Page 96 of For The Weekend
“The other week…I saw a letter she sent you. It was in your kitchen, and I felt… I was heartbroken reading it. For you and Mazie, and for Amy, and after everything that’s been happening with Sloane, seeing the breakdown of her family, I guess…” I blink away my tears, trying not to back down in the face of his contempt. “I was trying to help. I thought maybe if she changed?—”
“Changed?” he interrupts, his laugh bitter and cold. “You think she’s changed because she wrote you a letter? You don’t know her, Eloise. You don’t know what she’s capable of.”
My heart aches at the torture in his voice, but I won’t be made to feel guilty for trying to mend a broken family. “But she wants to be involved. Why can’t you hear her side?”
“Her side?” He throws his arm out, his voice rising to a near shout. “Her side of the story is continually choosing drugs over her own daughter. Over our relationship. Goddamn, Eloise!” He turns in a tight circle, cursing before facing me again. “How fucking naive are you?”
The words burn, but I stand my ground. “I’m not naive. I just believe in second chances. You got one. She should too.”
Roman leans in, his voice a low growl. “And what about your own family, Eloise? How many chances have you given them? How many times have you let them walk all over you?”
I jerk back, shocked by the sudden shift in the conversation. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do with it. You can’t even stand up to your own parents. How the hell do you think you can tell me how to fix my family when you can’t even fix your own?”
I think it would have hurt less if he’d tackled me to the ground.
For the way the air is knocked out of me, it feels like he has.
I stumble back a few steps, my breath lurching as I surrender the fight with my tears.
I’ve always struggled to assert myself with my family, to make them see me for who I am, rather than who they want me to be. But that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of understanding the complexities of Roman’s situation.
I sniff a few times, wiping my cheeks with the backs of my hands. “I may not have all the answers, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. That doesn’t mean I can’t see the love you have forMazie, the sacrifices you’ve made.” I take a deep breath, my voice cracking. “And I don’t know why you’d punish me for trying to help. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it, but I didn’t want to bring it up if nothing came of it. I was only trying to help, and I don’t think…” I clear my throat, blink until my vision clears. “I didn’t think you’d so easily believe I’d hurt you on purpose. I didn’t think you’d throw what you know aboutmyfamily back at me.”
His expression softens for a moment, a flicker of regret in his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “Eloise?—”
I hold up a hand, cutting him off. “You’re not the only one who’s allowed to be angry. You’re not the only one who’s allowed to feel betrayed.”
Silence hangs heavy between us. He lets his chin dip, his attention on the pavement as his jaw works like he’s chewing on his words, and I’m suddenly all out of fight. So I give him the last of my truth. “I thought I loved you. I thought you loved me. But I guess it was really fake after all.”
I can see the impact it has on Roman, the way his face pales, his fists clench at his sides. But I can’t take it back. I’m not sure I want to.
For a long moment, we stand there, watching each other. His shoulders rise and fall with every breath, unaffected by the bitter November chill even as I wear his coat. Meanwhile, I’m freezing, not from the cold but from the space between us. The hole opened up clear through my chest that’s allowing the wind to whip around inside me.
The three feet that separate us might as well be three miles, and I can barely hear him when he speaks again. “I don’t know what to say.”
I bite my cheek, struggling to find my voice in the chaos of my emotion, and I have to clear my throat a few times before I can speak. “I don’t know either.”
Stupid.
This is all so stupid.
How we went from being on top of the world to being buried underneath it.
Or, at least, that’s how it feels for me.
Like I’m clawing through six feet of dirt, losing my grip, gasping for air.
An eternity passes before Roman moves. He steps forward and extends his arm, his hand out toward me, and for a second, I think he’s going to touch my chin. He’s going to pinch it, his thumb and forefinger squeezing, his eyes caught on my lower lip.
I think that’s what he’s going to do, but he doesn’t. His hand lands heavily on my shoulder. “You should go inside. It’s cold out.”
I breathe out a rough laugh at my assumptions. At my fantasies that seem so ridiculous now. Making more of what we had than there was.
And this feels like the end.
I start to take off his coat, though he doesn’t remove his hand from my shoulder, almost like he wants me to keep it on.
