Page 15 of My Best Years

“You’ve had ten fucking years, Callum.”

Our short interaction has been playing on a loop in my mind since I left the grocery store. I deserved every last word she said. There’s no doubt about that.

But God, I miss her smile. I want to see her smile. Ineedto see it again.

Since I left her, not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about Birdie. Not one day. Selfishly, I’ve wanted to break all my rules and run to her. Hold her in my arms again and tell her that I’m so fucking sorry for leaving the way I did, explaining that I only did it because I love her. But for her own well-being, I’ve prayed to God that she’d never find me.

But after seeing her today, witnessing the pain and sorrow etched across her pretty face, I don’t think I can live withmyself without at least having a chance to explain everything. Whether Birdie wants to hear it or not, she deserves to know the truth.

I want her to know that leaving was the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. Harder than law school. Harder than passing the bar exam. Harder than putting my piece of shit father in his fucking place. Harder than cutting my own brother out of my life.

Leaving Birdie was the most difficult, gut-wrenching experience of all.

I don’t know how I’m going to get her to hear me out, but I would be a fool not to try. I’m not naive—I know there’s zero chance we could work things out. For all I know, she could be in a relationship. Hell, she might even be married.

Just the thought of another man’s ring on her finger has my stomach churning.But if she’s truly happy, that’s all I could ever want for her.

After I abandoned Birdie, I have no right to feel like I have any sort of claim over her. She doesn't owe me anything.

But after all these years, there’s no denying that I’m still hers. Before I was too young to understand it, I was hers. And that will never change.

Even though I let her slip through my fingers, I’m still wrapped around hers.

I wonder if she lives here now? Surely she’s just here on vacation…

My thought is cut short by Ollie—my border collie—crashing into me at full speed, nearly knocking me off my feet.

Ollie the collie.My best bud.

“Ollie,” I chuckle in greeting, reaching down to scratch the black and white fur covering his head and ears.

He opens his mouth, dropping his favorite tennis ball to the hardwood floor. The once neon yellow ball is now brown, butI can’t bring myself to throw it away. I could give Ollie a hundred new balls, and he would still want this damn thing.

When I get home from work, we usually spend half an hour playing fetch. It helps me get my mind off the day and gives Ollie some exercise.

My beachfront house, which is more like a modern bungalow, sits right on the shore. I can walk out of my back door and have my toes in the sand within a few steps. It’s the entire reason I bought this little two-bedroom home. The outside is white and powder blue; the inside is all wooden floors and natural lighting from large windows.

Ollie whimpers, nudging his nose against my leg.

“In a minute, buddy,” I mutter, giving his head another scratch.

One thing has been on my mind since I left the grocery store: Birdie Wren.

I have to find her. I need to know if she’s living here or if I’ll have to make a trip back to Myrtle Beach.

I walk through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the spare bedroom I’ve converted into my home office. I plop down in my leather chair, turn on the computer, and inhale a deep breath.

I promised myself that I would neverdo this. I would never look her up. But here I am, doing what I always knew was inevitable. Searching for her.

Years ago, I created an Instagram account to keep up with my buddies and their families from law school. But after six months of comparing myself to everyone’s picture-perfect families, I deleted it, deciding that I fucking hate social media. It’s such a waste of time and nothing but a highlight reel of people’s so-calledimmaculatelives. It’s incredibly fake and shallow. On top of that, with my career as a lawyer, it’s best that I don’t post my personal life all over the internet.

Since I don’t have any active social media accounts, I take a chance by searching her full name in the Google search bar: Birdie Wren Ambrose.

Cutest damn name on the planet.

The first link that loads has my eyes widening.

Birdie Ambrose, RN

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