Page 41 of Fragments of You

“Of course.” She puts the car in park.

“Will you check on him?” I reluctantly ask. I don’t need to clarify who. She knows exactly who I’m talking about.

“I will.”

“Okay.” I nod once before unbuckling my seat belt and quickly climbing from the car.

Chapter Ten

Paisley

THE DRIVE UP NASH’S driveway feels so much farther than the last time I drove down it all those years ago. Maybe it’s because I have to go extremely slow to avoid busting a tire on one of the many potholes that pepper the gravel path, or maybe it’s because I’m so nervous I feel pretty confident I might have to pull over and expel the contents of my stomach at any moment, and I’d like to do so before I can be seen from the house.

I’ve talked myself in and out of this for days, not able to decide if coming here was something I needed to do or simply something I wanted to do. I can’t deny that I still love Nash—I think that’s pretty obvious to everyone—and while a part of me is so desperate to hang on to what we had, the other part of me knows I have to find a way to let him go.

That has never been more apparent than it was yesterday when I finally sat down with Felix. We hadn’t gone a day without talking in four years, but after what happened at the store, I needed some time to think. But when I pulled up at his house, seeing how miserable he looked—like he hadn’t slept a wink in the three days I had been silent—it broke me in a way I didn’t know I was capable of breaking anymore. And it made me realize something very important... I never want to see him that devastated ever again.

That is why I find myself here because I know this has to end. The only way that is going to happen is for me to find peace with what Nash did, and in order to do that, I have to be willing to listen to what he has to say and not just listen, but actually hear him.

After what Iris said, I know this isn’t going to be easy. I know hearing the truth, especially from his lips, will likely gut me, but it’s the only way I can think of to let him go, and maybe for him to let me go too.

I glance at the shoe box sitting in the passenger seat. The one that contains hundreds of letters I wrote Nash the first two years he was gone. I never expected to have him read them, but I think he needs to not only tell me his story, but to know mine as well, and I couldn’t think of a better way to show him than to let him read it in my own words as it was happening.

And while none of this will be easy, I have to stop replacing the Band-Aid and find a way to heal the wound once and for all, for all of our sakes.

When the old, rickety house comes into view, a sense of nostalgia I wasn’t prepared for engulfs me. For the better part of a decade, I hated this place as much as I loved it. I loved it because it was where Nash was, but I hated it because I couldn’t save him from what happened inside of it.

It’s an unsettling thing, knowing someone is in pain but being unable to do anything to stop it, at least not without betraying Nash, and that is something I never would have done.

My hand trembles as I put the car in park, my eyes still locked on the faded siding and broken shutters. It looks almost untouched by time, and yet, time has continued to pass just the same. For some reason, the thought causes tears to prick the backs of my eyes.

Quickly blinking them away, I pull in a deep breath and kill the engine, unfastening my seat belt before grabbing the shoebox next to me.

“It’s now or never,” I murmur aloud, climbing from the car.

With every crunch of gravel beneath my feet, my heart rate spikes, feeling like it’s beating in my throat rather than in my chest where it belongs.

I’ve just taken the first of three steps that lead to the porch when the front door swings open, the sight of Nash in a dirty white T-shirt, hair sticking to his forehead, his skin slick with sweat stealing my breath in an instant.

“P...” My name is like a song on his lips, and it takes me aback how relieved he seems to find me standing on his doorstep like he was prepared to wait his entire life for this very moment.

I can’t easily put into words the array of emotions I feel right now.

“Hi, Nash.” My voice sounds like it doesn’t belong to me as it reaches my ears. “I hope it’s okay that I came unannounced and without invitation.”

“No invitation is ever needed. I’m just happy to see you. How are you feeling?” He gestures to the left side of my head, and without even realizing I’ve moved, my fingers graze the scab behind my ear.

“I’m fine.” I quickly drop my hand.

“I’m so sorry he did that to—”

“It was an accident, and it was more my fault than anyone’s, and that’s not why I’m here.”

“Why are you here?” He runs a hand through his hair, and for a brief moment, the sight of his bicep muscle bulging with the movement strikes me.

“I, um...” I shake my head. “We need to talk.”

“We do,” he quickly agrees.

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