Page 86 of Lavender and Lightning

“We have to. Every step we’ve taken to try to protect her has only served to push her away. If she wants to go, then so be it. We can’t force her to be with us,” Lex goes on.

And somehow, those flat, emotionless words strike deeper than anything before. Because she’s right. And I hate her for it.

I make it twelve hours before my will breaks. Lucas and Rhett had retreated to their rooms, Rhett still shaken up from his panic attack. Lex didn’t go to the office, but she’s cloistered herself into her study, closing the rest of us out. And that’s left me alone to do… what?

I settle on the couch of the basement lounge, positioning myself with a direct line of sight down the hallway to Lucas’s workshop/garage and Lydia’s bedroom door. It’s open, the lights still on and the clock on her wall ticking away mercilessly. Time stretches and warps, one minute feeling like twenty as I stare, and wait, and hope to hear tires, the rumble of an engine pulling in. But minutes turn into hours, and there’s still nothing.

All I can do is think. I can’t escape my thoughts, the swirl and eddy of blame and guilt and regret. What if I’d never gone up to the bar that night at The Valencia? What if I’d never texted him back? What if I’d decided to leave, to drive away from Everton and never look back? What if I’d never taken that leap of faith and asked Lydia to go to the drag show with me? What if I’d never kissed her, never touched her, never fell in love with her?

That last possibility stops my train of thought short. Could I have avoided all of this by never letting myself be vulnerable with her? Never letting her see how lonely I’ve been? Was there ever a chance I could have stopped myself from loving Lydia Anderson?

No.I answer myself.There’s not a single version of reality where I meet Lydia and don’t fall madly in love with her.

And that conclusion, that absolute truth, burns like a righteous flame in my belly. I love Lydia more than breathing, and I’ll be damned if I stand aside and let her walk away without me.

I’m out in my car and on the road before my mind catches up, slowing my speed to something far less reckless. I still set a new record for the time it takes to get to Wickland House. I park and dash through the lobby, slapping my wallet impatiently against the scanner of the private elevator, bouncing on the balls of my toes as I wait.

“She’s not up there, boy.”

I turn at the cold, age-worn voice, finding Wila Fitzgerald standing beside me, arms crossed over her chest. Those deep, timeless brown eyes are stony, mouth pulled into a thin, disapproving frown.

“What do you mean? I thought—”

“Gabby and I aren’t staying in y’all’s pack suite, despite Mr. Cooper’s persistent offers,” Wila continues, words clipped.

“Where are you staying, then? I need—”

“No, you do not ‘need’ anything, boy. Not involving my girl,” Wila snaps.

I stare open-mouthed, the elevator behind me ringing as the doors open. But my feet are stuck to the floor, unable to move away from the harsh glare this bear of a woman is leveling at me.

“Can… can you at least tell me that she’s here? That she’s safe?” I breathe, heart hammering in my chest.

Wila’s eyes soften a fraction, but her posture doesn’t change. “She is. I suspect she’s sleeping, but that bodyguard of hers is watching over her.”

I slump a little, nodding. At least she’s not alone. I sigh, closing my eyes for a moment before deciding. I dig in my wallet for a moment, finding the white plastic card wedged in the back and yanking it free. I extend it toward Wila, who just stares at it.

“I’m going to be up there. When… if she wants to see me, I’ll be there,” I say, fading off hesitantly.

“How are you going to get back up if you leave?” she asks, looking at my face inquisitively.

I smirk, unable to help myself. “I’m not leaving. Not without her.”

It takes a moment, but Wila reaches out and takes the card, and I have to hold back the urge to hug her in relief. It’s a longshot, but I’m willing to take it. I’ll do anything to see her, even if it’s just one last time. I step back into the still open elevator door, letting them slide closed and carry me up to where I’m going to stay until Lydia is back in my arms.

I throw myself on the couch, ready to sit and wait until she walks through those doors. But the nearly two days without a full night’s sleep finally catch up to me, because the next thing I know, a hand is shaking me out of a deep, dreamless sleep. I nearly jump out of my skin, but all my fear dissipates when I look up into Lydia’s bottle-green eyes. Words fail me, and all I can do is throw myself at her feet, wrapping my arms around her hips and pressing my face to her stomach as tears overwhelm me.

“Mateo…” she starts, the end of my name lifting in a question.

“I’m so sorry, baby. So, so sorry,” I mumble against her shirt, repeating the phrase over and over.

She doesn’t move for a while, but then her hand comes up and I nearly sob in relief at the first brush of her fingers through my hair. I hold her tighter, too afraid to let go and watch her walk away again.

“What are you apologizing for?” she asks slowly, picking her words with care.

I take a deep breath, trying to get a hold of myself long enough to put a sentence together. She doesn’t speak or pull away, her fingers still idly twisting a lock around one finger.

“I’m sorry that I pushed you away. I’m sorry that I didn’t try to understand what you were asking of me, but just assumed I knew better. I’m sorry… I’m sorry that my actions and words made you think you’re anything less than perfect. I…”

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