Chapter 43
Lark
I don’t move a muscle, not even taking a breath when I hear his voice.
Opening my eyes, I angle to look behind me. “Better.”
Harbor smiles, the act coming so naturally, like we didn’t crash and burn years prior. “I’m glad.”
My breath starts to even, but I hate that it’s in reaction to the comfort of him being here . . . being near again. “Why are you here, Harbor?”
“Because you weren’t ready for me before.”
“I’m not ready for you now.” I stand as if I’m making a point. My thoughts are muddling, but I still push to say, “Being ready has nothing to do with you. You made your decision that I didn’t matter enough to stay in your life.”
His eyes unabashedly take me in from top to toes, and then he sits back, like he has the upper hand, sitting on his throne of confidence.
He doesn’t. I don’t care how good he looks in a suit and tie or how his cowlick forms a wave of perfection just above his forehead.
Damn him. Damn him to hell for momentarily distracting me from the pain he caused.
I yank the cap from my head and start down the row.
“I had to leave because you were all that mattered to me.” I hate how calm he sounds, that confidence still ruling his tone.
Fury rushes my veins, and I fist my hands at my sides, the velvet cap getting the brunt of my anger. I turn back, throwing it on the chair with the gown. “You have some nerve saying that. Your memory has faded, but mine hasn’t.”
Leaning forward, he rests his arms on the chair in front of him. “What do you remember, Lark?”
“I remember you telling me how proud of me you were, kissing me like it was the last kiss we’d share.
” Tears collect in the corners of my eyes.
Not from the pain I feel but from the anger that fills me.
“You told me to remember you loved me always. You made me tell you I would. You drove us to New Haven, and we picked an apartment like we’d share it together.
We made plans, Harbor.” I lose steam, not seeing the point of revisiting memory lane.
Exhaling, I whisper, “I remember you loved me.”
I stare at him through the watery lens of my stubborn perspective, unable to understand what the point of this is. Is he trying to win me back or close a chapter?
“I still do.”
I anchor my hand on my hip, shaking my head. “You can’t.”
After a quick shrug, he says, “What I can’t do is help it.”
“Try harder.” I move down the row, and when I’m free from the surrounding chairs, I stop again. “Ugh!” He’s infuriating. Spinning back, I ask, “Why did you leave? Where did you go?”
He comes closer, his steps slower as if we have all day to discuss the past. I sure don’t. My mind is already balancing between my dad and friend who are waiting on me and this man who did so much damage that the aftershocks are still felt.
He says, “Los Angeles for a short time and then Italy for a couple of years. The last two, I’ve been around, traveling a lot for—”
“To process your feelings while I had to deal with mine?” I hate myself the second the words leave my mouth. I’ve never been one to choose the low road, but I also wasn’t afforded the same emotional luxuries since he alone decided our fate.
This time he’s staring at me, his expression lying in indifference. “I always did take too long for you.” He slips his hand under the collar at his neck. “Seems I did this time as well.” He walks past me, and says, “Congratulations, Doctor.”
For graduating or for winning the argument?
I don’t feel good either way. I wrap my arms over my stomach and then go back to grab the cap and gown I almost forgot. Why can’t I just have a normal graduation?
I leave the building and search the sidewalk until I see Amanda and my dad waiting on a bench. I go to them, plastering on a fake smile, and ask, “Ready for lunch?”
They sit there, looking up at me like I’ve grown a third eye, and they don’t know how to tell me. “What?” I ask.
Amanda says, “We didn’t want to interrupt.”
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
Standing up, my dad rubs my back. “Are you doing okay?”
“Fine,” I snap, “never better.”
“You sound never better.” His eyes go wide like he’s signaling for Amanda to step in. Just great. They’re now a tag team?
I hold out my hands to stop her from stepping in like I’m a delicate matter they need to handle. “I am.” I start walking toward the apartment. “Let’s drop this off, and we’ll go eat.”
“I think eating will help,” Amanda says, keeping pace but staying a few feet behind me. “Food makes me feel better.”
Better . . . this is not better than I hoped for.
No, it’s not better at all. It’s worse. I’m tired of putting on a brave face for everyone, for pretending that a relationship I had at twenty-one isn’t still defining my life four years later, and what ticks me off the most—I’m still in love with him. “Fuck!” I yell at the top of my lungs.
I close my eyes, but it’s too late to stop the tears from coming. My dad comes around and wraps me in his blanketing arms. With me tucked under his shoulder, we walk the rest of the way to the apartment.
By the time I wash my face, the storm has blown over. I change into something more comfortable and go into the living room. “I’m ready. I’m so hungry.” We move into the hallway, but I push back in and grab the large, unopened box.
“What are you doing with it?” Amanda asks.
“Getting rid of it.”
“I’ll take it if you’re throwing it away.”
I laugh. It’s light but feels good to release. “I’m not throwing it away.”
“What are you doing with it then?” She holds the lobby door open for me.
Returning to the sunshine, the day is warm, and the sky is blue. It feels a lot like a new beginning, so I can’t have ghosts still haunting me. Standing on the sidewalk, I look down the street in both directions until I see him in his Maserati. “I’ll be right back.”
Marching right up to his car, I stand in front of it until he gets out. I move around and shove the box at him. “I don’t want your gifts.”
I expected a look of shock or dismay, something like I’ve seen in the movies I love, but he doesn’t give me that. Instead, he takes the box and puts it in his back seat. With my arms crossed over my chest, I add, “I want nothing to do with you, Harbor.”
“And why is that exactly?” he asks, so freaking innocently.
I roll my eyes. “Let me make this perfectly clear for you. You disappeared without a trace, leaving me without even the courtesy of an explanation. I still don’t know why you needed to leave or if it was something I did—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yet you punished me as if I did.” I scoff and look away. “God only knows why you left, but it took me visiting your mom for it to finally sink in.” I glare right into his eyes. “You left me. You left me to fend for myself—”
“Don’t twist it. I left so you didn’t have to fend at all. Those four years were laid out perfectly for you. It was the perfect plan, and it worked.”
Lost on this line of reasoning, I ask, “What worked?”
“You became a doctor.”
“Oh my God, Harbor. Just stop.” I throw my arms out in frustration. “Please stop with the riddles and nonsense. I’m a doctor because I earned my way into medical school and my scholarship. You don’t get to take that away from me.”
“I’m not. I wouldn’t. It’s your accomplishments that got you here, Lark. It truly is, but I’d like a chance to explain.”
“No, you had that and blew it.” I take a breath and exhale, lowering my voice. “Good—”
“Give me one more chance, baby.” And I thought I went low . . .
I hate him for saying that name. Though, I’ll be savoring the sound of him calling me baby for months and years to come.
Raising my finger, I’m about to tell him exactly how that will never happen.
But I don’t. I can’t. I lower my finger because I still stupidly have feelings for this man.
That’s why I’m so affected by him. I can fight this attraction and reject any feelings that still exist for him, but that sounds like I’m being punished for his sins instead of the other way around.
There’s no way destiny wants us together again. It’s been proven time and time again. So why should I give him another chance? This isn’t some movie. He’s not coming to sweep me off my feet. This is real life. The damage has been done that’s beyond repair.
And what if I did give him that chance?
I barely survived him the first time. I won’t survive losing him twice, but the scars will deepen.
“Please, Lark. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’m asking anyway. Give me one more chance to make this right.”
Nothing about this makes sense. Why aren’t my fight-or-flight instincts kicking in? I’m not flighting or fighting. I’m leaning in, wondering if we spend some time together . . .
“Not today. I’m in no position in life to take . . .” I wave my hands in front of me. “This on, to take you on. If you want another chance, then you find me in a year, and I’ll listen. That’s all I can promise.”
A wry grin spreads his cheeks, and he says, “And I can promise you that you won’t regret this decision. I’ll see you in one year.”
I lick my lips and raise my chin. “And if at that time, I never want to see you again, then you’ll walk away, and that’s it, right? No showing up unannounced or sending me gifts. No contact at all. Agreed?” I hold out my hand.
When he takes it, that chemistry we always shared ignites once more. “Agreed.”
I pull my hand back and take one last look at him. “Okay, see you in a year.”
“See you then.”
A rogue thought comes to mind, so before I leave, I ask, “How will you find me?”
“Don’t worry about that.” He winks. “I have my ways.”
That my panties still exist is a whole other issue after seeing his cockiness return.
I walk away, but turn back to say, “You sound like a stalker.”
He shrugs. “What can I say? Some women bring it out in me.”
Grimacing, I ask, “Women, as in plural? Not a good start.”
“Woman. Only you, sweetheart.”
I hate that I’m smiling, but ironically, I don’t feel so much hate for him as I walk away. Oh God, what have I done?
One year later . . .