True Blue

Prologue

INDIE

When you know, you know.

When I was sixteen, I knew it was time to run when my stomach cramped so hard from hunger that I couldn’t sleep, and I lay in bed listening to my parents stumble in from the bar after drinking away our grocery money.

Again.

Two nights later, I packed up my things and left after researching emancipation at the library.

In my senior year of college, I knew it was time to put my foot down when the project group I was in thought I would be fine with doing all the work while they took part of the credit. I turned the project in with only my name attached. I got an A. They failed and called me a bitch.

Oh well.

In my second year of medical school, I knew it was time to use my voice when my lab partner with benefits—a catastrophic lapse in judgment on my part—told me he wanted more.

When I told him I didn’t feel the same toward him, he called me a heartless cunt and spread rumors that I was a terrible fuck.

I told my professor, was reassigned, and I never had to deal with him again.

And sometimes, I know when it's time to be silent.

When Teddy’s mother calls me Cindy, Bindi, or any other name that isn’t my own. It took me a little too long to realize that correcting her was pointless because she was doing it on purpose. Teddy had stopped correcting her, too.

But the thing I used to be best at knowing?

When to leave.

Truth be told, I should have left left months ago, when I first felt that little seed of doubt that Teddy would never set boundaries the way I needed him to.

I should have done it right after the phone call earlier, when I told Teddy what happened to Andrea. When I cried in his arms, saying I was going to stay home and wasn’t up to a fun-filled day in the sun.

I was half-hoping he would want to stay with me.

Or even just offer, because I needed him.

But he chose to go to the theme park with his family.

“You're around death every day, Indie,” Teddy had said, sounding like he was chewing on the words. “Why is this affecting you so much?”

Andrea wasn’t just a patient in my mind. She was a mother who fought her way out of an abusive relationship for her daughter. She found a lump in her breast and came to me for help. Well, she came to Hyde Cancer Center, but she was my patient under my care. My responsibility.

We got her into remission.

Only for her to die in a car wreck two weeks ago. Her daughter—the only person she had in the world—was so torn up she couldn’t even plan a funeral. But she still called to thank me for the care that I gave her mother.

When people put their lives in your hands, some part of you always feels responsible for what happens to them.

Teddy is back, his face sun-kissed in a way that would be insanely handsome if I didn’t feel a million miles away from him.

He’s saying that he’s not coming with me on the Europe trip. He says he’s not going to move to Cape May with me. Not yet, at least, which means he never will, he just won’t admit it to himself. I know the truth. He doesn’t want to be that far away from his family.

I would have understood if he brought up these concerns earlier.

Like when we toured that house in Cape May in January, and he started speaking with definitive words like when and not if.

Or when I bought the plane tickets for us to London.

Or when I was booking the hotel rooms and making sure to get King-sized beds to accomodate Teddy's size.

What he won’t mention—or is conveniently forgetting—is that he was the one who encouraged me to apply to Bluewater Cancer Center.

Teddy was the one who pressed Enter on my laptop while I sat there staring at the application, terrified to send it. Maybe even back then, I just knew that he would do this.

Teddy was the one who came home with champagne and my favorite dessert the day after I officially signed my Attending Physician paperwork.

Teddy was the one talking extensively about flipping the house we toured, about building our dream home to plant permanent roots.

What other conclusion was I supposed to come to except that Teddy was making himself permanent in my life?

“I said that I could find a position in Chicago,” I say, working incredibly hard to keep my voice level when really I just want to give into the urge to scream. “You said you would move with me.”

Teddy stands in front of me, his face worn and tired from the day, and sets his jaw.

“I know what I said,” he snaps.

The irritated tone of his voice makes me grit my teeth.

“Then why?”

He looks panicked for a second, eyes darting around the room like the answer might be written somewhere on the walls of his childhood bedroom.

“Because my home is here," he says, his voice shaking. "Chicago. With my family, not New Jersey.”

My stomach twists painfully. There’s a desperation that I hate sitting like a lead weight in my chest.

“I thought you said I was your home, Teddy,” I whisper, hating the words. Hating the way I used to hang onto them.

When Teddy told me that, I thought it was true. I thought finally—I have a home. I know what it will feel like. I know what it means.

It meant everything to me.

Teddy’s face blanches and he takes one step toward me, hands extended like he wants to pull me into a hug.

I take half a step back.

“You are, honey,” he says. His voice is soft, warm and sweet in that way that makes my chest ache wonderfully.

For one hopeful second, I see my Teddy again.

The man who carries around gluten-free snacks for me just in case we can’t find any safe foods when we’re out.

The man who rubs my head when I come home from work overstimulated.

The man who serenades me—terribly—while doing karaoke at the bar.

In an instant, it’s gone.

He winces, “But my parents are here. Nana’s gone. The family’s falling apart, and my mom—my mom needs me.”

“Needs you for what?” I ask, bewildered. “Stephanie lives in Arizona, and Danielle lives in Ireland! She’s fine with that. Why does she need you close?”

“It’s different,” he insists. “I’m her only son.”

Yes, I’m well aware.

She reminds me every chance she gets that Teddy is her only son, her pride and joy, her precious boy—as if she doesn’t already have two daughters.

Helpless, I bury my face in my hands. I don’t know what else to do. We’re talking round and round, not getting anywhere, and I feel Teddy slipping further away from me.

“God,” I whisper, dragging my hands down my face before looking at him again. He looks so tense, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes wide and panicked. “Teddy, why did you even encourage me to apply to Bluewater?”

“Because that’s your dream,” he says quietly.

“Yes, that’s my dream hospital.”

I take a step closer, and his eyebrows lift, something hopeful flickering across his face.

“But I only wanted to go there if you came with me. I wanted to build a life with you out there. What changed?”

“I…” he swallows hard and looks away from me. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Your family hates me. Your mother hates me. She doesn’t want you to be with me.”

That sets him off.

“Jesus, Indie,” he growls. “That’s not fair!”

“Is it?” I challenge, completely serious.

He doesn’t answer, but looks incredibly uncomfortable.

“Your mother doesn’t like me. Your aunts barely call me by the right name. Half the time, your father forgets I’m sitting at the table.” I laugh humorlessly, tears stinging my eyes. “Nana was the only one who ever made room for me in this family. Why won’t you? Why can’t you stand up for me?”

“Because it’s my family!” he explodes.

“And I’m supposed to just let your family walk all over me forever?” I shout, my patience snapping clean in half. “Why would I stay somewhere that treats me like that? Why would I stay with someone who allows me to be treated like that?”

His eyes blaze. “That’s it? You want out? You would just give up on me? On us? It’s that easy for you?”

“No!” I snarl, enraged now because how dare he think that leaving him wouldn’t feel like peeling off my own skin. “But I’m sick of defending myself! I thought maybe my boyfriend would stick up for me to his family, yet he refuses to!”

“That’s not fair, Indie.”

“You’re right,” I say, my throat burning. “It’s not fair. To me. I deserve a man who will stand up for me. I would in your shoes—”

“And it’s easy to say,” he spits, his voice rough and mean, “but you don’t exactly have a family to test that theory!”

There’s a ringing in my ear now. I flinch so hard that I stumble back, tripping over my own feet. I see the exact moment that he realizes what he’s just said.

Horror flashes across his face, then shock, then into complete devastation. It mirrors the feelings that have detonated inside my chest. But no amount of regret can take back the cruel words he’s just said to me.

And the worst part about them is that they are true.

You don’t understand, Indie.

You don’t have a family, Indie.

Your parents wanted the bottle more than you, Indie.

No one will ever want you, Indie.

You’re going to be alone forever, Indie.

“Oh my God,” he cries out, stumbling to me. “No—no, no—I didn’t mean that, baby. Indie, honey, I didn’t mean that—I swear to God, I didn’t mean that—”

Teddy wraps me in his big arms, pulling me flush against him like he’s trying to fuse me into his skin. I can feel his heart pounding against my own chest, frantic and thumping like it wants to escape.

I don’t put my arms around him. I just hang there, limp and hollow, while he clutches me desperately. Not even the warmth of his big body can reach me.

My own heart beats a steady rhythm, like my body knows what my soul is finally accepting. Or maybe my body is trying to shield me and keep me from breaking open completely.

Teddy will never set the boundaries I’ve asked for, and he’ll never actually listen to what I’m saying. My feelings are collateral damage to keep his family—his mother—happy.

“I didn’t mean that—I swear to God, I didn’t mean that, I just said it to—God, I’m so sorry. I love you. I love you so fucking much, Indie—my honey, my baby, I’m so—”

He didn’t mean it.

Part of me wants to defend him. Part of me knows that he didn’t mean it, and maybe if I repeat it enough, my mind will believe it.

But he said it to hurt me. And worse than that, he sounded just like his mother when he did. She’s in there. Her claws have sunk in too deep for me to pull out.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, his voice breaking and his arms tightening around me. “God, Indie, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” I say, my voice even.

That’s when I know.

If I stay, I’ll spend the rest of my life begging to be chosen.

And this time, I know.

It’s time to leave.