Page 51 of Dreaming of Dawson

“Maybe not, but if she said it and begged for your forgiveness, would you take her back?”

“No.”

“You mean there are no circumstances under which you’d consider trying again with her?”

“None.”

“That’s a pretty definite answer.”

“I know. I knew right from the beginning I wouldn’t want her back.”

“But you regret her leaving?”

“That’s harder to say. I did at the time, but I don’t now, and I haven’t for quite a while. Even back then, though, even on the day she walked out, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. She didn’t love me enough to want to make our marriage work, and I wouldn’t have wanted her to stay with me if her heart belonged somewhere else. I think that would have made me feel even more second-rate than I do now.”

She sits up again, letting her arm fall to her side and staring right into my eyes, which is a little unnerving considering how exposed I’m feeling right now.

“You’re not second-rate,” she says with so much conviction, it’s hard not to believe her. “But what I still don’t understand is, if your marriage is over, and it’s been over since the day Stevie left – which is essentially what you’re saying – then why don’t you get on with your life? It’s been a while now, so why don’t youdo something positive instead of drinking yourself to death and looking back over something you claim you don’t regret?”

I hold her gaze, just like I wish I’d done upstairs… although this is for a completely different reason. Sure, her words might have been hard to hear, but that doesn’t mean they’re not true. They’re the most honest thing I’ve heard in a long time, and I need to thank her for saying them… for telling it how it is. Tanner’s tried many times, but hearing it from Macy makes all the difference. Is that because she doesn’t know me like he does, and yet she understands me so well? Or is it just because it’s her? I can’t be sure, but I open my mouth, even though I have no idea how I’m gonna start my next sentence, just as a car horn sounds outside.

Chapter Thirteen

Macy

Thank God the cab arrived when it did. If it hadn’t, I think I was in danger of letting the situation run away with me.

The situation and confusion are my only excuses for that last outburst. Plus the fact that I was desperately trying to hide how much Dawson’s words were getting to me. It wasn’t that he was dwelling in the past, or even that he was blaming himself for everything. It was that he’d described himself as empty just moments before, and I hated that. Because it wasn’t true. He’s far from empty, and just knowing how he felt made me want to hug him, to hold his body close to mine and comfort him. This wasn’t about worshipping him anymore, it was about getting him to see he’s worth so much more than he seems to think… because he is.

Except there was still that nagging voice telling me to back off. That’s where the confusion came from. Because backing off was the last thing I wanted to do. So, while I know I should have tried harder to appear indifferent, I honestly couldn’t. I mean, how was I supposed to turn a blind eye when he explained he wouldn’t have taken Stevie back, even if she’d begged? How was I supposed to ignore that? How was I supposed to pretend I didn’t care? Didn’t secretly rejoice? I couldn’t. Despite that goddamn voice.

Which is why the cab’s arrival was timely.

It meant I could leave and put some space between us. He seemed to have more to say, and I felt guilty for walking out, but I couldn’t keep the cab driver waiting. That’s what I said to Dawson… although now, as much as I crave that space, I crave him more.

Which just goes to show, there’s nothing like being contrary.

The snow at Aunt Bernie’s is even deeper than it is in the town, but she’s already cleared a path to the door which is typical of her… never one to be deterred by a minor inconvenience. I sent her a text message once the cab had left the bar, and she must have been looking out for me, because she’s standing by the open door the moment it pulls up.

I thank the driver, giving him a generous tip, and jump from the car into Aunt Bernie’s welcoming arms.

“I’ve been so worried about you,” she says.

“You knew where I was.”

“I know, but this snow…” She glances around, then leads me inside, closing the door behind us. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“Dawson said it was the deepest he’d seen in years.”

“He didn’t mind you staying over?”

“Not at all.”

I don’t mention what happened last night or this morning. It would probably help if I could talk it through with someone, but I don’t think Aunt Bernie is the right someone. If I told her about Dawson’s drinking, she’d probably tell me to run a mile, even though I don’t see it, or him, as a threat.

I just feel sorry for him… and I still want to help.

I kick off my shoes and Aunt Bernie takes my coat and scarf, hooking them up before she leads me into the kitchen. It’s lovely and warm in here, although I don’t think I’ve got time to appreciate it.

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