Page 45 of Choosing Forever
“She was sick. Her body just . . . gave out. The fight was long,” I croak.
“She’ll be remembered forever. Not just by you, but by the whole town. Everyone who knew your grandmother loved her.”
Heat slicks up my spine. “Is that why you weren’t at the funeral? Because she was so loved by everyone?”
He pauses. “I didn’t know if you’d be okay with me there.”
“That’s bullshit. She deserved to have you there. You were like another grandchild to her, and you know it. She loved you right till the end,” I snap, chest heaving with pained breaths.
Darren flinches, an invisible handprint blooming on his cheek from the force of my words. “I didn’t know that. How could I? She cut me out the moment you did.”
“She cut you out because I was heartbroken. Worse than that. I was—” I cut myself off, biting my tongue. “Just because she stopped speaking to you doesn’t mean she forgot about you. That woman cared about you so much she demanded watching that fucking grainy video of us on her deathbed. Too many of her last words included you, and where were you when she was being lowered into the ground?”
Stricken by my blows, Darren deflates against the door. His skin is pale, forehead damp as he lets loose a breath.
“She had this idea in her head that we’d . . . that we’d somehow find our way back together. There was more romance in that woman than common sense, but that’s just who she was. A hopeless, lovesick woman too fixated on a broken relationship to see that there isn’t enough glue in the world to fix it. But itdidn’t matter that I thought that. I still sat beside her and listened to her reminisce on me and you despite the pain it caused me because I knew she was going to die. I knew she was going todie, Darren, and I thought that at least you’d be there after she was gone to show her even half the respect she continued to grant you long after what happened between us. Turns out I was wrong. We both were.”
“I’m sorry, Delaney. I didn’t know,” he chokes, the apology catching in his throat.
“You shouldn’t have had to know all of that to show up for her.”
And forme. That day fucking destroyed what little of me I had left and had been struggling to regrow.
“You’re right,” he agrees.
I know I should leave. One shove from me and he’d be jumping out of the way for me to escape this hell of a room. But I stay rooted in place instead, feeling as though I’m sinking into the tile. “Do you even remember the video?”
Darren’s eyes are such a dull shade of brown as he stares at me. “Which one?”
“Prom. She made me watch the old, grainy thing with her all the time.”
“Why? I figured . . . I assumed it was deleted a long time ago.”
I snort. “Yeah, I tried to do that a million times. Grandma refused. She believed I’d regret losing it.”
His brows knit together, discomfort twisting his expression. “She was stubborn.”
“That’s a nice word for it.”
“I’m sorry you had to watch that video.”
“I don’t want your apologies. You can’t staunch heavy bleeding with a single piece of gauze.”
“What if I use something thicker? What if you just let me try?” he offers, leaning away from the door.
His right hand falls to the round edge of the sink as hespreads his fingers over the smooth porcelain. I focus on his blunt nails and then the strain in the back of his hand, veins flexing.
“I’m not interested in building a bridge,” I say, unsure if that’s the full truth or a lie I’m telling myself.
His grip on the sink loosens. His voice betrays a heavy sense of defeat. “Okay, Delaney.”
“I want to leave now, please.”
Like I knew he would, he steps aside without needing to be asked again. I wait until he’s a safe distance from it before passing him. Sucking in a breath at our sudden closeness, I try to make myself smaller to avoid touching him even briefly. That can’t happen again. Especially not in a bathroom where there’s nowhere to hide from my reaction to it.
“I really am sorry for your loss and for not being there to support you at the funeral. Both of you deserved that from me.”
My throat is clogged. I only manage a nod, my attention fixed on the doorknob.
