Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
PAIGE
Ten steps. That’s all that separates his store from mine, but every one of them might as well be a mile as I race back to the safety of Skye and our shop.
After he disappeared, it took a month to stop expecting him every time our door opened.
Two to stop thinking of things to text him.
Six before I stopped sneaking looks at his shop, with its hollowed-out insides and dusty For Rent sign.
Missing him hurt for so long that finally forgetting him felt good.
Now it’s all come screaming back. The looks. The longing. Every skipped heartbeat at the sound of his voice.
I’ve tried so hard, all day, every day for a whole year—a year—and none of it matters anymore because the second he walked into that hotel, I knew nothing had really changed for me.
I’ve been so good for so long that I didn’t think about what I would do if he came back.
Maybe I should have prepared better, should have done some breathing exercises or learned whatever technique they taught people to pass polygraphs. Maybe now I wouldn’t feel like screaming or hiding from him forever.
It’s too late for that now. I’ve looked. Looked and longed and felt my heart knock against my chest like it was trying to write a love letter in Morse code.
When he leaves again—and he will—it won’t just hurt. It’ll be devastating. That must be why they call it a crush—because it flattens you.
A sweet elderly couple hovers near the register when I burst inside, but as soon as Skye sees me, she apologizes and says we’re closing for a short lunch break.
“Oh, of course, dear. Don’t let us hold you up.” The wife pushes her husband out the door, promising to return.
I try to smile as they pass me, but it’s strained, and tears prick at my eyes.
Once the couple is out the door, Skye locks it and pulls me into the studio. “What the hell happened?”
“I’m still in love with him,” I say, blinking back tears.
Skye opens her arms, and I fall into them, hugging her tightly. Her hair smells like roses. “I know.”
What is forgiveness, really? Is it a choice? An urge?
Is it letting go of something or accepting it? Is it forgetting? Or does it mean more if you remember?
I want to forgive Benji. I can feel it like a barrier between us, air that needs to be cleared before we can breathe again. I know he’s scared that I haven’t. I see it in his eyes, every time he thinks I’m not looking.
I’ve heard that forgiveness isn’t a choice. That it’s as unpredictable as falling in love. But there has to be a will underneath, right? You have to want it a little bit first.
Forgiveness doesn’t always come with understanding, but it does take compassion. It’s personal. No one can tell you you’ve forgiven someone or make you. It’s for you and you alone.
It’s intimate and sacred.
Finally, I step out of the hug and drop onto a stool. Dozens of freshly poured candles are lined up along the counter, turning more opaque as they cure. Skye stays with me, rubbing my shoulders now.
I wipe the tears off my cheeks and dry my hands on my thighs. “Do you think it’s ridiculous if I forgive him?”
Skye takes a deep breath. “I can’t answer that, babe. It was your heart he broke, not mine. Has he apologized? Do you believe him?”
I nod and stare down at my bare nails. There’s a hole along the seam of my jeans, near my knee, and I pull at it, pulling at the broken threads.
“I think I already forgave him before he came back,” I admit softly.
“I just couldn’t forgive myself. I kept thinking I’d done something wrong, kept looking at the way I had been with him and picking it apart, trying to solve where I’d gone wrong so I wouldn’t do it again.
So I’d get it right with the next guy.” I huff a laugh at myself.
“Thing is, it never feels wrong when we’re together.
It’s so easy to be myself with him, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted in a relationship.
God, it’s still easy with him. That’s what scares me.
I can’t stand the thought of doing it all over and getting hurt again, but I can’t stop loving him. ”
Are we doomed to break again? A hairline fracture, always on the verge of breaking apart? Or can we recover and learn from it to be stronger? There’s no room for games anymore, nothing except raw honesty, and is that better?
Skye lays a hand on my shoulder. “Everyone told us we were nuts to start this place. Not a single person thought it could last more than a month. Too many overheads, not enough demand on the market. Assholes, all of them.” She pulls a face.
“And they got in my head. Then you raced over to my place, covered in paint, all excited because you’d finished the sign, and I told you I wanted to quit. Do you remember what you told me?”
Of course I do. I nod.
“You said we could either prove people right or prove them wrong, but we couldn’t do either if we didn’t even try.
” Skye sighs and pushes her hair behind her ears.
She only does that when she’s serious. “Look, if you want to give him a second chance, you don’t need permission, but both of you need to be honest with each other. Lay it all out there.”
I reach out and grab her hand. “Thank you for looking out for me.”
“It’s what we do, right?”
It is, and now I know what I need to do next.
* * *
Benji
I pushed too far. Fuck. But the way she looked at me. The way I feel, just being in the same room as her. Fuck, the way she screamed when she came. I’ll never stop thinking about it.
But I should’ve known it was too much, too soon.
My heart panics when Paige’s text comes through. I won’t be surprised if she calls this whole thing off. Tells me to fuck off out of her life, once and for all. I’d deserve it.
PAIGE:
I’m sorry I ran
Turns out, it’s worse. She’s blaming herself.
BENJI:
Don’t be sorry. I pushed. I’ll back off
PAIGE:
please don’t
My knuckles ache from where I’m gripping the benchtop, and my heart damn near stops when her next message comes through.
PAIGE:
I want to give us another shot, if you still do
Fuck, it’s all I want.
I scramble to respond.
BENJI:
Of course I do. Can I come by tomorrow?
PAIGE:
I’d like that.
I drop my head into my hands, relieved. There’s still a chance.
Don’t like me? Join the club, man. Therapy helped a lot—don’t get me wrong. I can look in the mirror now and see the good, but if you’d met me before I left all that baggage behind? Yeah, I don’t blame you for having a problem with that guy. He was dealing with a lot, but that’s no excuse.
I spent too many years believing I could work shit out on my own, and instead, all I did was make things harder, for myself and the people I cared about.
I used to think that therapy would be like taking a match to my whole personality, like there’d be nothing left if I actually dealt with it all.
It’s more like … finally clearing out the basement I’ve been shoving everything into. Airing it out. Throw out what’s rotted and useless. Repair what’s worth keeping.
Shit sure ain’t easy, but you know what? I feel more like myself than I did before. Funny, huh? Like the foundation is more secure now. I can build on it, set a future on it, and trust that it’ll hold firm.
I don’t have to be scared of the future; in fact, I’m chasing that fucker now.
It’s all hands on deck. Paige is my future, and I won’t lose her again.