Chapter 17
Jordan
My mind can’t focus on any one thing Nora said. It’s all too shocking to process. How many times have I wished for her to care for me as I do for her…or used to. Fury and confusion are blocking my ability to determine if I feel the same as I once did.
Do I still love her? Can I trust that her confession is from the heart and not from guilt?
She’s kept me at arm’s length for five years, never letting me in, and it feels that way today. Even after admitting her regrets, it seems like there’s more she’s holding back. Although, at this point, I can’t imagine what that could be.
While she’s upset about hurting me, I can’t tell if love is behind it. Anyone can have empathy. Love is something else entirely, and she’s never seemed to have any for me.
“I need to know,” I say without turning around, but loud enough for her to hear. “Did I ever mean anything to you? More than someone you liked to sleep with?”
When she doesn’t respond immediately, I twist to find her in the kitchen, her expression frozen in shock—eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Recovering, she dries her hands on a towel and crosses the room to sit beside me. She takes a moment to gather herself, staring into her clasped hands on her lap. I’ve never seen her like this—introspective, insecure, vulnerable. Her armor is cracked and faltering, and I’m intrigued.
“For a long time, no. But there’s a lot about my past you don’t know,” she adds quickly when I puff out a breath and shake my head at the confirmation of my suspicions. “Things that stripped me of seeing love as a possibility for me.”
“Like what?”
Her lips roll into a tip-lipped grin. “Can we save that for another day?”
“No,” I snap, not meaning to, but I’m tired of everyone tiptoeing around issues. “I deserve to know why you treated me like your whore for the last half-decade.”
“Jordan,” she tries to calm my raging temper, but answers are the only thing that can help with that. And even then, there’s no guarantee getting them won’t make it worse.
“Nora, you’ve never given me the real you. For just once, I beg you, be honest with me.”
“I’ve given you everything I could until this point.”
“Really? Everything?”
“Yes. It isn’t much, I realize, but until I told my story yesterday, I didn’t think my past affected me as much as it has.”
“Who did you tell?” I ask, anger boiling inside me at being the last to know again. Then, the memory of her crying on the bench outside the restaurant reminds me. “Sydney.”
“Yes. Even my best friend didn’t know, and I realized something else in that moment.”
“What?”
“I have two best friends. Two amazing people I couldn’t imagine living without.”
I search her face for answers, confused about what she’s trying to say.
“You, Jordan. You are someone I don’t want to live without. But after all I’ve done, I resign to that being my fate.”
What in the hell? My heart is throwing itself against my ribcage, the thumping sound deafening. My voice rises above it. “Why is that your fate? Because you think I won’t want you after your lies?”
“Yes, partly.” Her tone remains controlled, and I wonder how she’s doing it. How is she not losing her shit as I am? She wrings her hands together before pushing them through her hair and pacing to the sliding glass door. She looks out, her eyes clouded and distant. And again, I’m confronted with a new side of her I’ve never seen. A side created from suffering and trauma.
“What happened, Nora?” In the silence, my body begs to take hold of her shoulders and gently shake her attention back to the conversation.
Last night, I vowed to protect my heart, no matter what she said or did until she was out of my life forever. But these awkward pauses, her detached stare, her confession, and the agony in her eyes, they’re all chipping away at that resolve like it’s made of glass.
“I can’t have children,” she says so softly I’m not sure I hear her correctly. “Courtesy of my mother’s stellar partner choices.”
She doesn’t look at me, and the frustration fluttering around inside me ignites into fury. “What did they do to you?”
My hand clenches the edge of the cushion under me while I wait. I need her answer to stop my imagination from letting in murderous thoughts. “Nora.”
Cautiously, she tells me about being abused and assaulted by cowards claiming to be men, recounting the decision to change her name and leave it all behind when she went to college. A scream boils in my chest, and I’d give anything to bang my fist against the wall or kick and stomp on the coffee table until it’s a pile of shards on the rug. But the only emotion that comes out of me is a bucket of tears.
She rushes to my side and holds me as I cry on her shoulder. I can’t fathom the trauma she must have gone through and continues to experience, but I can feel it. Every inch of me aches down to my bones as waves of sobs rip through me.
After a while, I straighten, feeling drained, puzzled, and embarrassed. My gaze rises to find her eyes red and puffy. Tears glisten on her cheeks, and I steal them away with my thumb.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers and leans against my palm.
There are so many things I want to ask and say, but nothing will stop her from feeling responsible for all our issues. She’s taking the blame for it as if I haven’t made mistakes. As if she’s the only one with flaws. Not having the words to articulate what I’m thinking, I say the only thing I can. “I’m sorry, too.”
“I want you to know,” she begins, taking my hand. “The day we spent together at the winery, the drive up the mountain, and that night, all of it was real.” Holding my hand to her chest, she kisses my knuckles. “I’d never felt closer to you.”
“Nora…”
“I’m not asking you to forgive me. Although, I hope you can one day. I just want to help you get back on your feet, so when you’re healed, you can experience life the way you planned. The way you deserve.” She swallows hard and closes her eyes for a few seconds.
“Without you, you mean.”
The feel of her skin burns against mine, making me draw my hand away. I don’t remember imagining a life without her before yesterday. And even then, it seemed impossible. Maybe I had after her last refusal, but I doubt the picture fully formed. Surely, I assumed we’d find a way back to each other over time. She’s been a part of me and my dreams for too long to just erase her completely. Fulfilling the bucket list is as close as I’ve come to trying to move on when—
I pat my shorts for my wallet, but, of course, it’s not there.
“What is it?” she asks, concern leaking into her tone.
“I remember something. Where’s my wallet?”
“In the kitchen, I think.”
“Can you grab it?”
Her eyes narrow at me before rising and retrieving the wallet. Returning to her seat, she hands it to me and watches me closely. I locate the worn list among the bills and receipts inside and unfold it.
“What do you remember?” she asks, looking over my hand at the list.
“The last one.” I stare at the paper, specifically the space where I erased the last entry, not believing I gave up on that dream.
“Great. Why does that seem like a bad thing?”
“It’s surprising that I erased it.”
“What was it? Maybe we can add it back in and keep working on the list.”
My head shakes slowly. “I don’t know if it’s possible anymore.”
She places a hand on my leg, shooting an electric current through my already charged system.
“We’ll have to get creative, of course, until you’re back to normal, but I’m willing to try if you are,” she says, and the implications of her words are not lost on me.
“You don’t even know what it is,” I say lamely.
“No, but if you’re not ready, I’m hoping you’ll tell me when we get to it. We can accomplish everything else and leave that one for the grand finale.”
She begins laying out plans for us to spend more time together, checking off each activity. I watch her talk through the list and explain her ideas without hearing a word. It’s her smile, and the way her eyes, now dry and bright, sparkle with excitement. I hate how that surprises me. Not because I learned just yesterday that we’re not actually together. It’s because the only time she’s ever shown joy or excitement about being with me is when she’s dragging me to bed.
After everything I learned and with the remaining pieces of my past still missing, can I handle being around her more, knowing I can never have her forever? She said it herself. She’s planning on leaving me for the last time at the end of her obligation. She thinks the future I deserve doesn’t include her. That she’s not good enough for me after her betrayal, because of the way she’s treated me over the years, and because of her inability to have children. Do I believe that, too?
“What do you think?” she asks, bringing my thoughts back to her.
“About what?”
She grins, seemingly undeterred by my distraction. “Can we start over?”
“What?” Shock robs my ability to hold back that gut reaction. “Start over how?”
“Pretend the last five years never happened. It would be nice to start again from the beginning.”
“Beginning of what? We jumped straight over the get-to-know-you part of any relationship, friends or otherwise.”
Her back straightens at the sharpness in my tone. We had a one-night stand that evolved into many nights scattered across years. Even when we were exclusive, our relationship consisted of very little outside of sex. Thinking more clearly on it, I barely know her.
“That’s the problem I’d like to correct.”
“Why? Aren’t you planning to walk away when your obligation is over?”
“You’re not an obligation, Jordan.”
“A regret, then? A conquest? A fuck buddy? We sure as hell have never been friends or true partners. Set aside your unfounded belief that you’re not good enough for me. What am I to you?”
Her eyes lock on mine in shock, her answer dissolving on her tongue.
“That’s what I thought. No wonder I erased the last thing on my stupid list. It’s unattainable.”
“What is?” she manages, and I glare at her.
“Making you love me.”
“Jordan,” she says on an exhale as her fingers press to her lips. “I—”
“Don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, I doubt I’ll believe you.” I drag my hands down my face, trying to calm the fickle emotions, popping up like summer storms inside me. “But despite that and everything that’s happened, I don’t want to be angry at you anymore. If starting over will take some of the hurt away, I want to try.”
Turning her face to the window, she blinks quickly before closing her eyes. “You’re incredible.”
A scoff bursts from my chest. I don’t feel incredible. I feel like a jackass—a gullible, glutton for punishment jackass who refuses to tell the woman who’s broken my heart more times than I remember to leave me alone. A woman who’s made a mark so deep on my soul, I may never love another.
Yep, jackass me is still holding onto hope. Still wanting to change her mind. Still fucking in love with her.