Chapter 29 #2
“You might hate me,” I start, not exactly sure where this is going. I just know I can’t leave her here, alone, to face losing everything that matters to her.
“That’s not exactly breaking news,” she mutters, a dry laugh slipping out despite herself. The sound is brief, a sharp contrast to her downcast expression.
“That day?” I stare at her until her calendar aligns with mine.
Then my words rush out like a flood, a dam held too long, weak from years of pressure.
“You think I ditched you for fun? Do you think I didn’t care?
That somehow I wanted to see you fail? See all your dreams washed away?
I had prepared for our presentation as much as you did.
I wanted that win—for myself, yes. But also for you. ”
Her face is etched with even more pain. But I’m not finished. This has stood between us for too long. I should have addressed it sooner. She should have let me.
“My dad told me if I didn’t show up to his event, I could forget about his support forever.
He took my phone, sat me in the back seat of the car between Declan and Maeve—as if I’d duck and roll out onto the street if I had access to a handle.
My tie was too tight, the whole car felt claustrophobic.
I kept tugging at the knot, staring out the window, watching Waterford pass by outside the tinted windows, knowing you were standing there with your notes, waiting.
I needed him, Daisy. He was paying my tuition and expenses.
I couldn’t even afford car insurance back then. ”
My eyes plead with her. I feel my brow raise and my whole face contort with the memories of how it felt knowing she’d be standing there, waiting, disqualified because of me.
Her arms drop to her side. She turns her face away, blinking hard. For a heartbeat she seems about to speak, but only a shaky exhale comes out. Then she moves to the couch, practically collapsing onto a cushion as far away from me as possible.
When she looks over at me, she says, “All I knew was you left me—alone, humiliated in front of everyone. I needed that scholarship and the status of having won it to get into Vanderbilt.”
The name of her favorite university hangs in the air.
I cost her a dream.
Yes. I chose my family. I obeyed my father instead of standing up for her.
She had every right to be disappointed and angry—to shut me out and lose faith in me.
But she never knew the whole situation until today.
I never forced myself on her. I asked for opportunities and she dodged them at every turn.
And I let her—because deep down, I knew.
Given the chance, I’d make the same choice over and over again.
Only now, I’m not so sure.
Now, her happiness and her dreams matter more than they ever did—more than pleasing my dad, more than loyalty to his goals and empire.
Now, I think I could sacrifice everything, risk rejection, pay the ultimate price, just to see her reach her dreams.
We’re both silent. It’s not awkward, but it’s not exactly comfortable either.
Daisy takes a deep breath. I can feel her reconstructing the wall between us. I want to grab her wrist and take the bricks away.
“You can’t bring back what you robbed me of that day. I’ll never get to attend Vanderbilt.” Her tone is brittle, the old fierceness flickering to life before she resigns herself.
She goes from sitting up and pointing at me to slouching and picking at a cuticle, her head down and her voice frail.
“It’s okay. It has to be,” she says quietly. “I finished my degree online while working at the bookshop. I ended up loving Moss and Maple as much as an owner as I did as a child.”
Her breath shudders.
Is the bookshop really a thing of the past?
“Coming back here and running Moss and Maple would have probably been in the cards whether I attended Vanderbilt or not. But now …” Her shoulders drop even further.
If she were feeling stronger, we wouldn’t even be talking right now. She doesn’t have it in herself to handle her own grief and resist me too. So I stand, taking advantage of the opening she’s giving me, knowing it’s only a moment in time—a portal that will close again far too soon.
When I sit on the cushion next to hers, she startles. Then our eyes connect. I carefully reach over and place my hand gently on top of hers.
“How can I help?”
She looks at me askance.
“I’m serious, Daisy. I know what the shop means to you. Losing it is so much more than simply losing your business.”
She stands. My hand falls away from hers. I think she’s going to kick me out, but she walks toward the kitchen. I sit stock still, afraid to even breathe out an irregular breath.
She comes back, holding a book in her hands.
She hands it over to me wordlessly.
I read the cover and look up at her in awe. “How did you find this?”
“I have my ways.” Her smirk is only half its usual strength and it fades quickly.
“Careful, Daisy,” I tease her out of habit. “I might get the impression you like me.”
“It’s just a book, O’Connell, not a marriage proposal.” Despite the blanket of discouragement shrouding her, our familiar banter seems to cheer her incrementally.
The fire isn’t fully awakened, but there’s a flicker of hope that she will return to herself, stronger and more full of life than she is today.
“I don’t know,” I say, turning the book over and eyeing the dust jacket. “If a woman were to give me a book like this … I’d have to wonder what she’s feeling for me.”
“You’re impossible,” she insists, but there’s a fragile warmth in her eyes—distant, but genuine.
“Thank you,” I say, sincerely.
She nods.
I stand and walk toward the door. Better to leave on this note than push myself on her when she’s so vulnerable. I’ve already overstepped on a day when she’s raw and exposed.
She shuffles her sock-clad foot on the hardwood and avoids my gaze. “Thanks for checking on me.”
“You’re welcome.” I long to tip her chin up, to stare into her eyes until she sees me—really sees me. Instead, I offer all I can for now. “I’m just right there if you need anything …”
“I don’t,” she insists. “And don’t get any crazy ideas about coming over here regularly. This was a one-off.” She looks up into my eyes, a mixture of sadness, playfulness and confusion swirling in the amber of her irises.
I force myself to hold her gaze and not think about the kiss we shared or the future that could be ours if she’d only let me show her how different I am.
“Well, anyway …” She breaks our eye contact and then briefly glances back at me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Daisy. Anytime.”
I step out the door without looking back, holding the limited edition to my chest as I enter my side of our duplex.
I can’t tell her who I am … Not yet.
I still haven’t answered her goodbye email. My thoughts were unclear. Maybe my allegiance was still torn between her and my father. I’m clear now.
Setting the book on my counter, I open my email, take a deep breath and pour my heart out in the hopes that Daisy might give me a chance to make things right.
I’m not quite sure how I’ll do it, but I won’t stop until I’ve removed that pained look from her eyes and replaced it with her trademark warmth.
Dear M&M,
I haven’t responded to your email because I couldn’t think of what to say …