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It’s true. I do like to watchSurvivor, and right now Zak is voting me off the relationship island of security and happily ever afters. I swallow back the hurt pooling in my stomach, threatening to rise up my throat and cause a panic attack. The last thing I want is to have to ask for a brown paper bag so I can get my breathing under control.
Nothing’s more unattractive than hyperventilation.
“Does Genessa like to party?” My voice sounds small.
“She does.”
We’ve already established that she likes the ABCs of exercise.
“Meg…” He lets out a deep breath. “If I’m being honest, I think I just…I don’t love you anymore.”
There it is. The big kahuna. The five words that punch into my chest and rip out my heart.
I drop my chin. “So what are you saying?”
I know what’s he’s saying. He’s saying he doesn’t love me anymore, but what does thatmean?
“I think we should break up.”
Tears drip down my face, and I hate it. Normally, I would be strong enough to sit next tomy boyfriend and pretend like his hurtful words aren’t crushing me, but it’s been a hard year, and I’m so freaking fragile there might as well be ahandle with caresign plastered across my forehead.
“Meg, I’m sorry to do this to you right now. I wanted to wait a few more months before I said anything so you could grieve your mother’s death.”
Is that supposed to be comforting? Because it’s not.
“How long have you been planning to break up with me?” I ask, fully aware that I don’t want to know the answer.
Zak’s shoulders drop. “Since right around when your mom got sick. I thought I would give it a few months, but then she died three months later, and I couldn’t tell you things were over right after her death.”
I close my eyes. My mom got sick seven months ago.
Wow.
Zak hasn’t loved me forsevenmonths?
It’s another knockout blow. And this time, I’m not sure I’ll get up off the ground.
To top it all off, I’m an ugly crier. So here I am, sitting on Zak’s couch, doing my best Kim Kardashian ugly cry. I just wish Tessa wasn’t always so dang right about men and relationships.
CHAPTER2
TYLER
Ican go anywhere I want.
Krew’s at a birthday party, and the Friday night possibilities are endless, but where do I end up? The cemetery, staring at Kristen’s headstone. It’s been eighteen months, three days, and—I look down at my watch—fourteen hours since the car accident. That should be enough time to find something better to do than torture myself by visiting her grave every free second. I guess I like pouring salt on the wound. Feeling the sting is better than feeling nothing at all.
I look around. The place is empty. I’m sure talking to dead people is normal and no one will think twice about it if they see me, but I whisper just in case.
“We beat the Hitmen six to four.” I keep my voice low. “Krew pitched and did great. He had nine strikeouts total. After he struck out the third kid in a row, he turned to me in the dugout and said, ‘Wow. I’m throwing heat.’” I laugh as I think back to the moment earlier that day. “I don’t think the first base coach appreciated Krew’s cockiness. I can’t stand that coach, so I’m glad Krew said it. It reminded me of you. Besides, he’s only seven years old, so I think his confidence is okay.”
I sigh. “Right? Or should I have told Krew to stop being so cocky?” I shake my head. “I don’t know what the heck I’m doing. It’s tough parenting without you. I’m doing everything all wrong.”
My eyes drop to Kristen’s picture on the right side of the stone. It’s not my favorite of her—she has on a little too much makeup for my taste—but it was her favorite of herself. The last thing I wanted to do was pick the wrong picture to put on her headstone. Can you imagine? As soon as I pass through those pearly white gates above, she would absolutely chew me out. I can’t remember when or where the picture was taken. I wish I could remember details like that.
Even though it’s not my favorite, she still looks beautiful. Her brown hair waves around her face perfectly, her brown eyes sparkle, and her crooked smile invites you to come closer, like she has a secret she wants to tell you.
Man, I miss her.
