Chapter 32 Wrenley
Wrenley
I’m sitting on the couch, pretending to watch TV, but really, I’m staring out the window, waiting for Ruger’s truck to pull into the driveway.
Wren, come on, Remi says beside me. You can’t torture yourself like this.
I shake my head, unable to say anything for fear of breaking down. Again.
The Cultural Center felt like a disaster, and the pressure to say yes to the wedding and yes to Ruger hangs heavily on me.
But I also know that wasn’t the point of the deposit.
I know he’s saying that however I get to stay in the country, he supports me.
If I choose to marry him, everything is all set up.
But if I choose to leave, he’ll do his part, smile through the heartbreak, and help me chase my dream.
In some ways, if he’d been selfish and demanded I stay or made me feel guilty for even considering leaving, then I could be angry and point to his behaviour and convince myself that walking away was the right choice.
Instead, he keeps loving me in a way that makes me want to curl up on this couch and cry until I dehydrate.
I hate this, I whisper.
Remi lets out a sigh. I know.
Just then, I see a flash of Ruger’s truck out the window, and I perk up.
He’s home.
I hear the sound of his truck door opening and closing, then the footsteps up to the door. It opens, and he walks in, but when our eyes meet, I have a sinking feeling in my stomach, like something is very wrong.
He looks at Remi and says, Can we have a minute?
I swallow as I look at my best friend.
Yeah, she says. I’ll just go make Wrenley’s bed or something.
She slips out of the living room, leaving Ruger and me alone.
The second she’s gone, silence settles over the room. Ruger doesn’t move to sit beside me or reach for my hand. He just stands there with an expression on his face that looks so pained I half wonder if he hurt himself.
Ruger…
No. He closes his eyes, then opens them. I’m sorry. I just… if I don’t say what I need to say now, then I’ll lose the courage to.
Ruger has never given me the impression that he struggles with courage, so his admission has me gripping the edge of the couch cushion.
I love you, he says, so firmly and sincerely I almost forget how to breathe.
My vision blurs, and I open my mouth.
Don’t say it back, he says softly. If you do, I can’t trust myself to not get on my knees and beg you to stay.
Tears instantly spill down my cheeks.
I love you, he repeats, his own voice roughening. And because I love you, I think I need to let you go for a little bit.
The words practically knock the wind out of me.
What do you mean?
He lets out a slow breath. I mean you can’t decide what you want for yourself while I’m right next to you, hoping you’ll choose me.
Fresh tears spill down my cheeks. You can’t decide this without me. It’s not fair.
Pain flashes across his face. I know.
No, I don’t think you do. My voice cracks. You don’t get to tell me you love me and then walk away before I can even respond.
Wrenley—
You don’t get to make the decision for both of us.
I’m not, he says. I meant what I said today.
I will be there in that room waiting for you to walk toward me.
And if you do, I will spend every breath I breathe to prove to you that you made the right choice.
Until you walk away, I will be ready to marry you.
You need to be the one to decide, though.
And you need the space to do that away from us.
I don’t know how to react to any of this.
He’s standing there looking every bit as devastated as I feel and somehow still trying to make this easier on me.
The realization hurts in a way I wasn’t prepared for because there isn’t a villain here.
There isn’t a person making unreasonable demands.
There’s just a man who loves me enough to risk losing me if it means I’ll be certain of my choice.
You don’t want this, I whisper.
A humourless laugh escapes him. Not even a little.
The answer makes fresh tears spill down my cheeks because I already knew it. I can see it in the tightness around his eyes and the way his shoulders are locked in place. I think that’s what makes this so unbearable. He’s not asking because he’s pulling away from me.
He drags a hand through his hair and looks away for a moment before his gaze returns to mine.
I can see you trying to figure out the right answer. And every time I look at you, all I can think about is how badly I want you to stay, he says. And I know you see it too.
My chest tightens. Ruger—
You have to figure this out, Wren, he says. And not for me. For you.
What are you suggesting?
A separation, he says. Just until the wedding day.
I want to scream, to protest. But I see in his eyes there’s nothing I can do or say that will change his mind.
What if I still don’t know by then? I ask.
Pain flickers across his face. Then I don’t think you should marry me.
My mouth falls open. What?
I can’t ask you to marry me while wondering if there’s somewhere else you’d rather be, he says.
I know this started as a plan to get you started in your career, but now you have real options.
If we get married, it should be because we love each other and because we’re both choosing the life that comes with it, knowing that we might have to sacrifice something else.
I know I’m never leaving Alaska, and I’m not going to ask you to stay here with me.
But if you decide this is what you want, if you decide this is where you’re happy and you’ll have no regrets staying, then let’s do it.
Let’s get married and build a life together.
But if you’re even a little unsure, don’t force yourself into a future that isn’t right for you just because of me.
My lip quivers. How can you act so okay with this?
Baby, I’m dying inside, he says.
Then why are you doing it?
He looks at me for a long moment, and the heartbreak in his eyes nearly undoes me.
Because I know you’d never ask me to leave Alaska for you, he says quietly. You wouldn’t ask me to walk away from the life I love, the job I love, my family, or this town.
I nod because he’s right. I wouldn’t.
How do we do this?
I can go stay with Walter or something, he says.
The suggestion makes my stomach twist.
No. I wipe at my eyes. I’ll ask Remi if I can stay with her.
For a moment, neither of us says anything as the reality of what we’re agreeing to settles over the room.
Just this morning, I’d woken up tangled in his sheets with his arm draped across my waist. Now we’re standing here trying to figure out how to stop seeing each other, and it feels absurd.
Ruger nods slowly. Okay.
The word sounds as miserable as I feel.
Slowly, I stand and walk toward the stairs, which unfortunately means I have to pass him.
As I do, he reaches out and catches me around the waist, stopping me.
His arm settles across my stomach as he pulls me gently against his side and turns his head to press a kiss to my temple.
I close my eyes and let myself absorb the love radiating from him, even though I don’t feel like I deserve it.
I promise that unless you say otherwise, I’ll meet you at our wedding, ready to choose you forever, he says against my skin.
Then he lets go.
And without another word, I head upstairs to find Remi.
If only heartbreak came with clarity. The problem is that I’ve been heartbroken before, and I learned something from it: heartbreak isn’t permanent.
It feels endless while you’re living through it, but eventually, you wake up one morning and realize you’ve gone an entire day without thinking about the person who shattered you.
You heal and find a way to move on. You build a life around the empty space they left behind.
The truly terrifying part of losing someone you love isn’t the heartbreak.
It’s realizing you lost yourself in the process.
Ruger loves me enough to not let me do that again, even if it breaks both our hearts.