Page 100 of When I Had You

Catching up to her, I stop a few feet shy. “Can we talk?”

She turns around, those blues watery and the smile she had for everyone else is gone for me. “In the neighborhood?”

“Nowhere near it, but I thought I’d stop by anyway.”

“Why?” Easing into her anger, she crosses her arms over the green dress that looks striking on her. “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere else in the world right now? Isn’t there a race next weekend?”

“Yes. I leave on Sunday.”

I’m gifted an eye roll, and she looks down at her shoes. I hate when she looks away, but she has the right to the walls that surround her.

Tossing me a bone, she peers up at me under long lashes, and she asks, “What did you think?”

“The most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her expression brightens, a small smile even shaping her lips. “You loved the play?”

“That too.”

A quiet scoff punctuates her chest, but the grin remains. Thumbing over her shoulder, she says, “I should go. It was good to see . . .” A change of heart pivots her words. “Thank you for coming to the show.”

I stare at her, wondering what that text exchange was about if she never wanted to see me again. Frustration sets in as she opens the car door. Still standing in the headlights of the car, I throw my arms out wide. “So that’s it, babe?”

With one foot already in the car, she stops and looks at me over the door. “I didn’t wage this war, so it’s not mine to finish.”

“But you’re in it.” I come closer. “You’re in the middle of this battle, so you have to fight it.”

Both her feet land back on the street, her lips tightening as the fire is lit inside when she stands. “I don’t have to do anything. You didn’t just break my phone. You broke my heart, Cash. It’s up to you to fix it.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” She slams the door closed. “You think saying sorry is enough. It’s not. I can’t forgive you just because you’re ready to be back in my life. You shifted the blame to me under fears of . . .” Planting her hands on her hips, she says, “I have no idea. I don’t know what happened that day. I just knew I was never going to win, so I cut my losses, realizing I had to save myself.”

“Save yourself from what? Me?”

Staring into my eyes, she doesn’t blink. “Yes.”

“You weren’t going to win that day. No one was. Not even me. I lost you because I was afraid to lose my career.”

She reaches for the handle again, staring at it like this is the last time we’ll do this. “Seems you made the right choice. You’re doing better than ever without me.”

Just as she pulls the door open again, I rush closer. “I could say the same to protect myself from the pain of seeing how happy you look without me, but I don’t want to fight with you.” I hold the top of the door, a physical barrier between us, and my heart starts beating for the first time since she left me. “I want to love you through the happy, the sad, successes, and failures. I want to love you through everything, the good and the bad, because no victory will ever replace the feeling of waking up next to you.”

I swear the beats of my heart echo against the brick walls caving in on us. She looks past me and into the flashes of the paparazzi cameras. In a sigh of what only appears to be defeat, her shoulders drop, and she gets into the vehicle. Looking up at me, she says, “This isn’t over.”

“Not by a long shot.”

Doubt is written in her eyes so clearly that it pains me to see. And then she says, “Want a ride?”

“Yes.” I move to the other side of the car and get in, leaving the crowds and paparazzi outside. The car slowly pulls through as theater attendants shuffle people to the sides of the alley.

It’s a few blocks before she says, “I asked him to drop you off at your apartment.”

“Thanks.” It feels different with her in the confines of the car versus the night air to plead my case. I lower my voice and say, “I’m not driving better because you’re out of my life, Marina. I’m placing higher because you were. I now know what true love feels like.”

“I thought I knew because you saw me, Cash. You saw the real me and who I wanted to be. You saw me for who I am. Not the daughter of the Westcotts of Beacon. Not my brothers’ little sister. Not the girl who failed on Broadway. I was never anything until you saw me and loved me for who I am.” A tear slips down her cheek and as tempting as it is to catch it before it rolls off her chin, I don’t. That’s not my place in our relationship right now. But it kills me to see her cry when I could have prevented it. “And then you ripped it out from under me. You took your love and weaponized it. You gave me no choice but to leave.”

I’ve never felt worse, not in the hospital or the tumultuous Terpidy period of my life. Not when I lost my seat on the grid or even when I realized my father never loved me. The pain I feel is worse because of the pain I’ve caused her. “I’m sorry—”

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