Page 136 of Happy After All

“So don’t,” he says. “Don’t do it again. Not for me, not for anyone. Don’t do it again. Protect yourself. That’s ... If we only get one chance at love, then we only really have to have our hearts broken one time.”

“That’s not true,” I whisper. “It just isn’t. Because your heart can break in a thousand different ways. When the sun rises too beautifully, or a child that isn’t yours cries. When you drive by a house that you’ve never lived in, but you wish that you did, or you see a life that makes you ache, even though it could’ve never been yours. When you hear asong that breaks your heart. When you look around at what youdidn’tdo. It hurts so much more than any of the things you did. Because life goes on. And on and on. There is nothing you can do to protect yourself if you actually want to live and have there be any point to it. Your books are so good, Nathan. You put all this great emotion into them. You put your belief in heroes and put goodness into those stories because it’s who you are. If you cut yourself off, you’re not going to be able to feel it anymore. Maybe that’s what you want.”

“It is,” he says.

“Why,” I ask. “Why? When you could have ...”

Everything.I realize I’m calling myself everything. I feel like what he and I have just might be the brightest, most brilliant star in the sky. When I feel him withdraw, when I realize he’s going to turn away, I understand. I had thought a while ago that we might only ever have a happy ending of a kind. I told myself that to comfort myself, but for me that’s never going to be a happy ending.

It’s bullshit.

Continuums are bullshit.

I want him to be my happy ending forever, and anything else just feels sad.

Yes, knowing him made me better.

No, I’m not going to go right back to that devastated place.

But I hate this.

“I’ll say this,” I begin, “from one person who has known real loss to another. You have got to accept that this is your life. Maybe it doesn’t have to be with me. Iwishit was. If you don’t love me enough ... Hell, Nathan, maybe you had a love that was so much better than ours, so you can never feel it again if it’s not big enough. I understand that. So maybe I’m feeling all of this alone, but someday, you’re going to arrive at this moment again, and maybe it won’t be with romance, but it will be with something. Something that pushes you past this protective little cage you put yourself in. I want you to remember this then. This is yourlife. It can be beautiful. You can honor her not just by putting out a book about her life. You can honor her by living yours.”

His face is hard like granite, and I see all my heroes in his green eyes.

I see everything he’s done to prove to me he could be mine.

“You caught Gladys when she fell,” I say, my voice trembling. “You rescued Wilma’s necklace and fixed the washing machine, even though they faked that. You danced with Wilma when she asked, you were a donkey for the kids.” A sob climbs my throat. “I have never met a man who tried so damn hard to not be the hero of the story. You could be the hero, if you were just brave enough.”

Then I’m the one who turns away from him. I said everything I needed to say, everything that exists inside me. It’s not closure, because it’s going to take a long time for me to get closure from this. In these stolen moments over the last few years, Nathan Hart has made me feel more than any other man ever has.

If I was confused about love, I’m not now.

I’m also strong enough to walk away because he’s not giving me everything. I know what I want. I’m not asking him for everything; I’m just asking him to try, and he won’t do that, so there is no more conversation to have.

He doesn’t stop me. He doesn’t call out for me. When I stumble out of the grove of trees, I run into Elise and Ben, who are in fact making out underneath some mistletoe.

“Well, it’s about damned time,” I say.

Then I burst into tears.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The Dark Moment—the part of the story where all is lost.

I am devastated.

For the first time, Nathan does online checkout. He leaves early. I’m both relieved and upset by it.

I wish I could talk to him again. I wish I could be with him again. Instead, I open the door to room 32 and sit on the edge of the bed for a long moment. This was his room. I thought maybe I was in a romance novel. All the tropes were there.

I tricked myself, honestly. I thought,Great, time to start writing a new story,and I was so sure I knew what genre I was in.

But as angry as I am, I immediately check myself. More has changed in me for the good in the last few weeks than in the last three years. I can’t deny that. I can’t deny that he was instrumental in it.

At the same time, I want to be wounded, and furious. At the same time, I want to feel like everything is over.

It feels like it might be.

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