Page 122 of Harrison's Wedding

That slicing pain is back in my chest as the old wounds reopen. I don’t think that hearing her say that she doesn’t want to marry me will ever get easier.

“That’s understandable,” Brendan nods. “So, what are your current living arrangements?”

“I’m in a rental place, and Harrison is living with Hayden,” she tells him.

Brendan’s eyebrows raise. “You’ve both moved out? Is your old apartment rented or owned?”

“We own it,” I tell him.

At the same time, Heather says, “It’s Harrison’s.”

Brendan looks from one of us to the other. “I see. So, your finances are entangled after such a long time together, obviously. Do you have a plan for the apartment?”

My eyes widen, and I don’t have an answer for him. I can’t imagine selling the apartment, but I also can’t imagine living there without Heather. We could rent it out, I suppose. I could give her half of the rent money.

“We should probably figure that out,” Heather says in a cracked voice.

“This is clearly emotional for you,” Brendan says and hands her a box of tissues.

She pulls one from the box and carefully dabs at her eyes before laughing bitterly, “Yeah, no shit. I love Harrison, but I can’t be with him. It fucking sucks.”

The verbal confirmation that she feels she can’t be with me anymore is stinging. I stare over at the bookshelves and work to fight against tears that threaten to fall.

“So, you’ve thrown yourself into your work since the split. How have you been coping in the last month, Harrison?”

I turn to face him, feeling supremely uncomfortable, and I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. Just trying to live my life. I play music a lot—”

“And you get drunk a lot, too,” Heather says in an accusatory tone.

I turn to look at her, feeling embarrassed at her bringing this up in front of Brendan. “Not that often.”

“Yes, if you call every night ‘not that often,’ I suppose.” She raises an eyebrow at me.

“How often are you drinking alcohol, Harrison?” Brendan asks me.

I don’t want to answer him, but I know that I kind of have to. How oftenamI drinking alcohol? I mean. Well. I drinksomethingevery day. Usually in the evenings.

“Most days,” I admit, not wanting to say that it’s every day. “Hayden and I go out clubbing, so it’s just social drinking.”

Heather scoffs, “I don’t think I’ve seen a picture of you looking sober since October.”

Ouch. I realize that I have been drunk in pretty much every picture in public since the beginning of the charity event the night I was drugged.

“I’m worried about you, Harrison,” Heather says in a soft voice, repeating her sentiment from earlier.

I hate that I worry her, and I wish I didn’t. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, angel.”

I meet her gaze, trying to hide any concerns I might have. Hers are obvious in her expression, and my instinct is to pull her into my arms and soothe her. I want that world. I want the time machine that could fix this. But everything is too broken and can never be repaired.

I can’t stand her hurt, so I look away as Brendan asks his next question. Our session continues with a back and forth about what possible futures we see. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, and the session seems to go in circles.

“Will I be seeing you both next week?” Brendan asks when we reach the end of our hour.

Heather sighs and shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I think that Harrison and I have to work on ourselves before we could ever hope to gain anything from trying to reconcile.”

“That’s actually very sensible, Heather. It was good to see you, and I hope to see you again in the future.” He smiles at her, then frowns at me. “I hope you’re okay, Harrison. It would be good to see you again sometime, too.”

“Sure. Thanks for your help,” I tell him.

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