Chapter 43
forty-three
Georgia
I get to Data Analytics early. Arrive early, stay late—it’s my new strategy.
That and never turning around until class has ended and I’m sure the room has emptied.
Pointless in some ways. In a few short months, I’ll never be safe from the threat of seeing Cash.
I’ll glance up at a TV in some sports bar or airport, and there he’ll be, playing football on live TV in front of millions.
I should get used to it now. But maybe by then the hurt will have dulled.
Minutes into class, someone taps on my shoulder, and before I can turn around, a manicured hand offers me a folded piece of paper.
It’s from him, of course. Even the way he folds a note is ingrained in my mind, along with the memory of the first time he passed me one and the potency of his four-word question. The high of knowing who wrote it and the unlikely chain of events it set off.
I run my thumb over the layers of paper, imagining his warm hands on them mere minutes ago. Maybe I should tuck it away and save it for later. What if whatever he’s written will make me cry? But the need to have some little piece of him right now, even if it’s his handwriting, is too much.
Can we talk? Check one:
Yes
No
Maybe
PS: I’m sorry.
I read it again, wanting more even as apprehension fills me at the possibilities contained in the simple question.
Can we talk? I want nothing more than to hear his voice, be close to him, have his eyes and his adoring attention on me again, but can I talk to him?
I’m scared of what I’d say. I’m terrified I’d only be able to tell him that, for all my conviction the last time we spoke, I’m as lost as I’ve ever been.
The note sits in my clenched fist for the rest of class, folded and unanswered, and when the lecture ends, I wait an extra-long time. The room is silent when I finally stand. But as I turn to head up the walkway to the exit doors, Cash waits at the back of the room for me.
For a moment, my feet refuse to act, and we only stare at each other while my heartbeat goes wild. Then I breathe and tuck the note into my jeans and approach him.
He dips his chin at my pocket. “Should I take that as a no?” It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice in weeks, and it rubs at my raw heart like sandpaper.
“No. I just…didn’t know what to say.”
He offers a small smile. “I tried to make it easy. No need to say anything, just drop a checkmark somewhere.”
“Cash,” I say, and at the serious note in my voice, the humor drains from his face. It was only an act, anyway.
“I’m sorry. You don’t need to say anything, though I’m hoping you’ll listen to me talk for a few minutes. Will you do that for me?”
“Now’s…not great.”
“It’s never going to be great.”
Touché.
“Please, Georgia? I’ve been working up the balls to say these words to you for so long. I didn’t sleep last night. I can barely breathe with this shit trapped inside me. Please let me say it?”
There’s that sandpaper again. Begging me to agree.
So I do.
We walk outside in silence and find the quiet path that weaves behind a string of buildings. There’s no small talk or catching up, no words until we find a concrete bench under a hickory tree.
There, Cash turns to me. “You needed me, and I abandoned you.”
I wince at the directness of his words. He always did come right out and tell it like it is.
“I’m so sorry, Georgia.”
I nod because I know he is. Even his bent posture reads of pain.
“I’ve spent my whole life holding on to my sister as tight as I could, thinking it kept her safe. I thought I was the reason she’s okay. Turns out she’s the reason.”
“Nobody could blame you for loving her too much.”
“I could. I could blame myself for loving her so much it cost me what I want most in life.”
A month ago, these words would have filled every space in my heart, but I feel a million miles from who I was a month ago.
I wanted so deeply to believe I could be his everything that I ignored what was plain to see: His sister will have to come first. “You could blame yourself. Or maybe you could accept that this—us—isn’t meant to be.
Maybe we both have to accept that. Just move on.
” By the time I’m finished, my words have no more strength than a whisper.
“No,” he blurts, an edge of desperation to his voice.
“You always want to move on, but there’s no moving on from us.
Not for me. I will never move on from you, Georgia.
Not if you walk away and never speak to me, not if you marry someone a month from today, not if you laugh in my face and tell me you never felt a single goddamned thing for me. Never.”
I shake my head. “It hurts now, but it won’t always feel this way.” As if I really believe that.
“You’re right, it’ll feel worse. Because right now I should be on top of the world.
Right now, with an NFL contract and the life I used to dream about ahead of me, I should be the happiest I’ve ever been.
Instead, it means nothing because that life is empty.
Without you, all it’s ever gonna be is money and hard work and coming home to an empty house. ”
Every word is another blow, his pain even harder to bear than my own. I don’t want him to have this power over my heart any more than I want power over his. “Cash, I don’t want this. I don’t want to feel responsible for giving your life meaning. Please don’t say any more.”
His face crumples, and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“Fuck. Georgia, I am so sorry. You’re looking at me like I’m hurting you, baby, and I swore I would never hurt you again, but I don’t know how to stop talking.
I can’t walk away from you until you understand that regret burns in every cell of my body. ”
“Then say it. Say what you need to say because then you need to let me go.”
“I made you a promise, and the only thing you ever did wrong was believe me. That’s not something I can forgive myself for—being a man who doesn’t keep his word to the woman he loves.”
“I can’t help you with that. You’re the only one who can forgive yourself.”
“Then tell me you forgive me. Please.”
“I do. You did what you thought was right, and it’s not your fault you can’t give me what I want. I don’t know if anyone can.”
“I can. I want you back, Georgia.” He clasps my hand between his. “Please. Give me a chance to show you I know how wrong I was, and I promise from this moment forward, I will never make you feel like you’re second ever again.”
My body nearly shakes with the effort it takes to bring “No” to my lips.
A soft, barely audible “no” that I wouldn’t even be certain made it off my tongue if not for the way his expression changes.
Just when he promised he wouldn’t hurt me again, the look on his face—hope crumbling into nothing—is a knife through my heart.
“I’m sorry.” My voice quivers. “I can forgive you, Cash, but I can’t be with you. I can’t compete with her. And I won’t.”