42. Tilly
Chapter forty-two
Tilly
A rcher’s leaning against the dresser, fingertips pressed into his eyes like he can’t believe I’m upset. Like it’s a surprise to him that I would’ve wanted to make my own decision about my life rather than them making it for me by him backing off and giving me the cold shoulder. My skin is flushed, stomach curling in on itself, and I can barely contain the vomit threatening. I rise from the bed and head to the door.
“It wasn’t like that, Tilly.”
I stop and turn. “Are you sure? Because to me it seems like my two friends flipped a poker chip to see who would get me, as if I was some prize to win.”
“You are a prize, damn it.” He moves from the dresser, and I retreat, back touching the door jamb. His forefinger and thumb softly grasp my chin. “You’re the most amazing woman I know. You’re funny, talented, smart, hard-working, and beautiful. Any man would be lucky to have you, so yes, you are a prize.”
I rip my chin from his touch. “Then why didn’t you just tell me how you felt? Why take the choice away from me? Was I just another conquest to you? Another warm body for a good time? How could you…” I struggle not to burst into tears as my muddied, panicked thoughts collide with one another. “How could you make me believe there could’ve been something more between us when there’s been nothing but lies? ”
He carves a hand through his hair. “I love you, Tilly. I have loved you since you walked past my car on campus, since you walked into the Chemistry lab with your funky clothes and space buns.” He grips his hair, a look of exasperation on his face. “And I have loved you every day since. I loved you enough to know that I wasn't what was best for you back then, that I wouldn't have been able to love you the way you deserved. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, but I won’t let you believe it was all a lie.”
Doors slam inside my head, preventing the words he’s saying from reaching my mind and heart. If he loved me, he should’ve manned up and asked me out himself. He couldn’t have treated me the way he did if I meant anything to him like he wants me to believe.
I push the emotions away and maintain an even tone to my voice. “I’ll buy you out of your lease with the landlord. Send me the bill for the months the building was empty.”
The last thing I need is to worry that the one good thing to come from this situation, my bakery, could be taken away from me. The money from Jessie’s life insurance is more than enough to cover that time, and as long as I hustle I should be fine without having to take more from the policy.
“No.” His voice is strained, the muscles in his neck and jaw taut.
I hate that I want to reach out and console him, hate that I opened my heart to the one person who’s caused me to question myself over the years, and yet I still want to kiss the hell out of him.
“Have your lawyers send me the paperwork and the bill.”
“Not a chance, Tilly. It was supposed to be a gift.”
“You’ve already given me enough gifts ,” I grit out, shoulders heavy with sadness. “I don’t need you to take care of me. It’s over. We got it out of our system and can move on.”
He doesn’t stop me as I take off my bracelet and exit the room, but his words spear through my chest when he says, “You’ll never be out of my system.”
Suppressing the urge to look back, I go downstairs and grab my purse, leaving the warmth of the house and welcoming the brutal lick of November winds. A cauldron of pain boils in my chest, hot tears leaking down my cheeks as I start the engine and head toward home.
Home. The word sends a spear of pain through my ribcage.
I doubt it’ll ever feel like home again.
A mile down the road I have to pull over. My chest aches, tears blur my vision, and the vomit that was kept at bay comes barreling up my throat, forcing me to open the door to expel the contents of my stomach. On the dashboard, my phone continues to vibrate. I know it’s most likely Archer begging me to come back, but I can’t. I need to get as far away from here as possible.
***
I fan out the blanket I found stuffed inside my trunk and sit in front of Jessie’s gravestone, staring ahead at the words etched into the marble slab in front of me.
The words loving husband stick into my heart like a hot poker, prodding at the pulverized organ in my chest. I want to laugh, want to feel something other than betrayal, but all I can think about is the letters Archer wrote to Sebastian.
After all these years, I finally understand why Archer felt indebted to Jessie. How if it wasn’t for him, Archer could’ve been the one dead on the pavement. And all of our lives would’ve been different or may not have intersected at all. Would I have still met Jessie in Chemistry class? Would he have raised his hand, like Archer did, to ask the teacher if he could be my partner? Too many emotions pelt me as I stare into the headstone, wishing I could punch it to smithereens.
They both lied to me .
And even though I understand why Archer treated me the way he did, why he needed to push me away, I still can’t fathom the fact that he chose to give up instead of fighting all those years ago. For assuming what my choice would be and letting our lives play out this way because of a stupid poker chip. I can’t help feeling like the choice of who I wanted to pursue me was stolen right out of my hands.
I glare at the gravestone, hands digging into the loamy soil surrounding me. “How can you tell if our love was true if you didn’t give me the chance to truly pick you?”
“You would’ve chosen him,” a voice answers me, and I startle, nearly breaking my neck when I whip around and find Shantel leaning against another headstone behind me, orange sunlight cresting over the horizon behind her.
“What are you doing here?” Wiping snot and tears away, I look back at the headstone in front of me, willing the words to come from Jessie. From the man I thought loved me.
“Archer called and said you needed me, but he didn’t tell me what happened.”
I scoff. “I wonder why.”
She rolls her eyes, a small smile on her face. “When I couldn’t find you at the house or the bakery I came here. Figured you might be in a weird headspace.”
“Something like that. I guess arguing with your dead husband about his decisions is kind of a weird spot to be in.”
“You know, Jessie might’ve been the one to ask you out, but you had the opportunity to say no, to tell him you were interested in Archer, but you didn’t.”
Her truthful words slam into me, and shame rises in my chest .
“He was the person your heart wanted back then, even if you can’t see it right now. You guys were meant for each other for the time he had left on this earth.”
I gnaw on my cheek, begging my brain to be silent. For years, I thought I was destined to be alone, that everyone I loved would eventually leave me. Mom died too young, and Dad preferred to work rather than be around me, and then Jessie died. I didn’t want to open my heart to that kind of pain again, but Archer beat down the door and set up shop. Then, he demolished any trust we built by not being honest about our interactions.
He broke down my walls and kept his up.
“How didn’t I see that they were both interested?”
She shrugs. “You saw what you were meant to.”
“Did you know Archer had feelings for me the entire time I’ve been with Jessie?” My stomach lurches, and I cover my mouth to stop anything from coming out. “How did Jessie feel about it?”
She sighs. “I’m pretty sure everyone knew but you.”
It’s a gut-punch to realize everyone saw it but me. I want to be angry at her for knowing about Archer’s feelings and keeping it a secret, but I know she was in a difficult position.
“It’s easier to see things when you aren’t involved, and as for how Jessie felt? He knew Archer would never cross that line, and that you wouldn’t either.”
“But I did,” I whisper, emotions tightening my throat.
A firm tap against my thigh brings my attention to Shantel crouching beside me. She stares at Jessie’s headstone with a small smile and nods like they’ve had some secret conversation. Most times when I’ve visited his gravesite I’ve done nothing but cry, but this time I came angry, ready to smash the headstone to pieces with the anvil of hurt anchored in my chest.
“No, you didn’t. You loved Jessie with all of your heart. And now that he’s gone—” she pauses then squeezes my shoulder, “—you have space for Archer.”
I shake my head, not ready to admit I’m too scared to let him love me. How could I ever measure up to the woman he’s built up in his mind? He doesn’t know I spend an hour every day hyping myself to wear the clothes I love, or that for years I’ve thought I would never be a good enough baker to have my own bakery. He doesn’t know that I sometimes fall into spells when the grief hits so hard I can’t get out of bed for days, barely managing to bathe myself. He only sees the best parts of me, not the ugly ones.
“Let’s get some breakfast.” Shantel holds out her hand, urging me to get off the dewy ground.
“I can’t.” I run my hands down my face, clearing the remnants of my breakdown as I hop up. “I’ve got to find another carpenter to help with the bakery and get a lawyer.”
“A lawyer?” She stops me from walking toward my car. “For what?”
“To take over the lease from Archer.”
“I’m confused,” she says, bumping my shoulder. “But, we can talk about it over mocktails and bacon.”
Hand latched on the door, I pin my shoulders back, chin raised high. “Nothing to talk about. We got it out of our systems and can move on.”
I thought it would get easier each time I said it, but the knife in my chest twists every time the lie comes from my mouth. As much as I hate to say it, I doubt I’ll ever get Archer out of my system. And maybe that’s my penance. I chose to fall in love with my husband’s best friend, chose to let myself crave his touch, his lips, and his laughter, and now I’m suffering the loss…again.