Page 88 of Those Heartbreak Scars

Chapter Thirty-Three

America

Gray doesn’t come back. Not to talk and not to collect any more of his stuff. I spend the rest of the day hoping he’ll come back, but all my calls and texts go unanswered. They don’t register as read either.

The next morning, it’s time to check out of the Airbnb and he still hasn’t returned. I have to go home and pack for my trip back to the States. I barely have time to pull myself together; my flight leaves tomorrow.

I wade through the morning like it’s wet cement. Every step, every breath is hard. I call and I shower. I text and I pack my suitcase. I find a T-shirt and his cologne in the bathroom and put them in my case because I don’t know what else to do with them.

I leave him a voicemail while I pile my suitcases by the door. Then I call for a ride to the train station.

He would respond if he wanted to. If he had anything to say he would say it. I finally told him I loved him without burying it in another language. It was a big deal. But it wasn’t enough. I don’t know what to do with that.

I walk through each room, making sure I have everything. Delaying the inevitable. He’s not a stray cat who came for the cream. He’s not playing games with me. He won’t be back. There’s no point waiting.

I stop when I notice his watch on the bedside table. I left it there last night when I finally crawled into bed to try to get some sleep.

Striding across the room I pick it up. It’s weighty in my palm. Worn and weathered from long-term use. I told the man I loved him, and it didn’t matter.

Any hope I had that he was getting over Indy is gone. It’s clear that whether he is over her or not, he isn’t over what she did to him. Will probably never get over it.

That’s the only thing that makes sense. My literal answer to his question that wasn’t so literal in the end can’t be the only thing that set him off.

I wrap the strap around my wrist. Its familiarity is a weird comfort to my hurting heart. Once I’m certain that there’s nothing of us left in the apartment, I check my phone to see if he’s messaged.

He hasn’t.

I blow out a frustrated breath. Type in his number and leave another voicemail. “We said we’d stay friends. Promised it, in fact. That means responding to my messages even if we’re not together. At least let me know that you’re okay.”

I hang up.

But that’s not everything I have to say. I punch his number in again. “Considering I’ve loved you since I was fourteen, I think I can handle the rejection of you not wanting to be with me. I get that you don’t see yourself back in Chicago.”

My phone vibrates with a notification. My ride is here.

“I get that you’re scared, Gray. You’re terrified that we could have something real. Indy hurt you, and you’re worried I’ll do the same. But guess what?! I’m scared too.I’m scared that I will have to go on loving you when you don’t feel the same way. Every morning we were together I’d wake up and pinch myself, thinking it was all a dream. I’ve wanted you for so long. When Iwas too young. When I knew I shouldn’t. When I tried to stop. None of it changed how I feel about you.” I sigh as I stride toward the door. “I’ve imagined our future. Taking you home as my boyfriend. The house we’ll grow old in. Our babies. Every single day that I get to wake up and think this man is mine.”

I hang up and pocket my phone. If Gray doesn’t want to talk to me, I need to let him go. I can’t hyper-obsess over him. I can’t force him to be with me. I can’t take responsibility for his inability to get over Indy.

I drag my suitcases out onto the sidewalk. The driver helps me load them into the trunk.

I climb into the backseat and shut my eyes as fresh tears well up. Maybe if I’d told Gray I loved him sooner he could have broken my heart faster.

I’ve loved him too long to get over this quickly. It wouldn’t change the pain that I’m going through or how many tears I’ll cry. I wipe them away as they tremble over my lashes and make one more phone call. “I don’t think I can go back to being friends.”

I drop my phone in my lap.

The rest of the drive passes in a blur as I dissociate. It’s the only way I can shut down my emotions enough to get through the station and onto the train that will take me across the Chunnel. And then I’m surrounded by other travelers, and I can’t possibly break down in front of all those people.

By the time I collect my suitcases I’m exhausted and numb. All I can think about is the quiet solitude of a hot shower, followed by going back to bed even though it’s early afternoon.

The flat is quiet and dark when I step inside. I walk past Dove’s door on the way to put my suitcases in my room. I stop. “Dove?”

A muffled response comes from the mountain of bedding before she peeks out. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.”

“And Gray?”

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