Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
why does the right thing feel so wrong?
Max
I don’t even last ten minutes on a run before I have to stop. I’m out of practice, the uncomfortable sensation that shoots
up my leg an unwelcome reminder of what I used to put myself through every day. I walk the rest of the route, down to the
beach and back up to the clifftop, passing the bench at the viewpoint.
The water is entirely unforgiving today, whitecaps as far as the eye can see, and after the brief sunshine earlier, clouds
are now rolling in; great fluffy ones that promise rain. I’m only in a T-shirt and the wind is punishing against my bare arms.
I can’t help thinking I deserve it for putting that look on Dylan’s face.
She’s finally letting herself want something and she’s finally confident in herself enough to ask for it, and I’m so proud of her for it, but shit, if there
isn’t a tragic sort of irony that what she wants is me. Us.
Of course I want it too. I want it so much that my heart does a stupid little flutter every time I lay eyes on her, and then
it cracks when my brain catches up and remembers why this won’t work.
Because all I’m good for is right now, and until recently, I’ve felt like that was enough. Then Dylan came along, and right now felt different. Hopeful. Like it could morph into something bigger. But when I think about what that means, about what could
go wrong, panic saturates my bloodstream. Alarm speeds my pulse. Dread fills my gut. It’s dark, and it’s sad, but it’s mine
alone.
Dylan has already given so much of herself other people. I can’t ask her to give more to me, not when she deserves someone
who can look after her in return. She deserves fifty years, or a hundred, with someone who can love her with everything they
have, for every second of it. She deserves kept promises and a soft place to land. I can’t give her that, as much as I wish
I could, and with every step along the familiar paths of the resort, I become surer of that fact.
When I reach our blue front door, I hesitate. Then I knock three times, murmuring a quiet, ‘It’s me.’
Dylan opens up, and I don’t know what I expected, but the tears are gone, and she feels different somehow. There’s a steeliness
in her eyes and a strength in the way she stands, no longer wearing my shirt. ‘You could’ve just come in.’
‘I didn’t want to intrude,’ I say warily, shutting the door behind me as she moves to the opposite end of the sofa. I get
the feeling she’s intentionally put this barrier between us.
She clears her throat. ‘I have some things to get off my chest.’
‘Go ahead.’ Maybe she understands. Maybe she’ll tell me she knows I’m not the one for the life she wants, and we can go back
to normal and say goodbye after this train journey and know we had a good time, but it’s over.
A lock of hair falls out of the front of her ponytail, and my hands itch with the desire to tuck it behind her ear. ‘I was
lying on our—the bed feeling sorry for myself just now. I was embarrassed. I thought I’d misinterpreted everything that’s happened between us, and that’s why you pulled away. I felt so stupid.’
‘You’re not st—’
‘Please let me finish.’ She raises a hand and I stay quiet. ‘I went back to the old me who assumed she was wrong, and that her feelings weren’t valid, that I wasn’t enough. But the more I thought about it, the more I knew I wasn’t wrong, and you shouldn’t have let me think that I was.’
Emotions swirl in my gut. Pride, for her standing up for herself. Toxic, roiling shame, for knowing I was the one who forced
her hand. ‘I’m sorry. You’re enough, Dylan. I’m the one who’s not right for this.’
‘But what’s happened between us wasn’t some figment of my imagination, Max.’ Her hand rests on the back of the sofa as if
she’s steadying herself, but her gaze is unflinching. ‘So why is it so outlandish for me to think you’d want to continue?’
‘We said—’
‘It’s not about what we said, it’s about what we did. You’re out here acting like–like my boyfriend.’ My heart drops at the word, and she gestures towards the bunting from her birthday, the paper’s edges curling. ‘Making
me feel safe, letting me in. And I’m supposed to accept that none of it was real for you? That you were just playacting everything?’
‘It was fun. I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t. But I can’t be with you. I won’t be with you.’ The words scrape my throat on their way out.
‘So that’s it? You’re saying you wanted fun, you got your fill, and that’s the end of it?’
‘I thought you knew the kind of person I am.’
‘I do. That’s why I’m confused.’
The worst thing is, she’s right. She knows me and she’s seen me and she’s brought softness to parts of me that I thought would
always have to stay sharp and ready for battle.
‘Look. I’m sorry for making you feel like we might continue past this point. Things never should’ve gone as far as they did.’
Her voice is quiet, her forehead crumpled. ‘How do you reconcile that? I don’t understand why you’re so sure that good things
should end.’
‘Because that’s what they do. Something being short-lived doesn’t make it less worthwhile.
It’s not one or the other. I’ve always said this.
’ It’s there, on the edge of my consciousness, this idea.
Setting a firework alight, knowing it’ll burn bright and beautiful, over before you have the chance to miss it. Knowing it won’t survive.
She folds her arms and lifts her chin. ‘Well, I believe good things can last.’
‘Then that’s your prerogative. But I was very clear from the start that I don’t do commitment, and you told me that I was
going to be a pitstop before finding your perfect husband and perfect life. Things were always going to end when this trip
did. It’s what we agreed together. It was your rule, Dylan.’
‘Rules break. Plans change. And it’s okay if they do. You taught me that.’ She assesses me. Her chest heaves and her friendship bracelet spins under her touch, but her tone is defiant
when she says, ‘I knew I wouldn’t be good with casual, going in, so that’s on me. But it’s not my fault you let me fall for
you and glimpse what forever could be. That was a joint effort.’
‘But I never intended to be part of your forever. We’re fundamentally incompatible, and the sooner you understand that, the better.’
The silence is a black hole between us, and it’s growing by the second, a maw that’s going to devour me whole.
‘I don’t deserve this kind of ending,’ she says at last. It’s the first time her voice has wavered.
‘No, you don’t. You deserve someone who can give you everything you want. And you want stability and security and a partnership
that’ll last.’
She levels me with a look. ‘Don’t tell me what I want.’
‘Am I wrong?’
‘I wanted you.’
Past tense. I swallow it down, and it turns into a heavy weight in my stomach. ‘I’m sorry you did.’
‘Yeah. Me too.’ She expels a long exhale, but the air doesn’t hit me. She’s too far away on the other side of this rift. ‘This
is so frustrating, Max. You’ve been going on and on about me being honest with myself, but you’re the one holding something back. I feel like
I’m begging for scraps, here.’
She’s still holding on too tightly. She has too much faith in me. Too much hope in her eyes, and it’s that that confirms what I have to do.
So my reply is callous, flippant, and I hate myself for it. ‘This is the truth. When we first got here, I saw an opportunity
for a good time, and I took it.’ I found more, though. I found you, and us, and maybe even myself, a little bit. I keep going, pushing the burn aside with every acidic word that falls from my lips. ‘The thought of being locked into someone
else’s life sounds like my worst nightmare. It’s not my fault your expectations are too high, Dylan. I never claimed I could
meet them.’
Her eyes glisten and I want to take it back, take her back, but I don’t, because she never belonged to me anyway.
Instead, she blinks a few times, stands up straighter, and replies, ‘My expectations are just fine. I’ve been upfront here
about what I want, and I think, if you were honest with yourself, you’d admit you want it, too.’ At my continued silence,
she presses her lips together in a hard line and gives one slow, resigned nod. ‘Okay then. I guess there’s nothing else to
say.’
She moves to the door to put her shoes on.
‘Where are you going?’ I ask her back.
‘Breakfast.’ She shakes her head and grabs her keys from the shelf. ‘But you don’t really need to know where I am from now
on.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I murmur. Her hand’s on the door handle. ‘I’m sorry I can’t be that person for you.’
Her body tenses and she speaks to the door. ‘You could be. You have been. You’re just so scared of us going wrong that you’ve
decided to cut it off while it’s still good.’ She casts me a look over her shoulder, and disappointment fills her eyes. Pity,
even. ‘Maybe you’re not as brave as I thought you were.’ Right before the door closes, she adds, ‘Thanks for the trip.’