Page 138 of The Publicity Stunt
Present Day
HAYDEN
April takes a step toward me, wearing a pink T-shirt and a pair of black jeans, holding a Starbucks cup. Gripping onto it for dear life is more like it.
“So, I went back home to Cooperstown,” I say. “Thought if I could isolate myself from everything that happened for a few days, I’d figure out how to win you back.”
Her mouth twists in a quivering frown. “Win me back?”
I take one step toward her. “For all intents and purposes, I’m here to win you back, April Moore.”
She pauses for a second and a half. Then says, “Very corny.”
I breathe out a sigh of relief. Good. That’s good. She’s making jokes. That has to be good, right? Or maybe just an observation. Regardless, I take another step toward her. “I told you, I won’t stop fighting for you.”
A loud screeching car passes by and both of us turn our heads, watching it drive past. I begin to take another step toward her, but April holds her hand out. “Please … please just stay there,” she says.
I swallow the rock-sized knot in my throat and nod. “I know I can’t just show up like this.” My voice is thick and there’s a heaviness in the center of my stomach. A paperweight holding it down, because I don’t know what the end result of this conversation is going to be. “I should’ve reached out first. Called you. I know this isn’t ideal.”
She nods and the paperweight gets heavier. I wait for the rest of her words. But she says nothing more. There’s burning at the back of my nose, in my eyes, everywhere. I look down at my shoes and take one sharp breath in before looking back up.
I exhale and take a step back. “I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head and looks away, rubbing the corner of her eye.
“Not for the divorce,” I add and she turns back to me. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you about it sooner. And I’m sorry about how you found out,” I clarify. “But I’m not sorry it happened. Or that I married Shara or any of that. I’m not sorry how I chose to fix what you broke. But April”—I say her name like it’s the world’s best-kept secret—“I’m sorry for not taking you to the school dance in eleventh grade.”
Her brows draw close together.
I keep going.
“I’m sorry for not punching Tyler Hockman more than just once. I’m sorry for …” My voice trails off. “I don’t believe in love at first sight. You’ve known that about me since day one. I don’t even believe in love at second sight. But the day I set eyes on you, I swear I couldn’t look away. I instantly knew you were going to matter to me in a way no one else would.”
She presses her mouth into a thin line, her green eyes looking as turbulent and pain-ridden as they did on the steps of that frat house.
“And so I’m sorry for not realizing what I lost until I did. But most of all, I’m sorry for doing it all over again.” My voice quivers. “Maybe things would’ve been different if you hadn’t left. I don’t know. All I know is that I’m still in love with you. And maybe you’ve already fallen out of love with me. I hope not. But either way, I don’t care. I’m here anyway. Because I’m still in love with you.”
I see her catch every bit of that sentence.
“I don’t know where I stand with you,” I say. “I don’t know what I mean to you anymore. But every time I think of you, I want to be with you. When I do dream, you’re all I dream of.”
She looks to the side and shakes her head, and somehow I find the strength in my heart to accept that this might just be where it ends for us. But I keep going. I have to at least try.
“You think I want to fix you. I don’t. Not because you’re not broken …” I swallow my nerves. “I think we’re all a little broken. We all have these tiny cracks inside our hearts that none of us really knows how to fix. When I’m with you, you fill those cracks without making me forget they exist. You fill them up with happiness, with laughter and memories, and, a lot of the time, just straight-up irritation.”
A small burst of laughter leaves her mouth and it’s my favorite sound ever.
“April, you fill those cracks with every inexplicable emotion that exists,” I say and tears start to trickle down my face. “I want to do the same for you. I’m not afraid of how broken you are. Your past is what makes you who you are. And I love who you are.”
She looks at me, eyes teeming with tears. And I stand across from her, not knowing whether this is the last time she’s going to look at me like that.
“But that’s not what I came here to say today,” I continue. “I came here today because I can live without you. I know that. I’ve done it for the past eight years, and even though it didn’t feel like a life worth living, I could do it again.”
I take a step toward her and this time she doesn’t stop me. “I came here to tell you that I don’t want to. I don’t want to live without you, Chere. I don’t want to see what my life could be like without you in it. I don’t want to slow dance in public like a pretentious idiot with anyone who’s not you. I don’t want to bitch about DC to anyone who’s not you. I don’t want to make comic books about anyone who’s not you. I don’t want to pretend I could love someone who’s not you.”
Another step and I take the to-go cup from her hand and set it down on the sidewalk. “Because at the end of the day, what the hell does it matter who I end up with if that person isn’t you?”
She shakes her head and clamps her eyes shut. I hold the tips of her fingers in my hand. In this moment, all I want is to be next to her. Even if she doesn’t want me to be.
