Page 161 of Meet Me at the Metro

“Talk to me. What’s wrong, huh?” Theo’s hands smooth my hair away from my wet cheeks and snotty nose. “Talk to me.”

Here he was, taking his turn at keeping me together.

“It’s my fault,” I sob. “It’s all my fault. This would have never happened if not for me. I’ve brought so much trouble into your lives, and I am so sorry, Theo! I’m so fucking sorry.”

He pulls me tighter against his chest. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I do! I have everything to be sorry for! John would have never even been there tonight if not for me. Harvey wouldn’t have gotten shot! He wouldn’t be fighting for his life if I hadn’t ever come into the picture! He wouldn’t have ever gotten hurt! It’s my fault!”

“It’s not, baby,” he soothes, wiping at the tears beneath my eyes. “I promise you, it’s not.”

“It is,” I whimper, feeling every remnant of my strength crumbling. “It is.”

“I know you may have convinced yourself that, but it’s not. You can’t blame yourself.”

Theo draws my chin up to look at him, and even with all the forgiveness promised in his eyes as they peer into mine, I still can’t find that same grace for myself.

“How can I not?”I snivel, feeling the claws of blame and guilt tighten around me.

“Because you wouldn’t have the same inclination if it were anyone but yourself.”

Those words strike a chord in me, and I find the capacity in me to consider them.

“I used to blame myself a lot for what happened to my dad, Nora. I used to consider everything I could have done differently and wonder if any of it would be enough for him to still be here. Blaming myself became the easiest way to cope with it all. I would convince myself he might have lived if I had gotten to him sooner. Some days, I still find a way to blame myself for his death somehow.”

I shake my head and force my tears away. “That’s not fair of you to do to yourself. That’s just cruel.”

“I know,” he whispers, giving me a wan smile. “So stop doing the same thing, darling. Stop being cruel to yourself.”

“I don’t know how to handle the guilt, Theo. I don’t know how to ignore it.”

He holds me for a moment, quietly considering my words. Then, voice shaking, he asks, “Can I tell you something?”

I glance up and attempt to decipher all the emotions swirling in his pained eyes. “You can tell me anything.”

My heart pounds with anticipation, my emotions still heavily weighing over me. Nothing could’ve prepared me for what he says next—when he finally summons enough courage to confess, “I want to tell you about my dad.”

40

DESERVING TRUTHS

T H E O

Aserene stillness blankets Nora and me as I lead her through the quiet graveyard on the outskirts of London. The grass is wet beneath our feet as we walk past the rows of new and old headstones, and for the first time since I’ve visited Dad’s grave, I don’t find myself dreading it.

I can’t explain it, but right now, with her beside me—even in the absence of words—I feel at peace.

The sky is a dark mass above us, accompanying us like an old, familiar friend as we weave through the memorials of once-living souls. Usually, I’d find myself hating this walk, dreading every languid step I took that put me closer to facing the nightmare that was my father’s death, but this time was different. With Nora beside me, this walk felt like a sense of closure.

“Almost there,” I say quietly, naturally pulling Nora’s body closer to mine.

She’s shivering against me but hasn’t dared complain about being cold—stubborn thing—so I wrap the jacket I offered her outside of the hospital tighter against her shoulders and hope it’s enough to warm her. I wouldn’t make this trip long, but I needed her to know the truth about my dad. I couldn’t bear keeping it from her any second longer.

Nora, of all people, deserved to know it.

The silhouette of a willow tree appears ahead.I nod toward it, somehow managing to hold my composure together as my eyes adjust to the shadows and find the grave lingering beneath it.

Nora remains quiet as we reach it, and I watch her as she reads over the words engraved in the thick, gray stone.

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