Chapter 40
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DAISY
She knew it was him when he knocked on the door. It was soft at first, hesitant almost, and then he did it again.
If she unlocked it, she pictured what would go on in her mind. The undoing of clothes and frantic kisses as if they’d been injected with a slow-release poison which would render them dead in an hour. Then she heard it, the sound that unravelled her; he was crying.
“Daisy.” His voice cracked. “Please open the door.”
Her breath caught, and before she could talk herself out of it, she stood, crossed the room, and pressed her eye to the peephole. He’d taken off his tie, leaving his shirt half unbuttoned, and his hair was a mess. And he was pacing, his expression tight and unreadable.
“What is it?” she finally said, watching him.
He turned back towards the door. “We need to talk.”
In her mind, she catalogued all the unsaid words.
He could tell her he was in love, admit all he did was think about her, and throw an off-handed comment about how easy it would be to run off together.
All she needed to do was say yes. Then the optimist in him would argue they could go to his mother's homeland, forge new identities, and create a new life.
It was a nice fantasy, sure, but there was only one thing wrong with that idea.
For him, it was easy. His life was the complete opposite of hers—uncomplicated, free, untouched by responsibility or the weight of consequences.
“Not here,” she said, opening the door and scanning the hall. “Is there somewhere we can go?”
He nodded. “I have my rental car.”
“A drive then?”
He nodded again, pulling out the keys.
They walked down to the parking lot in silence, and as she slid into the passenger seat, her mind flooded with unease.
All she could picture was Callan at home, unaware she was in a different country with another man.
She’d promised to love him through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, yet there she was, questioning whether she’d ever truly been in love or if she’d simply forced herself to be.
“You know,” Logan said, interrupting the silence as they pulled out of the lot. “I’ve always preferred New York at night. There’s something about it.”
She followed his gaze and stared ahead. He had a point. Unlike the droves of people and chaotic, congested traffic, all she saw was a mirage of lights.
They drove for another block in silence when he took a left turn. “I thought I might take you to the Brooklyn Bridge lookout,” he said, glancing at her.
After parking the car on the street, they headed to the lookout. There were a dozen pockets of people all standing around, staring at the way the lights danced over the East River. They found a spot on a bench and sat down.
“I’ve always liked it here,” he admitted. “It usually isn’t this busy, though.”
She nodded, unsure what to say. Nobody had given them a second glance, yet she still felt like they were on display.
“You have to know,” he continued, staring at the sidewalk. “I love you. Call me crazy for saying this, but I think a part of me has loved you since the day we met.
He paused, almost as if waiting for her to reply, but she couldn’t. The words, unexpected and raw, had rendered her silent.
She turned to face him, her heart hammering in her chest. “I—”
“No,” he interrupted, his voice cracking. “Please, don’t. You don’t have to say anything. I just needed to let you know how I felt.”
She reached for his hands and squeezed them, tears running down her cheeks. “That’s just it, though,” she whispered, feeling her tears meet her hands. “I love…I love you, too. But Callan…” Her voice trailed off, the name hanging in the air between them. “I could never leave him. Not now.”
“I don’t want you to leave him,” he said softly. “I’d never ask that of you.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
He swiped at his face with his free hand, his eyes now reflecting hers. “Because I’m moving to America. Permanently.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I can’t stay in London, not with this...not with you there,” he confessed, his gaze locking onto hers.
She understood and knew it made sense. If he stayed here, and she was in England, the growing distance between them would soon shut the door on any future they might’ve had. But it hurt, more than she expected, more than it should have.
“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered. “Not for anyone, and certainly not for me.”
He reached up to wipe her tears gently. “I know,” he murmured. “I know.”
For a while, they just stared at each other, each seeing the fear, sadness, and betrayal reflected in the other’s eyes. Then, without thinking, she leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips.
“No,” Logan said, pulling away. But Daisy refused to pull back. If this was their goodbye, it had to mean something. The years their lives had been intertwined had to mean something.
Slowly, their lips met again, tentative at first, then deepening. His hands slid into her hair, and their tears mingled, becoming one. It felt like the floodgates had opened, washing away everything they’d held onto for so long.
“I’m sorry,” Logan whispered between kisses. “I mean it, Daisy. I’m sorry.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and let them part. Catching her breath, she traced his jaw with her fingers, as if trying to imprint the moment in her memory.
“You can't leave,” she said, her voice trembling. “I need you.”
“I need you, too,” he admitted. “Which is why I have to.”
They sat there for a long moment, caught between desire and reality.
For a moment, they both relived every emotion, every hope, and every possibility they'd once dared to imagine. She was once again the trusting young woman he’d met all those years ago, with her life ahead of her, and he was that ambitious boy who’d been desperate to feel whole.
“Do you think…do you think the future version of us is going to hate ourselves for this choice?” she whispered, staring down at their hands, inches apart.
He shifted to face her and cupped her face, his thumb catching the tears as they fell.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I think the future version of Miss Daisy would hate herself more for walking away from someone she still loves.” He paused, then stood. “Come on,” he added, offering his hand. “I’d best get you back.”
They drove in silence, the quiet hum of the engine filling the space between them. She wanted to cry, sob, and scream. A devout believer that nothing in this life was without reason, she struggled to fathom how life could be so relentlessly cruel.
Logan reached for her hand, as if reading her thoughts. She could feel it in how his fingers trembled, and he kept blinking; she wasn’t alone.
“You know,” he said, glancing at her as they stopped at a set of traffic lights. “In another life—” he began, his voice barely a whisper, but his words were lost in the sudden, horrifying sound of screeching tires.
A blinding flash of headlights hit seconds later, followed by the ear-splitting collision of metal against metal.
The car jerked, thrown into a violent spin that sent a spray of shattered glass into the air before they both lurched forward, the car smashing against something hard, a wall or a power pole, Daisy wasn’t sure.
“Daisy!” His voice rang out—frantic, distant—cutting through the chaos. But before she could respond, her head struck something hard, and a crushing stillness enveloped her, as if the world had folded in on itself, leaving her suspended in darkness.