Page 13 of Exposed

He was supposed to find someone who loved him. He was supposed to move on. He was supposed to get married and have four kids, just like we’d planned. He wasn’t supposed to waste time.

He wasn’t supposed to be leaving yellow flowers on my grave. He wasn’t supposed to visit this spot all the time.

He never forgot me.

But I’d forced myself to forget about him.

No.I hadn’t forgotten. Not completely. If I had, it wouldn’t have hurt to see him with Kennedy. It wouldn’t have hurt for him to walk away from me again without waiting for me to explain.

Matt hadn’t forgotten about me. But he had moved on. He no longer loved me. And even if a piece of him did? He’d never forgive me. I wasn’t sorry for the love I had with Miller. I wasn’t sorry for breaking my promise to Matt and getting married. Or for having a child. I wasn’t sorry for any of it.

Tears started streaming down my cheeks.

No, that wasn’t true. I was sorry. I was sorry I hurt Matt. Because I never meant to.

I took a step back from my grave. I wasn’t sure why, but I kept the rose. I’d never gotten a chance to tell Matt what my favorite flower was. But he’d guessed it anyway. Matt had left the rose for a ghost. But I wasn’t a ghost. I was standing here, still breathing. Somehow.

I was never supposed to view my own gravestone. My father once told me that a funeral for the living was a nice way to see how loved you were. He said mine was well attended. I pictured the Untouchables back then, in their expensive suits. That’s how I pictured them best. The way they looked in high school.

And I couldn’t help but think that coming back to New York was a mistake. Maybe they were always supposed to remain stuck in high school in my mind. Frozen in time. But they were all better off now. Just like my father had said.

James was happy.

Rob was happy.

Mason was happy.

And Matt was happy with Kennedy.

I took another step back from my grave as my tears started to fall faster. But if Matt was happy, why wasn’t this rose wilted and sad? If he was happy, why had he pulled me into his arms during halftime? Why had he kissed me back? Why had we had sex in the middle of the auditorium like he couldn’t keep his hands off me?

What if he was still as broken as me?

I heard the snap of a twig. I turned around and all the air left my lungs. Matt was standing there, with his hands stuffed in his sweatpants pockets, staring at me.

And he did look broken. He looked as broken as I felt.

Chapter 7

Saturday

Matt

I needed to talk to the Brooklyn I knew. The one I talked to more often than I liked to admit. A few days ago, I’d said goodbye to her. I thought I was ready to move on. But I was as stuck as ever. Stuck on her. Stuck in a relationship with the dead.

I walked up toward her grave and froze.

Brooklyn was standing there, staring at her own tombstone. Her hair blew in the wind. But otherwise she was completely still. I watched her as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. And I realized she wasn’t staring at her grave at all. She was staring down at a rose in her hand. One of the last flowers I’d left.

The way the moonlight was hitting her, she still looked like a ghost. But I’d rather spend a lifetime staring at a living, breathing Brooklyn than talking to a dead Brooklyn. Even if this Brooklyn wasn’t mine.

My chest ached as I watched her.

Why had she left?

Why had she come back?

Where the fuck had she been for 16 years?

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