57. Adrian #2
My shoulders slump on an exhale, and I nod, too grateful for the offer to even speak.
“I’ll tell them we’re taking a drive.” She reaches into her pocket, fishes out her keys, and puts them in my hand. “My car’s just outside. See if you can figure out which one.”
I close my eyes and take another deep breath. “Thank you.”
She shrugs one shoulder and sends me a small smile. “What are fiancées for?”
I freeze on the spot, but she doesn’t notice because she’s already off to talk to my family.
The woman I was going to marry. The woman I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with.
It feels like somebody’s squeezing drops of blood out of my heart. There’s relief that I’m back here with her. It’s Freya. Everything about her is so familiar. But there’s also an ache so deep that it’s chipping off parts of me.
It’s as if I hadn’t fully realized how complicated everything really is, and it’s hitting me right here and now in full force.
What now?
I square my shoulders.
For whatever it’s worth in the midst of this miserable mess, I’m not going to lie.
It would be less complicated if I knew what the truth was, but even if I’m still in the beginning stages of trying to sort out the mess inside my head, I won’t lie to anybody.
I clutch the keys and sneak outside. My parents’ old van is parked in its usual spot.
I absently slide my gaze over the vehicles that line the driveway, and my eyes land on a familiar Mustang.
A slow smile stretches my lips, and I walk closer.
It’s a nice fucking car. A 1968 Shelby that I bought on a whim at auction to restore.
I fucking love this car.
“I didn’t think you’d mind me borrowing it.” Freya’s all smiles when she stops next to me. “Your dad’s been helping me with maintenance. It… it helped him stay connected to you, I think.”
I turn to face her and wrap her in a tight hug. She melts against me. We stand like that for a long time. Until she lets out a wet laugh, wipes her eyes, and pats my chest.
“Come on. I know you’re dying to take her out for a spin.”
I kiss the top of her head and let her go.
We get into the car. I clutch the steering wheel.
This finally feels calm. Familiar. Less overwhelming than the rest of this day has been.
I push the key into the ignition and turn it. The sound of the engine turning over makes me smile.
Freya laughs. “Boys and their toys,” she teases.
I rev it a few times and waggle my brows at her.
“Where to, m’lady?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Anywhere. The beach?”
My heart starts beating too fast at once.
Dylan’s face appears in my mind. On the beach. Laughing. Illuminated by the bright sunlight.
I close my eyes for a second and let out a shaky breath.
I miss him.
“Maybe somewhere else?” I say, surprisingly calmly.
Her face falls. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “I asked and you suggested. I’ve just been to the beach a lot recently.”
She sends me a hesitant smile, and I feel like an asshole.
I pull out onto the road, and at the end of the street, I take a right.
I have no plan for where I’m going. I just drive. I’d drive for days if I could, but I know Freya gets restless after a while. She’s always liked when there was a fixed destination.
I glance at her, and she meets my gaze. Calm and relaxed. Distinctly not restless.
Is it just this moment here, or is that something else that’s changed?
She’s the same Freya, but also a complete stranger.
She’s not restless, but suddenly I am, and I also realize I don’t know where I’m going, so I pull the car into a rest stop. A completely random spot on the side of a highway. I park next to a row of trucks and turn off the engine before I lean my head back and slump in the seat.
“Scenic,” Freya says with a laugh.
I rub my hand over my face. “I’m sorry,” I say tiredly.
Instead of replying, she unbuckles, turns sideways, and reaches out her hand. She slides her palm over the side of my face and down my jaw.
It feels so much like we’ve gone back in time. We used to do this a lot—take a drive somewhere random and just hang out. Buy snacks from a gas station, park somewhere, eat, and talk. We’ve had endless conversations about any- and everything in this very car.
“It’s weird seeing you with a beard,” she says.
I still haven’t shaved it off. Just cut it shorter. I’ve gotten used to it.
Dylan likes the beard.
“Good weird or bad weird?” I ask.
“Neither just yet? I’m still getting used to it. Too early to make judgments.”
I nod, and then I don’t know what to say anymore.
She leans over and hugs me again.
She feels good.
She smells good.
The hug is just like the hugs Freya always gives. She takes her time with it and holds on tightly.
It’s a trip down memory lane. When I close my eyes, I remember this .
I remember exactly what it’s like to love her.
How easy it is.
It’s all so familiar, and I’ve missed her. I’ve missed this.
I miss us.
I miss the guy I used to be when we were an us. Because back then everything was simple.
Back then I knew who I was.
Now I’m a mess.
I’ve never been the kind of person who finds the world a scary place. I’ve always known my place in it, and life has always felt like an exciting adventure.
I don’t know what I’m doing here anymore.
“Talk to me,” Freya says.
I lick my dry lips. “What do you want to know?”
She shrugs. “Everything?”
It’s not that I don’t want to tell her what happened. It’s just that I can’t seem to find the words to start.
“Adrian?” She sighs, looking out the window for a second before she turns back to me. “It’s hard. Believe me, I know it is. But talking about what happened might be?—”
“Dylan,” I say.
She smiles, clearly confused. “What about Dylan?”
“I…”
I’ve been sleeping with Dylan. That’s the blunt way to put it. The blunt way, but also the wrong way, because it’s downplaying what’s happening, isn’t it?
“I have feelings for Dylan,” I say. It’s the first time I’ve fully admitted it to myself. All this time, I’ve been grappling with the possibility, not ready to admit it but at the same time painfully aware that I’m hiding from what I already know is happening.
Freya stares at me in complete silence for the longest moment of my life.
Eventually, her lips part, and she exhales.
She’s out the door a moment later. I close my eyes and breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
I follow her.
She’s pacing behind the car, hands in her hair, and when I stop next to her, she stops too.
And I wish I could feel guilty.
I wish I could hate myself.
But I don’t.
Hurting her hurts me, and I do feel guilty for that. But I don’t feel guilty for loving Dylan.
I didn’t plan on it.
I look at Freya, and I love her. I know I do. That’s never changed in all these years. I love her.
Our souls fit. I’ve known it since the moment I met her. That she’s special. That she’ll change my life for good.
I’ve always thought of this as something immutable. A truth as undeniable as can be. But now this love I was always so sure about feels distant. Something from another lifetime.
Because… because my soul also fits with Dylan. And it’s not just that it fits with Dylan… My soul is in sync with Dylan’s. Perfect harmony. I understand him without saying a word. I feel what he feels.
He gets me like nobody else ever has, and maybe that wasn’t true before. Before the island. But it is true now. He gets me. Nobody else can. I’m sort of fucked up in the head right now, and it’s impossible for anybody else to understand that.
Except Dylan.
He understands what I need and gives it to me, even if I never realized I was missing something before.
Freya stops pacing and turns to face me. “What about me?”
I give a helpless shrug. “I fell for you the moment I met you.” That much is true and will always be true, but it’s also not an answer to what she’s asking.
I don’t want to hurt her. I can’t hurt her. How the fuck am I going to say what needs to be said without hurting her, though? It’s not possible.
We both fall silent, standing in front of each other.
“And now?” she asks.
“I love you,” I say, because I don’t remember a time when I didn’t love her. It’s just that this love isn’t uncomplicated like it used to be. It’s not effortless. Right now, I have to remember that I love her.
And I don’t know what to do with that.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, tears shimmering in her eyes. She lets out a shaky breath. “Take me home.”
“We have to talk,” I say, as gently as I can.
“I can’t.” She closes her eyes and breathes out.
“You can’t dump this on me and not expect me to…
I need a bit of time. It’s a lot to digest, and I don’t want to say something I don’t mean.
I need to process this. I could say it’s just cut and dried.
You cheated. But it’s not like you just got bored of me or something.
It’s…” She squares her shoulders and faces me. “Are you breaking up with me?”
It’s stupid that the question stumps me. I should know the answer. It should come easily. It’s either him or her, and out of all the people in the world, I’m the only one who should have that answer. It’s my life. My feelings. My choice.
My head is empty.
There’s a void where answers should be.
I try to apply cold, hard logic. Even if I’m not sure what I’m doing or what I want, I can’t mess with her like this. I can’t tell her I have feelings for somebody else and in the same breath tell her she should sit tight and wait until I figure out what I want. It’s not fair.
How do you do this?
How do you tell somebody you love that you’re not sure what you want anymore?
How do you break a heart on a maybe?
Freya looks down at her feet. “Just… give me a bit of time to think.”
It’s all I can do. I don’t like leaving it unresolved like this. I hate the thought of her being alone and hurting. But if this is what she wants, I’m going to give it to her, no questions asked.
I drive her home.
We get out of the car in front of our old apartment building.
Some more of the enormity of everything that’s happened settles on my shoulders when I realize she’s still living in our old place.
That she never gave up on me. That up there is our bed and the tiny spare bedroom we set up as her office.
And I just know that parts of me are still up there in that apartment.
I don’t know how my life turned out like this. A mess. A winding path with twists and turns and cleverly disguised traps.
I’m lost. More lost than I ever was on the island.
We get out of the car, and I hold out the keys to her.
She shakes her head. “It’s your car. I just borrowed it.”
“Keep borrowing it, then.”
She hesitates but eventually takes the keys.
“I’ll text you,” she says softly.
I nod.
She turns and walks away. In the doorway, she turns around for a moment and sends me one last look before she disappears inside.
I stand outside for a long time before I start the long walk home.