Page 10 of Dreaming of Dawson

“She cheated. Once. Compared to Sabrina, she was an amateur.”

I know he has a point. It’s one we’ve discussed before, on more than one occasion, but that doesn’t alter the facts.

“I still feel humiliated by what she did. I thought we were soulmates…” My voice catches, surprising me, and I look down, avoiding his gaze, struggling against the lump in my throat, but refusing to give in to it.

“I get it,” he says, his voice softening, and I know he does.

“I thought she did, too. I thought that was why we fought for each other… why we had each other’s backs and we always came out on top.”

“It was. I can remember when her mom and dad didn’t want you to go to college together, and the two of you argued that you were old enough to make that decision, and went ahead and did it, anyway.”

“Yeah, and then we had to struggle to afford our tiny apartment.”

“You did it, though, and I admired you for that… working two jobs so Stevie didn’t have to neglect her studies.”

“Yeah. It meant we didn’t see much of each other, but when we did…” I fall silent again, recalling what it was like when I got home late at night. Stevie would often be in bed, but she never used to mind me waking her. She used to welcome me with open arms, and even though I was exhausted, there was something about her that brought me back to life… every damn time.

Tanner smiles, like he understands. “The enthusiasm of youth,” he says, and I know he’s not wrong.

“I guess things got a little harder when my parents died.”

I still find it hard to think about that summer, and how I lost them both within two months of each other. I was close to them, and an only child. It hurt. A lot. Tanner knows that better than anyone. He lost his parents too… although not in quite the sameway. He was there for me when it happened, just like I was there for him, but more importantly, I had Stevie, and she helped me get through it.

“Yeah,” he says. “But you worked it out.”

“I know.” I sigh, shaking my head. “Stevie was amazing then. She’d known them all her life, and I think she felt it almost as much as I did.”

“I’m not surprised. I felt it too,” he says, giving me a smile.

I nod my head, taking it slow, acknowledging the grief that hadn’t been entirely my own.

“She took on so much of the paperwork, going through the numbers, helping me decide what to do with my inheritance, and once we’d finalized the purchase of this place, she forgot all about her ambitions and helped me refurbish it. I’d been playing at getting a degree,” I say, recalling what it had been like all those years ago. “But Stevie really wanted it. She wanted to become an accountant. Dullest job in the world, if you ask me, but I wanted to help her get there. That’s why I worked two jobs.”

“Because you loved her. And that’s why she gave it up for you. Because she loved you, too.”

“She didn’t love me. She loved him.” The guy she left me for… the guy she’s living with now.

“Not back then, she didn’t. You can’t erase what you had at the start just because it didn’t last.”

“Maybe not, but I think it would be easier if I could understand why she left… why she was so willing to erase our history.”

“She said it wasn’t your fault. That has to count for something.”

“Not when her next sentence was that she’d fallen in love with another man.”

He winces, and I remember the look on Stevie’s face as she packed her bags upstairs in our bedroom. She was in a hurry, that much was obvious, but she was still being methodical, not just throwing things into a suitcase, but folding them, while looking over at me, a picture of contrition.

“Why?” I said, from the other side of the bed, my mind in turmoil. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’ve already said.” It was like she didn’t want to say it again, and in a way, I was grateful. It had hurt enough the first time.

“Okay, but why were you even looking at other men? What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, checking the closet and dresser before closing up her bag.

That didn’t really answer my question, and I wondered if she even knew the answers herself. Either way, I’ve never been the kind of man to beg. I’ve never been the kind of man who’d let a woman see me break, either. Not even when my parents died. So I let her go, standing to one side in stoney silence as she walked out of our apartment, and out of my life.

And then I broke, collapsing to my knees, my heart disintegrating in my chest.

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