Page 27 of Those Two Words

It makes sense why his constant texts and calls stopped now. His silence hurt, but I was also grateful I didn’t have to continue avoiding him. The second I reached out to him after months of ghosting, I regretted it. The text was fueled by anger and heartbreak. I’ll never forget how the news of Patrick becoming a father unraveled all my hard work. It wasn’t his fault; I was barely hanging on as it was. Dad was visiting for Thanksgiving, and I overheard him and Harriet talking. Patrick. Carrie. Pregnant. Baby. They didn’t know I was listening, but it didn’t matter.

Yeah, I didn’t take it well.

I’d convinced myself I’d be returning to Sutton Bay after Christmas—seven months after I left—but gosh, was I wrong. Even without the news of Patrick, I was far from ready. It took two years for me to even entertain the idea of going home, but by that point, I’d found a good routine, a great therapist, and made somewhat of a life out there. I felt too ashamed to go back, plus, there was no way I could watch Patrick raise a family with another woman. I knew my limits.

“I regretted that text the moment I sent it. I wasn’t in a good place, Patrick, and I’m sorry I ignored your calls, but then I found out about…” I gesture toward him, not wanting to volley his own words back at him. You’re the one who moved on.

“That night was a mistake.” He shakes his head vigorously and clamps his eyes shut. “Fuck. No, it’s not, because we have Lottie. I never intended to go home with anyone that night, but I was drunk. Hurting. Confused.”

Guilt rips through me. Of course he was hurting, he’d just lost his dad and his best friend wasn’t there for him. I remember the night he came to see me so clearly, and I know exactly what he saw. Me hugging Davis. But that hug didn’t hold an ounce of attraction or romance. As much as I want to explain who Davis is, he’s too agitated right now and I’m too exhausted.

“I’m sorry I left you to deal with that grief alone. It killed me inside to leave you when I did. Leaving this town. Leaving you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.” The pressure behind my eyes builds, but I hold back the tears.

“Losing my dad hurt, it still does, but that night was fueled by a completely different pain.” He steps closer, the space gradually disappearing until our chests brush. The scent of him surrounds me. Pine and juniper. “I was grieving the loss of you that night. Waiting for you was never a question. I was happy to give you the time and space your family told me you needed, because I was certain you’d come home. To me. But when I saw you with someone else, I took it badly. Drank myself stupid to forget you. But there is no forgetting you.”

“I don’t understand,” I breathe out, the words leaving my mouth in a puff of air. My hand is gripping so tightly onto his arm now, I’m sure I’ll leave a mark. “Why? Why come to see me when I left you and your family during one of the worst times in your lives? Why do you care after all these years?”

There’s no anger, frustration, or sadness in his gaze now. He shakes his head like the answer is obvious. But how could it be?

The pause makes me think he’s not going to answer me. Then I hear three words my teenage heart dreamed of hearing from his lips. Words I never thought I’d hear.

In another universe, another life, I imagined this declaration being whispered to me sweetly. Words I could wake up to in the morning and fall asleep to at night.

They’re whispered, but not sweetly. And they aren’t meant to be spoken in the past tense.

“I loved you.”

thirteen

JOHANNA

Patrick’s confession echoes around us, floating into the night sky. It rattles in my hollow heart, and when it settles, the tears I’ve been holding in trail down my face, and his eyes follow each one with equal agony.

He looks as wrecked as I feel. His confession drains whatever argument or words of persuasion I had to convince him he’s wrong. I think we’re done for the evening, but our unspoken words still speak volumes.

Is he sorry he loved me, and no longer does? Maybe I should be lucky he ever felt that way. Being loved by him once is better than never at all, right? I wonder how he stopped, though. Because for me, loving Patrick Sadler is chronic. No cure for the heartrending love I spent years trying to ignore.

After months of regret, guilt, and doubt over the move to Tennessee, I accepted that my decision meant that my love would never be reciprocated. I didn’t think I would ever see him again. But here he is, standing in front of me, having stopped loving me before I even knew it was possible.

This type of love hurts, but it didn’t always feel like this. It was gentle and soft, like a cool spring breeze. One minute the grassy fields are bare, the next they’re flooded with new life.

I can pinpoint the exact moment my love for Patrick started to bloom.

Smoothing out the layers of tulle on my baby-blue dress, I try to ignore the horde of butterflies taking flight in my stomach.

I’m not much of a girly-girl, that much is obvious considering two of my best friends are boys, and I’ve never been into makeup and all that jazz. But when my mom offered to take me into the city to get my hair and makeup done, I couldn’t say no.

Because tonight is my junior prom.

When Brody Dixon walked up to me as I was about to step on the bus, and asked me to be his date, I couldn’t believe it. He didn’t make a big fuss about it like I’d seen some of the other boys in my class do, but who cares? I had a prom date!

Patrick also looked super surprised, and I was a little bummed he didn’t seem as excited as I was. He just sat there staring out the window for the entire bus ride home.I don’t know if it’s because he didn’t have a date yet or was tired after a long week of school.

My blonde hair is curled in tight ringlets that fall down my back, and a few diamanté clips hold back my bangs. The curls bounce around as I turn in front of the mirror, checking that my dress and makeup are perfect before heading outside. Brody is picking me up in his new truck, and when I check the time, I realize he’ll be here soon.

I swipe one more layer of gloss across my lips, smack them together, and leave the restroom to join Patrick and our parents.

Patrick’s dad wanted to get some pictures of the two of us together at the restaurant. We begged him not to, finding the whole thing embarrassing, but it’s rare you find Ted without his trusty camera. When I walk out and I’m met with a chorus of gasps and coos, my cheeks heat.

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