Page 89 of Love in Training
Drew pauses on his way to the door, but doesn’t answer. I look at the dog, staring at me with those golden eyes, like some window straight to my broken heart.
And what’s left of it ices over.
“You know what?” I say, not giving myself time to think. “If that’s the case, you’d better take the dog with you.”
At this, Drew turns and looks at me. “I don’t want?—”
“No.”I stop him. “We’re not thinking about what we want, we’re thinking about Kyle.” I pick up the leash, the food bowl, and some random toys, piling them into Drew’s arms. “Kyle clearly wanted to punish me. He knew I loved him, so he abandoned me. He knew I hated dogs, so he fucking willed me one. He probably knew I’d care about you, so—” My voice gives out as hot, fat tears break free down my cheeks.
“Caprice—”
I pull away, whispering. “Just take him. You got what you wanted, Drew.”
Out the window in front of me, the mountains glow with golden morning light. I wish it were still dark and raining and lessdawn of a new day, but I’d rather suffer the beauty than risk looking at the man or dog behind me. Drew says nothing, but after a moment I hear him moving around. My throat closes up when I recognize the rattle of Rufus’s tags as he jumps off the couch. The light click of his leash being clipped to his collar. I squeeze my eyes shut at the sound of my door opening, two sets of feet passing through it. And finally, when it clicks closed, all the air is sucked out of my chest.
I turn to face my empty apartment, with its giant dog crate, half-eaten couch, and half-assembled obstacle course. And me, standing alone, clinging to a sheet still fresh with sex and longing.
I sink to the floor, wrapping my arms around my body, trying to hold myself together.
The pieces of my heart broken three times over.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
My mom hateswhen I drive my Vespa on the highway. Any time she finds out I’ve done it, she rails off horror stories and safety statistics, drawing a bleak picture of how dangerous it is and reminding me I’m the only daughter she has. But when I show up at her house Sunday afternoon, windblown, with snot and tears stuck to my face, she presses her lips together and makes me a cup of tea.
We sit at her kitchen table for over an hour. I don’t have to say much. My mom has always been perceptive. By the time we’ve finished our second cups, I’ve used up half a box of tissues and she’s clear on everything that matters.
“I just never thought I’d miss the damn dog,” I say, clutching my hands in my lap because my inclination is to reach for the soft fuzz on his ears. I hate that my fingers actually ache from not being able to do this.
My mom reaches for me, squeezing my hand instead. “I’d be willing to bet you never thought you’d miss a Forbes again either.”
I cut her a look, but her gaze is steady.
“I’ll be right back. I need to get something,” she says, letting go of my hand and slipping toward her bedroom. She’s probablygetting out the home pedicure kit. Our go-to pampering when either of us is under stress. I stare at the bottom of my mug, waiting for her to bustle back carrying the Epsom salt and plug-in foot bath.
But when she glides back in, there’s only one small item in her hand. An envelope that she places on the table in front of me.
I take a breath, staring at my name written in Kyle’s straight, neat handwriting.
“I’ve held on to that long enough.” She doesn’t sit back down with me, but picks up her keys and crosses to the kitchen door. “I’m going to run some errands. Call if you need me.”
When she’s gone, I carry the envelope into the living room and wrap up in a blanket on the couch where Kyle and I first kissed—and did even more exploring. I bring the envelope to my face and inhale. It smells like paper, not like him. But I still savor that he touched it. That he wrote this and put it together with the same hands he touched me with.
Then I open his letter.
Caprice—my love,
I’m sure by now you’re plenty pissed at me. Theo too. Your mom. Everyone else. For what it’s worth, I’m mad at myself for not figuring this out sooner. I’m sorry.
You aren’t going to want to hear this, but I want you to know I’m making this choice because I love you. Because while I was lying in bed, trying to imagine us at the churchtomorrow, starting a life together, all I could think about was how much pain I’ll cause you. How much I’ve already caused.
It’s not just you moving across the country, away from your mom, your job, your friends—everything that enriches you. It’s why you’re doing it. Holding me up, keeping me going. The way you always have. You’ve literally made my life worth living the last ten years when no one else could. But what have I done for you except induce stress and worry? It’s time I fight on my own.
I’m not an idiot. I know this is still going to hurt you. But only for a short time—not forever. I hope you’ll understand one day. I hope you’ll move on and find the things that bring you joy. It gives me peace thinking about the beautiful life you’ll live. You’ll always be the best thing that ever happened to me.
I love you,
