Page 92 of Hold You Close
I toss the letter down and head into my closet. I go to grab a T-shirt only to touch the UNLV shirt that London gave me.
Why? Why is the goddamn universe trying to remind me of her and what we shared? Why can’t I just give her up and not have to feel this fucking pain? I ball the shirt up and throw it across the fucking closet.
I’m doing the right thing. I know this, but I’m fucking dying here.
A car horn honks outside, and suddenly, panic sets in. My heart begins to race and everything becomes clear. London is leaving. She’s going to leave me and I’ll never get her back. There won’t be a second chance or a return home after college. This will be the ending of our story.
I can’t let that be.
I look up at the ceiling. “Okay, I get it! Thank you, Brina!”
As fast as I can, I get dressed, tossing the shirt I threw across the room on and then a pair of sweatpants. I need to get to her and stop her. We have to talk. I practically fly out of the room and barrel to the back door. She can’t leave like this.
The door makes a loud bang as I throw it open, and I hear Morgan and Chris yell after me, but I don’t stop.
I make it across the back lawn and into her driveway only to see a car heading away from her house.
No.
“London!” I yell as I run toward the car. “London! I’m here! Stop the car!”
I see brake lights and stop the sprint, but the car doesn’t stop—it makes a left, and she’s gone.
“Fuck!” I scream and sink to my knees on the pavement. “I fucked it up. I fucked everything up!”
My chest is tight from being out of breath—at least that’s what I’m telling myself. It has nothing to do with the fact that I just lost her or that I don’t know how I’m going to do this without her. How do you live with half a heart? How do you go on when everything you want is gone?
I stare at the corner, hating the car that took her from me, this house, her job, and myself for letting her ever get in that car. She left early, just like I should’ve known she would.
I broke her and now . . . I have to fix us.
In my head, I swear I hear my sister’s voice ask . . . what are you going to do now, Ian?
There’s only one option—I go get my girl.
I fight for her.
Pushing up off the ground, I run back to the house. All three of the kids are staring at me and I point inside. “Go! Get ready! We have to go get her!”
Morgan claps her hands and Christopher has a huge smile.
“Don’t just stand there!” I say as I get closer.
“Right! Yes! Let’s go get Aunt London!” Morgan yells.
Twenty-Two
London
How many tears are too many?
I wonder if you can actually break your tear ducts from overuse. If so, I’m on the cusp.
I cried all night long.
I cried as I threw shit in a bag.
I cried as I stared at his door, wondering if he could feel me begging him to love me.
