause looking up in thought.
“A month… a year… never,” Sy mumbles around a sandwich as comes up behind me, showcasing washboard abs before bending at the waist to enter the frame of the video call. “Hey there,” he says in that rich, low voice of his. I roll my eyes. Bethany’s eyes bulge unnaturally and she visibly swallows hard, her neck working like a crane coaxing dinner down its gullet. I can’t say I am surprised at her reaction when Sylas is clad only in a flimsy pair of boxer shorts that do little to contain his manhood while he uses that voice and gifts her one of his rakish smirks. I shift in my seat and clear my throat.
“Who was that?” she whispers.
“That’s no one. Listen I’ll just play it by ear and let you know before I head back to DC. There are some things I need to see to while I’m here.”
“I bet,” she mutters, nodding.
I go on, ignoring her comment. “I’ll email Dominic now and let him know that he’s going to be at the helm for a bit longer. Be sure to give his assistant support if she requires it.” Bethany goes on giving me a rundown of things I have missed, her eyes clearly scanning the edges of the video feed for an encore appearance from Sylas. I listen to her updates while I watch Sy with poorly concealed wonder. Though most of my inner circle voted against this little extended stay, I am happy that I vetoed them all and did this for me, for him, for his charity. It’s going to be terrible plucking him from my life yet again but the chemistry, the history, the way we fit together… it’s magic.
Magic is an illusion, stupid, Negativity laughs wickedly.
I try to imagine Negativity with a piece of gray-silver duct tape over her flapping mouth and immediately my mood lightens.
Anyway, Sy was right about the charity thing. I’ve always been a sucker for a good cause. Helping him to help the people that benefit from his nonprofit is a no-brainer, and it makes Cline look like a better politician than he actually is.
Hey, maybe this is like… closure you know? A healthy thing to help you close out the Sylas chapter on a positive note, Optimism proposes and I make a mental note to try to seek Optimism’s input more often, though for the last several years I was beginning to think she was a deaf mute.
“Have any of the news outlets gotten back to us about the live town hall feature for Cline?”
“Not yet but I am keeping an eye out for it. How’s your stomach? Doctor Garcia’s nurse called to remind you they are waiting for you to book that endoscopy thing. Should I schedule it for you?”
“My stomach is fine and please tell Doctor Garcia’s nurse that I am busy and in no hurry to have a video camera attached to a sewer snake crammed down my throat while I’m drugged,” I deadpan then shiver thinking about it.
And you don’t have anyone to stay with you afterward until the anesthesia wears off as they had recommended, Practicality adds with a nod. I mentally cut my eyes at her telling her to have a seat. I’m fully—painfully aware that I have no one there to depend on. No family. No real friends. Hell, even my neighbors are never around. I only have Bethany and that is only because it’s her job though she has made several attempts at befriending me.