Page 70 of Secrets That Bind Us
Today, tomorrow, he’s right. We’re forever. And maybe I’m crazy too, for falling in love with the boy with blue eyes and freckles when I was eight, and then sixteen, and then eighteen, and even now. Because I ammeantto fall for him, over and over again – in this life, in the next, we’re eternal.
Denying it does nothing but hurt the other, and I’m done trying to fight it.
So tired of holding back.
So tired of being numb.
I’m so tired of living this life without him.
So I go after him, my steps weak, legs wobbly, heart thumping against my ribcage, but I know if I let him leave now, I know if he goes, we won’t fix this. And that’s the last thing I want.
So I chase after the man I loved before, now, forever with nothing but my heart on my sleeves, ready to make a fool of myself, because in the end, I know I didn't come back for a wedding. I didn’t come back to flip this house and sell it, not really. I came back for the boy who stole my heart and never gave it back.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dean
Present Day
As soon as the sound of cicadas was loud in my ears, and the warm early September breeze hit me, I regretted it all.
IhatedMicah Henderson with a passion. Everyone knew it. I never hid it. And when he took my girl away from me while I was, healing like the fucking snake he was, I swore I’d kill the motherfucker myself. Then again, I never truly healed, did I? She was my girl first. My only one. To know she carried my child, and he helped raise her because she had no other financial means when I had sixty-five thousand dollars at my disposal? Fuck, that hatred reared its ugly head back and became a jealous whore.
Now, while I’m still standing on her back porch, fireflies lighting up in the distance, dancing their life away, I understand it.
She chose him because he wassafe. He was safe in all the ways I wasn’t as a teen. I was a reckless adrenaline junkie that partied like there was no tomorrow.
They painted and went to art shows and museums together.
I wanted to race and made her stay on the sidelines when she begged me not to because it was too dangerous.
He chose to take her to foreign film festivals.
I wanted to party, and Micah fucking Henderson played the guitar for her.
I wanted to be drafted to the NFL, and travel the continental US, she wanted to write the next bestselling novel, living in New York City and all that came with it.
I almost scoff at the realization that all of her dreams came true by playing it safe… and none of mine did.
I did so many things wrong concerning her, and even though Micah manipulated so many situations, he must have done something right. Because he got my girl.
Never again.
It took losing her and six months of physical therapy for me to get my shit together. Another six to graduate late. Then I spent my time working on old motorcycles at my uncle’s shop for a while before realizing it wasn’t what I wanted to do. So after saving up all the extra cash I could to get to her, and begging Zoey to give me her address, not to mention having to practically kiss her ass in the process – I was finally able to.
When I saw her with him, God, I should’ve at least looked in the stroller. I should have made my presence known. I should have doneanythingother than catch a cab and go directly back to the hotel to gather my things and leave with my tail tucked between my legs.
When I came back to Adelaide, I had to face all the realities I hadn’t wanted to. I didn’t get a scholarship to go to college; I didn’t keep racing because it took forever to overcome my PTSD from that night. Hell, I couldn’t join the Marines so soon after my injuries, which was my failsafe. So eighteen months after coming back from New York and graduating community college, I finally caved and joined the police academy like my dad.
I wasn’t completely unhappy with my life, but no matter what I did there was always something missing. Someone. And it always came back to her.
The same reason why women in my bed felt and smelt wrong. I had to stop bringing them home altogether, going for their place instead so I could dip when I was done. And those were so few and far in-between. And only after finding out she was married.
I made my life, just like she did. Except now we’re literally right back where we started, only a decade apart, and it feels likefate, not death, that brought her back to me.
“Dean.”
My name on her lips has always sounded like a distant prayer meant for my ears only, and I wonder if this is what it’s like forGod–if there is one–when we call out to Him?
