Chapter 39
thirty-nine
WEST
“Are you just going to sit here like Miss Havisham after being jilted, or are you actually going to do something?” Hudson asks, letting out a sigh because the Barbie cards are still on the coffee table where Eden threw them.
Bennett tried to clear them up earlier and I wouldn’t let him.
They’re all I have left of her. Proof of her victory.
Proof of my failure.
“Who’s Miss Havisham?” Bennet asks. “Is that Mylene’s last name?”
Hudson’s gaze catches mine, but neither of us laugh. Not because it isn’t funny, but because the weight in the room is too heavy. And because Bennett is one of us now. He put himself on the line, and we’re not going to make fun of him.
“She’s a character in a Charles Dickens book,” Hudson says. “She sat in her wedding dress for something like twenty years after her groom left. The table still set, the cake rotting, the works.”
Bennett frowns. “You planning on keeping those cards for twenty years?” he asks me.
“If I have to.” My voice is rough. If they’re all I have of her, then yes, I’ll keep them until they crumble to dust. “You should both go,” I tell them. “I’m not good company right now.”
“Skyler told me to stay here,” Hudson says. “And I’m not going home to face her wrath.”
“And I have nowhere else to go,” Bennett adds chirpily. “Not that this place is the same without Eden. It’s kind of… depressing actually.”
I glance over at him. “I’m sorry my breakdown is ruining your vibe.” There’s no barb in it. I haven’t got the energy.
“Jesus, you’re wallowing so much I feel like I should put you in a mud bath,” Hudson says, shaking his head.
“Yeah, well I remember when you wallowed over Skyler. And I don’t remember being an asshole.”
Hudson sits down next to me, runs his hands through his hair, and lets out a sigh. “Look, I’m not good with words.”
“I think you’re truly excellent, sir,” Bennett says.
“Thank you, Bennett.” Hudson grins at him. “I appreciate the support.” He looks at me again. “Damn, you’re an idiot. Okay? An idiot who is great at sorting out everybody else’s life except his own. And yeah, maybe I’d let you wallow some more if it wasn’t my sister who’s breaking down too.”
“You heard from her?” I ask.
He lets out a sigh. “She’s watching romcoms with Autumn.”
“Oh boy,” Bennett says. “It’s bad.”
“Bad?” I frown. “Why’s it bad?”
“Because it’s the part where the woman gets angry. Gets her girls around her. Decides to take control of her life.”
“What part?” I ask, confused.
“The part in romcoms. When the girls watch romcoms.” Bennett rolls his eyes. “Don’t you know anything about women?”
“Apparently not,” Hudson murmurs. “But I don’t think this is helping.”
“Nothing can help,” I tell them. “I messed up. I lost her. I don’t deserve her and I never did.”
“Jesus Christ. Will you listen to yourself? Do you think she gives a damn about all those skeletons in your closet? Do you really think so little of her that you think she’d walk away?
She’s not like that. She sees people for who they are, not what they’ve done.
That’s why she spends half her time trying to save the world.
She loves people. She loves you. And you sitting here like a martyr? That’s not going to win her back.”
His words stab deep in my chest. I hate how right he is. Because it’s easier to think she’ll hate me for what I’ve done than who I am. A man who can’t communicate when he has to talk about himself, his feelings, his fears.
Easier to think she hates me for the darkness. Because I can’t do anything about that.
“He’s going to fight for her, right?” Bennett asks.
“I don’t know,” Hudson says. “Does he look like he’s ready to fight?”
“No, not really.” Bennett sighs. “But if he doesn’t…”
“Then some other guy will come along and win her,” Hudson says. “And they’ll deserve her.”
His words are like a punch to the stomach. “What?” I say, leaning forward. “How the hell is that supposed to help?”
“It made you sit upright, didn’t it?” He lifts a brow. “Maybe even made you want to punch something.”
“Maybe he should,” Bennett adds. “He shouldn’t just sit there when he has a girl worth fighting for. Somebody like Eden, she deserves energy doesn’t she? I guess if he doesn’t have it in him…”
“Who says I don’t have it in me?” I ask them, annoyed at how easily I’m being manipulated. But maybe there’s a part of me that’s glad it’s this easy. That needs this.
That needs my friends, the same way I need her.
Not because I can’t live without her, but because I don’t want to. And I think I can be the man for her.
Damn, I want to try.
“What do I do?” I ask out loud. More to myself than them. I have no idea how to make things better. How to show her that I care.
How to throw myself at her feet and show her how much I love her.
“You do what she’s asked,” Hudson says softly. “For you to stop freezing her out.”
“Tell her who you are. All of you. Let her see she’s your equal,” Bennett adds. Christ, maybe having Robert De Niro as his spirit guide is having an effect.
“She’s not my equal. She’s way better than that.” The words scrape my throat, because they’re true.
Hudson and Bennett both go quiet, watching me like they’re waiting for the next excuse to fall out of my mouth.
But I’m out of excuses. I have been for a while. Either I do something, or I turn out to be the piece of shit I’ve always thought I am.
And Eden doesn’t need that. She needs someone strong. Someone as strong as she is. Stronger even.
I stand, my chest tight, my hands clenching. Because I know what I need to do. Show her the whole me. The darkness and the light.
And if she hates the darkness? Well, then she can walk away. And I love her enough to let her.
But I can’t make this decision for her. I can’t take away her agency.
“Okay.” I nod, even though it feels like I’m writing my own death warrant. “I’m going to do it. I’m going to show her the dirty dossier.”
“Excellent,” Bennett says. “It’ll beat watching romcoms.”
EDEN
The lighthouse feels almost too big when it’s quiet, which is kind of funny considering how cozy it is.
Autumn and Parker have gone out for dinner, and after a quiet day of helping her hang up baby clothes in the nursery, I’m in the living room, by the curved window that looks out over the darkening ocean.
The sun is sliding down the horizon, tipping the waves a salmon pink hue. The tide crashing against the rocks below. The air smells of woodsmoke and salt, the kind of evening that should feel peaceful. But it doesn’t.
He hasn’t called. Or messaged. And I know I made it clear I didn’t want to talk to him, but the silence still hurts. I promised Autumn I’d stay until the baby is here, but I’m not sure I can anymore. Not knowing he’s so close but so far away.
I drop my head against the glass, looking out at the bay I grew up in. There’s a dark figure on the sand below. I blink, because for a second it looks so like him it hurts my heart.
And then I realize it is him. I’d know that stance in a thousand lives. Easy, strong. But with so much depth he never lets anybody see.
The man who fights his demons alone is standing out on the beach.
My husband. At least for now.
My breath frosts the glass as I stare down. My body aches to run to him, to feel his arms, to bury my face against his chest and forget everything. But my brain is reminding me how much it hurt when he froze me out.
How much it still hurts.
A bird swoops through the sky, its loud cry cutting through the silence. He’s looking up. I know he can see me. I walk to the door then stop.
It’s like my feet can’t move. Maybe they’re trying to protect my heart.
And then I hear it. Soft music drifting up from the sand, carrying up in the breeze. My lips twitch. It’s Superman, of all songs. Dear god, is he trying to kill me here? I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry.
I open the door, and the music gets louder.
“Come down,” he shouts out over the music, his voice carrying in the breeze.
“Why?” I shout back. Even though every muscle in me aches to run to him.
“Because the table I’ve set is about to blow away and I’d really like you to see it before it does.”
He’s set up a table on the beach? Is this my romcom moment? I’m not sure I’m ready for it. I’m in old yoga pants and one of his even older t-shirts, my hair a complete mess. Oh god, why didn’t I wash it this morning?
He doesn’t move. Like it’s my choice. He’ll wait, he won’t force.
So I do the only thing that makes sense to my hurting heart. I start walking. Down the steps that lead to the beach, the wood cool against my bare feet as I reach the sand. My pulse thuds against my neck as he walks toward me, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You look beautiful,” he says softly, shaking his head like he can’t believe I’m here.
“And you’re a liar. I look awful.”
“No,” he says softly. “Not a liar. Not anymore. And you’re stunning. You always have been.”
Behind him is a small table set with candles that have been blown out by the wind, a bottle of champagne and two flutes, and two wooden chairs.
And at the back of the table is a projector, set up so it beams onto the cliffs.
I turn around to look at what it’s projecting and read the words dancing on the rocks.
West Abbott. A Life In Pictures.
“What’s going on?” I ask him. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that clings to him the same way I want to. Every part of his body is strong. Defined. The need to touch him is almost too much to bear.
“I hadn’t factored in the wind,” he says, the corner of his lip lifting. “I don’t think the candles are going to stay lit.”
“I meant that.” I point at the cliff. “Is it a slideshow?”
“Something like that. It’s me. All of me. I want you to know who I really am.”
“Because you think it’ll scare me away?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No, because I want to let you in. I want to show you that your bravery has made me brave. I want you to see me and know me and decide if there’s a future for us.”