Page 122 of War

I can’t look at him. I can’t see what I’ve done. Can’t face it.

“I’ll fight for both of us. Come on, vicious girl. Now is not the time to give up. Fight for them. Fightwith mefor them.”

“I can’t do it.” I curl in on myself and press a hand over my sternum, willing the searing pain in my chest to abate. “You’re better off without me and my baggage. What’s the court going to say when they find out I’ve been talking to my dead sister for two years? That’s not something a stable person would do. Who would give me a kid?”

“Me.” He pounds his fist against his chest. “I would. I’d give you my child. My children. Please, Ava, don’t give up now. Be vicious for me.Fightfor me.”

I cup his cheeks, and he sags in relief. “You’re such a good father. They deserve you, baby.” I press my lips to his, savoring one last kiss. “I love you. You deserve a partner who’s amazing. Promise me you’ll find someone amazing to raise those babies with you. You’ll do all thethings we talked about. Babies and vacations, all the good, all the fun, all the moments.”

When Tyler places his hands over mine, I make the mistake of looking into those blue eyes of his. I’ll be haunted by what I see for the rest of my life. The man I love, a man with a chip on his shoulder who hides his emotions so well, is crying. Tears crest his lashes and stream down his face. “Please, Ava. Don’t say you love me for the first time as you’re breaking my heart.”

“You’ll find someone. You’ll be happy. Promise.”

He grunts low in his throat. “It’s you or no one. So if you can’t do this…” He pulls me in for a kiss. It’s desperate and messy and filled with emotion. All too soon, he pulls back and speaks slowly, enunciating each syllable, like he’s trying to imprint his words onto my heart. I’d let him if I could. “If you can’t do this, if you can’t fight, that’s okay. I would never keep you if it’s too hard for you. But Ava, you are the only woman I’ve ever loved. The only woman Iwillever love. You’re not damaged. You’re not broken. You’re scarred, but I love every imperfection. They’re what make you who you are. My vicious woman who knows her worth and fought for every ounce of my attention. You deserve a place in this world. You deserve to live the life we dreamed of.”

The tears come faster again until Tyler is nothing but a blur. If I don’t leave now, I never will, so I press my lips to his fingers, kissing each hand, and pull away. Then I grab my purse by the door and leave without looking back.

The problem is, I have nowhere to go.

FORTY-EIGHT

AVA

It’sfunny how when a person’s life falls apart, the most minute details are what float to the surface and get stuck there. That’s the only explanation I have for why, when I leave Tyler’s home, I remember Beckett’s text from hours ago.

So I steer the car in that direction. It’s nonsensical, and I might be turned away, but if I can’t be with the people I love, then it’s the only place I want to be right now.

I glance back at the house and suck in a sharp lungful of air, then send up a prayer, begging whoever is listening to make this easier.

It’s useless.

It’s a lesson I learned when I lost Andrea.

Time may change the way the ache feels, but it never takes it away. Being apart from loved ones, regardless of the reason, if the love is true, honest, and unconditional—like the kind Tyler has given me—is the most painful form of torture.

God, it’s like a knife to the chest, knowing what I’m doing to him. If I truly believe that he loves me that way, how could I put him through this pain? How could I just walk away?

Despite the thoughts swirling in my mind, I press harder on the gas.

Because as much as I love him and would avoid hurting him if Icould, I’m a mother first. Josie has to come first. And she needs him more than he needs me. I won’t be the reason she loses the only family she’s truly ever had.

I know how devastating that kind of loss is. Andreawasmy family.

Sure, our parents were there too, and they’re good people. They did everything they could to keep our family whole. They love me. I matter to them, despite the thoughts my mind conjures up in my darkest moments. But the grief we suffered—the living, breathing kind—altered our lives forever. They grieved my sister even while she was alive, like they knew they would one day bury her.

I didn’t.

Her deathshockedme. I gave her blood, organs, bone marrow, and every dream, laugh, and moment I had.

But I failed. And I’ve yet to accept it. Maybe that’s why I still text her. Or maybe it’s because I spent my whole life sharing every moment with her until two years ago, and now, it’s the only thing I have left. My side of the story. Because her story ended.

A sob racks my body, causing the car to swerve.

Headlights illuminate the road before me, snapping me out of my despair. There’s nothing I can do but keep moving forward.

The blanket is scratchy, yet I pull it up to my nose. Samantha is on a date, but the rest of the girls are at a sex toy store, searching for the rabbit vibrator. My tears are never-ending, but I can’t help laughing when Charlotte makes a comment about how cute the pink vibrator in Carrie’s hand is. When Carrie points out that it’s got a remote, though, I cry harder.

I’m so pathetic. Am I really watchingSex and the Cityand crying over memories of Tyler and his remote?

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