Page 75 of The Finish Line

“You still love me,” he whispers, watching my face intently. “But you don’t want to love me anymore,” he says mournfully before brushing his thumb over my lips. “Tu es si belle.” You’re so beautiful. “I never thought I’d find you, and when I did, you weren’t mine.”

I shake my head. “I hate how admitting it feels, and I wish you would stop making me, but I’ve always been yours.”

“But you really loved them.”

I nod. “Tell me what you need to tell me, Tobias.”

“These things I think about? Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“You promised.” There’s a warning in my voice.

“Which admission do you want?” His brows furrow into a deep v. “That I’m scared that every day I wake up with you, every time I fuck you or make love to you, I’ll feel guilty. That every day I live this life with you, I’ll hate myself a little more.”

“You can’t—”

“The more I try to let go, the more my head refuses to let me. There’s so much you don’t know. Most of my life I lived without you. Thirty-one years of life I lived without you, and my brother was there, my brother,” he swallows, “he was with me for most of that time... I can’t move on from that. Dom...” he chokes on his name, and it cracks my heart. He’s still grieving as though he just lost him. “There’s no escaping it.”

“What are you saying?”

“How different would this have all turned out if I would have just fucking listened to them?” His voice is tattered when he speaks. “You have to think about that. I know you do. About the future you would have had with one or both of them if I wasn’t in the way. It kills me that you might still think about that. Dream about it. I can’t... this feeling, Jesus Christ, this jealousy I still feel at times. It eats at me. I saw how you loved them, and I still did it, I did it. I forged my way in, purposefully, as the man in your life because that’s how much I wanted you. Brothers be damned, everyone be damned. And you know what that did? It damned everyone, including us.”

He lifts his chin defiantly, and it’s clear his nemesis is staring back at him in the reflection of my gaze. “Maybe I shouldn’t want your forgiveness. Maybe I need you to continue to punish me. Because I don’t deserve the pardon, Cecelia. It’s fucking wrong that I get you, while my brother rots in the ground.” He gathers some of the scattered pages from the floor with his free hand and lifts them between us. “Maybe I hate this—” he crushes the pages in his hand—“because it’s the truth.”

“Did you finish it?”

“Yes.” He shakes his head. “I want to give you a better story. I just wish I could give you a better man. My brother was the better man.”

“Tobias—”

“Just tell me if I’m too late, tell me the truth.”

“The truth? All the good admitting the truth got me with you before,” I snap.

“It got me here!” he roars. “It got me here. But I want the ugly, Cecelia. I need it. Fucking tell me, so at least I know where I stand with you.”

“You have never dealt with honesty well, Tobias.”

“I need it!”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m miserable! You called me out for being a coward. Pot, kettle, Cecelia. Stop backing away from this.”

“You’re unforgivably selfish! Is that what you want to hear? And maybe I don’t want to forgive you for the years I spent crying for you, dreaming about you, or for the hell I endured eight months ago, begging you to see what was so fucking clear to the both of us. You sent me away to ease your own guilt, pain, and fears, never taking into consideration how much I suffered alone—or if you did—it wasn’t enough to keep you from hurting me again. If you’re unforgivable, it’s for that. And what you’re doing right now is equally as selfish.”

“I know that, Cecelia, but there are no magic words. There are no gestures grand enough or deeds good enough to make up for what I’ve done to him, to you, to Sean. I couldn’t figure out how to work my way around it then to get back to you, and I can’t figure it out now. So, maybe I need you to keep punishing me,” he chokes out. “Maybe it’s the only way I’ll be able to live with myself. I’ll endure it every day for the rest of my fucking life just to be with you. I’ll do anything,” he chokes again, “and we can joke about this situation, but this is truly hell for me. I love you, Cecelia, but it fucking hurts.” His eyes droop, and he lets out a defeated sigh. Scrambling for the words he just confessed doesn’t make a difference. I inevitably come up empty as he lowers his eyes and studies the back of my hand, stroking his thumb along my skin before pressing his lips to it. “Will you lock the door three times if I go to sleep?”

“Yes.”

Relief sags his shoulders as he sinks back against the cabinet and releases the pages, which scatter to the floor. “Thank you.” He begins to fade out, his head lolling, as he slides further down the door.

“Tobias,” I nudge him, and his eyes open briefly before they lose focus. “Oh no you don’t. Good God, you crazy French bastard, at least help me get you to bed.”

After much effort, between comatose steps, a few scary dry heaves, and some unintelligible French, I manage to get him face down on my bed before I set off to start repairing my kitchen.

On my way back from the bedroom, I spot the new chessboard in the living room sitting next to the fireplace. Dozens of roses in different shades are arranged in vases and mason jars throughout. His intentions for our night clear. He wants us back. And the stinging truth in my throat tells me the feeling is mutual, but after so many years apart—in a way, a lifetime—I still can’t summon myself to open up completely after the way he let me leave so easily the last time we parted. Hovering over the board, I inspect the new pieces, the set almost identical to my father’s. Setting the king back down, heart heavy, I make my way into the kitchen.

I’m halfway done cleaning when Beau whines to be set free. It’s when I open the back door that my breath catches, and my heart bottoms out. Strung high above my garden are lights intricately woven across the yard and secured by wooden posts. And they aren’t just any lights. They brighten and dim, an unmistakable twinkle in pale yellowish-green.

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