Page 110 of This Life and All the Rest
I’d given up on Macon. I’d cut ties with my family. Sam and Aunt Becca said they would support me no matter what.
I thought I’d made up my mind. I was almost out of the first trimester.
But, in the end, the choice was made for me.
And deep down, I still don’t know how I feel about that.
“When,” Macon asks, and I laugh. It’s painful and haunted. The moment our eyes connect, his face reflects how I feel.
“On my birthday.”
God, I hate this month.
Four years ago, I spent the first part of July anxious and terrified.
I spent the last half drowning in grief so thick, I didn’t recognize it until years later. I’ve spent every July since trying my best to ignore it and make it to August.
When Macon found me in that alley behind the pub in London, I’d finally decided to say fuck it all. Sam had just left for school, and I had assured her I was fine, but I lied.
I wanted to forget everything. Erase everything.
Things got worse before they got better, but I’ll always hate July.
I watch as Macon runs through everything in his head, as he wars with himself. Then I watch as he shuts down. He takes a slow step toward me, then another.
“Lennon,” he whispers, but I put up a palm, halting him.
“Don’t. It’s over.”
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone.”
His voice is soft and shaking, and it hits me in the chest. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose.
“I wasn’t alone,” I force out. “I had Sam. I had Aunt Becca.”
“You should have had me,” he says, and I open my eyes and lock them with his.
“Yeah, I should have. But I didn’t. And nothing is going to change that now.”
His eyes flutter shut; his face full of anguish.
“Lennon,” he says again, and his voice is a shaky whisper.
I wait to see if he’ll say anything else. I give him one breath, then two, then three, before my heart falls to my feet.
“Just go, Macon. Just go.”
He stays quiet, and I keep my eyes shut until I hear his car drive off down the street. Once he’s gone, I collapse to the ground in tears.
Franco’s arms wrap around me, his familiar scent calming my nerves, and he rocks back and forth, whispering soothing words in Italian and French.
This isn’t how I wanted to tell Macon.
I don’t know if I ever wanted to tell him, but I definitely didn’t want him to learn about it like this.
Two hours ago, I was thinking about all the ways we could maybe make it work between us. But now? Now I know it’s impossible.
There’s too much damage. I can never forgive him for sending me away, for leaving me with nothing, and from the look on his face when he left, he knows it, too.
