Page 17 of Could Have Been Us
“And so is this,” I tell him. “Misty was more than just the adoptive mother to me, Jack. While you have gone on and forgotten, I haven’t.”
Anger flares in those gorgeous hazel eyes. “You think I’ve forgotten?”
“Haven’t you?”
“Not a single fucking moment.”
The statement threatens to derail me. “Well—” I stop, trying to gain my composure. “Well, she was my friend, and I’m sad, and I want to pay my respects to the woman who gave me a gift.”
“And that’s fine, but you’re opening yourself up to destroying everything we’ve done this for.”
My breath comes out in a loud huff. “The fuck I am. I already told you I wasn’t going to see her, so what are you so worried about?”
“How about the fact that we’ve sacrificed everything for her. We’ve been fucking miserable for twelve years. When is the last time you dated? When is the last time I had . . .”
My heart begins to race and the question comes out, even though I wish I could stop it. “Had what?”
“Nothing.”
I step toward him. My hand lifting just a fraction before I pull it back. I can’t touch him like that, not the way I want to. The way my body craves him each time he’s near isn’t something I would be able to curb if I gave in to it. I’ve learned to live around a man I love, need, desire more than anything. I have refused to allow myself so much as a whisper of hope that he felt this way, and now I’m confused.
Being around him, watching him smile, and acting like I don’t know what his lips feel like against mine, has been a millimeter away from impossible. I’m so tired of struggling to forget how his eyes were warm as we made love on my birthday.
Jack pinches the bridge of his nose and avoids the question. “I think this is a mistake. What if you see Kinsley? What if she sees you?”
“I’m going to do everything I can to avoid that. Samuel said she was not going to the night service, which is when I’ll go.”
“And again, if she sees you?”
“Then I’ll do what I’ve been doing the last twelve years . . . I’ll lie.”
* * *
The only person I am lying to is myself.
The parking lot of the funeral home is packed, and there’s a group of people by the cars, hugging and dabbing their eyes with tissues.
I look around, hoping to see a little girl with long brown hair and eyes like her father’s just as fiercely as I hope I don’t.
What a fool I am.
I exit my car, smoothing my dress, and draw a steadying breath.
I can do this. She’s not here, and if she is, I need to act casual.
Walking to the door, I keep my gaze down. Misty was a school teacher before she left to raise Kinsley. I will just use that as my reason if anyone asks who I am.
When I enter the room, there are almost a hundred people milling around. There are some wiping their eyes and others smiling. I’d like to imagine they’re remembering stories of Misty.
I get in line, still keeping my head down as I move closer to the casket. There, on thick velvet chairs in the front row, sits a man, staring at the casket. Samuel’s grief is so deep that I feel it in my soul.
When I get up there, I rest my knees on the hassock and look at the woman who has meant so much to me.
“Oh, Misty,” I whisper, ensuring no one else can hear me. “I’m so sorry. I wish I had told you more times how much I loved and admired you. I should’ve thanked you more for all you did. There is nothing I can ever say that would be enough.” I lift my hand to my lips and then place it on the edge of the casket. “Goodbye, my friend. Please watch over us all.”
I push to my feet and make my way to Samuel. When he sees me, he stands. “Stella.”
I give him a sad smile as tears brim against my lashes. “I’m so sorry.”
