Chapter 38
thirty-eight
VANESSA
Two weeks later, I knew I would inevitably have to see him.
It was Morgan’s wedding day. Morgan, Penelope, and I had spent the night before together, reminiscing and mercilessly teasing her—reminding her that this was the last "first" she would ever get.
She was carrying his baby; in a few short months, she would be a mom.
Her bump was noticeably rounder than it had been weeks ago.
We had to let out her dress a bit, but she was so radiantly happy she could have worn a Walmart plastic bag and made it look like couture.
Both Pen and Morgan wisely avoided mentioning anything about Elliott, and I deeply appreciated it.
The time was filled with my absolute favorite pastime—being completely dumb and silly, being our true selves without worrying about boys, jobs, or grown-up problems. Maybe it was a touch of Peter Pan syndrome.
I didn’t care. We had all been through more than enough—that night, we chose to forget.
It was rejuvenating, and I desperately needed that armor before seeing Elliott.
I needed to remember who I was, and that I was enough on my own.
The next morning, in true Morgan fashion, she looked at me and asked, “You ready for this?”
I nodded, because at the time, I genuinely thought I was.
I mentally rehearsed my lines and tried to imagine what it would feel like to look at him again.
Morgan was my best friend, which meant he would always be a permanent fixture in my life.
My goal was simple: numb myself to it. See him just enough that we could eventually become comfortable strangers, trading meaningless small talk.
My heart quickened as the hour for Morgan to walk down the aisle approached. Suddenly, the door clicked open. The exact second Elliott stepped inside, Penelope and Morgan rushed out a little too fast, their skirts whispering against the floor as they fled—all too eager to leave the two of us alone.
I considered trying to dodge the giant elephant in the room, but my eyes inevitably found him.
His were already locked on me. He was effortlessly handsome, marred only by the deep, heavy frown pulling at his mouth.
I hadn’t seen him in what felt like an eternity, and the sheer sight of him stung.
I missed him. God, I missed him. It absolutely killed me how easily his home had become mine, and how my family had become his.
He fumbled for words, and a dark part of me hoped his struggle would keep him feeling just as small as he had made me feel.
I didn’t want to hear a scripted apology or desperate bargaining.
I was already on the absolute edge of caving just by standing in the same room with him, and I refused to give in this time.
My whole life, I had been the one to cave first. I was always the one to bite the bullet and make the sacrifice.
Not now. I deserved better than that. I was sick to death of being discarded and used whenever it was convenient. I wanted more.
I moved toward the door, desperate for a breath of fresh air, but he was already steps ahead of me, blocking my path.
“Talk to me.” His voice was raw, and the sound of it split my chest wide open.
“I think we should only talk about work or Morgan,” I said, keeping my voice as steady as possible.
“That’s bullshit, Ness. Stop doing that. Talk. To. Me.” He gritted out those last three words, refusing to budge from the doorway.
Good—he was angry. Fine. I wasn’t anywhere near done being angry either.
“It’s been weeks,” he pleaded, his anger instantly fracturing into something desperate.
“You won’t talk to me. Please, just talk to me.
I know I fucked up. I know how I acted and what I said was completely wrong.
I just…” He ran his hands through his hair, a frantic gesture I knew all too well.
“I know sorry isn’t enough, but I’ll say it every single day if that’s what it takes, Ness. ”
I sidestep-pushed right past the apology. Weeks weren’t nearly long enough for how long I planned to stay angry, but I tucked that thought away because I was just so incredibly exhausted. This—he—was utterly exhausting.
“You know, my whole life I’ve been entirely unimpressed with the guys I’ve met,” I said, the words slipping out quietly. “I never understood why, or maybe I just refused to see it.”
A genuinely puzzled look crossed his face.
“I love you,” I blurted, completely dropping the pretense.
His entire body went rigid.
“I’ve been in love with you forever, and a part of me always will be. You were the first boy I ever loved. I don’t know if you knew that, but there it is.”
Hot tears finally slipped down my cheeks. He reached out a hand toward me as if my confession meant I was surrendering—but he had absolutely no idea what surrender actually meant for me.
I pulled back sharply out of his reach. “No. Listen to me. All my life, men have dismissed my love. I’m too independent, I’m too clingy.
I’m not enough, or I’m way too much. Too loud, too thin, too talented, or not talented enough—there is always a reason.
But you? I only wanted to be there for you—as a friend.
Both times. I reached out twice to show you that I cared, and both times you pushed me away and humiliated me.
Do you even realize how painful that is?
When someone you love does that to you? Has anyone ever rejected you that thoroughly, Elliott? ”
He didn't answer. He didn’t have to. I pursed my lips and gave a tight nod, treating his silence as the exact confirmation I already knew was coming.
“No, of course it’s never happened to you. And you know what absolutely kills me? If the roles were reversed, I would never say those horrible things to you. Never. War or no war.”
His face twisted into an expression of pure torture; his eyes glazed over with unshed tears.
“I love you, but you hurt me once and I left. Against my better judgment, I let you back in again, and you hurt me even worse this time. I deserve better than this. I am done. Please—if you care about me at all—give me my space and let me go.”
He understood. I didn’t have to explain myself any further. I couldn't risk opening up to him again; he had shattered me once and danced on the broken pieces. I couldn’t survive it a second time.
He stood there, completely speechless. There was nothing left for either of us to say.
The door swung open, revealing Morgan and Penelope exchanging tense, wide-eyed looks—I was entirely certain they had heard every single word through the wood.
I swiped quickly at my cheeks—thanking God internally for waterproof mascara—and walked straight out of the room, passing right between them.
I hadn’t caved, but a massive part of my heart stayed behind in that room with him, screaming at me to turn around, accept his apology, and just move on. I refused to listen to it.
My heart hadn't exactly done me any favors lately anyway.