Chapter 16
Joy hits me first. Then fear.
“Hank. You don’t mean that.” I laugh, a strange, strangled sound, despite the panic rushing through me.
“I do.” His bright blue eyes are locked on my face. “I’m still in love with you, Bellamy.”
“You’re not. Being here is confusing. That’s all.” I shake my head, stepping out of his grasp.
My distance causes a little line to appear between his eyes.
“You, I mean.”
“I’m not confused.” His scoff sounds anguished. “I know what I want. I’ve known since the day you left.”
“We’re divorced.”
“That doesn’t matter.” His voice is strained, frustrated. “You’re my favorite person, Bell. There’s never been anyone but you.”
“Hank…” I swallow, my heart skipping. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression after last night…”
“That’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about. Last night.” He bulldozes over my protest. “You felt it too. I know you did.”
I did. That’s why I’m terrified.
I love Hank, yes, but am I ready to do this again? What if we fail a second time? What if I lose him? I don’t think I’ll survive it.
“We had sex. Said things in the heat of the moment, things we didn’t mean…”
“I meant them.” Judging by the thunderous expression on his face, I’ve said the wrong thing. “You’re tellin’ me you didn’t? You’re tellin’ me the last few days have meant nothing?”
My stomach drops and tears threaten. Blinking them back, I force my chin up. “They meant nothing because we’re nothing.”
“Bullshit.” He storms closer. “You wanna do this? Pretend like you don’t care, like you don’t feel our connection when we both know it’s a goddamn lie?
” He lifts his hand, and I catch a flash of silver on his ring finger before it disappears to run through his golden-brown strands.
“If you’ve stopped lovin’ me, tell me that and I’ll walk away.
If I don’t matter, just say it. If you don’t care, then tell me. ”
I squeeze my eyes shut, the pain in his voice ricocheting through me. I can’t be that cruel. But I can’t have him either.
A dark laugh leaves his mouth. “Why’d you leave, Bell?”
My eyes snap open, snag on his. I’m trapped. He won’t let me out of his hard gaze.
“I think I deserve a damn answer, don’t you?” The anger in his voice claws at me.
My gaze launches to the sonogram ornament dangling on the tree. The Christmas lights blur as my vision swarms with tears.
How long before the worst thing in my life happens again? How long before I lose everything? How long before I fuck it all up?
At my silence, he shakes his head and takes a step closer. “You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to talk.” His voice breaks. “That’s how we got into this fuckin’ mess in the first place.”
He’s right. Because of me.
“You need to move on.” My voice wobbles even as I tell myself to be strong. To push.
“I can’t,” he says, the simple sentence torn from his chest.
“Why not?” I almost stamp my foot. Damn stubborn man.
“Because of you,” he shouts.
The power of his words hits me like a freight train. I nearly stagger back.
“You. It’s you, Bellamy. You stand in my way of lovin’ anyone else.
Of ever lovin’ anyone else.” The floorboards shake, and then I’m in his arms. “God, don’t you fucking see that?
Don’t you fucking feel it?” He runs a broad, tan hand up my arm, and my body thrums in response.
“Livin’ without you every day feels wrong. ”
I want to echo his ache. I want to tell him the truth—I didn’t want to go; I left for you; I’m so damn sorry—but I’m frozen in fear. So I say nothing. Instead, I blink at the Christmas lights as a hot pressure fills my eyes.
He sucks in a sharp breath. Irises sliced with silver, he releases me, steps back. “Fine. I get it.”
“Hank.” I reach for him, but he moves away. Regret eats me alive.
He whistles sharply and Zelda comes bounding. Sidestepping me, he strides for the door, hitting me with the chilliest of cold shoulders. “I’m goin’ to the shop. I’ll be here to talk when you’re ready.”
I put the boxes away. Stoke the fire. Pour myself another cup of coffee and add a splash of Irish cream to numb the sad, hollow feeling inside me. Then I wander to the stove to clean up the breakfast we didn’t eat.
“Fuck,” I mutter when the scent registers. Hank made hazelnut pancakes. My favorite.
It’s stuck in my mind. The devastated look on his face when I wouldn’t talk. That’s how we got here. Because of me.
Heart in my throat, I box up the pancakes and open the fridge. As I take in the contents beneath the bright fluorescent light, it all clicks. The amount of food in the fridge, my favorite things, the candles. It wasn’t a mix-up, an accident, that Hank was here when I arrived.
He came for me. To get me to stay.
Hot tears fill my eyes.
I was a coward, a selfish jerk to let things get this far, to think these last few days wouldn’t have mattered to him. Because they mattered to me. I felt alive. Happy. Whole.
Because before them, I wasn’t whole. Not without Hank.
He was always there for me, matter how dark life got, and I wasn’t there for him.
And now I’ve repeated the past. I pushed Hank away. Again.
He, on the other hand, poured his heart out, desperate to know why I left. Telling me he loved me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hold my breath.
Oh. Oh no.
I’ve made a mess of things.
Especially myself. My heart.
I still love Hank. I never stopped. Not when I left. Not when I signed those papers. It was all an act to guard my heart. An effort to keep us from suffering more heartbreak.
I left.
And it was a mistake.
It’s been clear since the second I walked away.
Hank deserves more than I’ve given him.
I need to move, to cope.
It’s time to paint.
Once I’ve got music screaming from my phone, I open my bag, prop up the easel and position a canvas. Shoulders back, head high, I drag the brush across the canvas. Blood-iron red. Cornflower blue. Mustard yellow. Emotions flood me. No more numbing. No more denial.
Time to do the brave thing. And the brave thing is saying the scary thing. The brave thing is getting up after a fall. The brave thing is admitting to missing someone.
Admitting to still loving them even after all this time.
With emerald and brown paint, I add a craggy mountain range to the canvas. Slash a marigold sun in the bluebird sky. Wildflowers and nettles pepper the tall grass. Life rushes through the landscape, the scrape of the paintbrush like ice cracking over a thawing lake.
When I lay the paintbrush down, I step back and assess my work.
It’s not a neat landscape. It’s a mess of gorgeous color, chaotic instead of calm.
Misshapen, the elements almost bending against the canvas like they want to escape.
But still, in that madness, in my art, I see what’s there. An oasis. A home. A future.
A tear slips down my cheek. I don’t stop it. Won’t wipe it away.
Three years ago, we were both so lost in our own grief that we forgot to make room for anything else. When really, grief is love that has nowhere to go.
Love. All my life, it’s either held me back or propelled me at rocket speed to what I want. There’s no in-between. No indecision. Fear or certainty have always battled it out for the win.
And for the last three years, that’s what I’ve been consumed with. Fear.
Because I lost my baby.
Because I loved Hank and left him anyway.
Because I didn’t trust myself enough to heal.
It’s my biggest regret. Letting my fear that it wouldn’t work again get in the way of the happiness I deserve.
Still can.
Is our love worth the risk for a second time?
Eyes hot, throat tight, I stare at the beautiful Christmas tree. Every ornament Hank and I have ever owned, gifted to each other. Pieces of our life dangle delicately from thin branches.
That’s life. That’s love. Delicate. Tentative. One snap away from breaking. And yet we go on, we live the best we can.
Our hearts bloomed in this cabin, and they never wilted. Not even when we lost our baby or when we signed those papers.
Here, today, I don’t have to solve my problems. Or fix my life. But I can fix what Hank and I have. It’s never been broken. Just on pause. Delayed. Pushed down. But never forgotten.
I’ll be here when you’re ready, Hank’s voice whispers.
Sometimes it’s that simple. That little step forward. The determination to stop flinching when asked the truth. To stay when I want to run. To admit that I love him.
I exhale, a little spark of hope in my stomach. A sharp tug pulling me.
To Hank.
Time to be honest with him. Time to be honest with myself.
I inhale a steeling breath. Then I wrap a scarf around my neck, step into my boots, open the door and walk out into the snow.