Page 113 of Dirty Eoin

False hope. A sign that I was ready to move forward with him.

But I’m not ready. I will never be ready. I can’t ever be ready.

Letting him in after all this time was the final piece of the jigsaw. What it took to push his feelings over the line.

And now here we are.

But letting him in was also my own personal blowback, because having done so, with my plan accomplished, I now need to let him go.

Truth. Honesty. Trust. He gave me all three.

He then gave me a fourth. Love.

While all the time I was setting a trap.

Am I glad I did it? Yes. He and I were on a promise.

No. Because I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to rid myself of the guilt. That he’s never been loved, that he clearly thinks himself unlovable and even perhaps unworthy. That I’m about to hammer both home.

That despite all the women and all the relationships, he’s never once had those words said to him. That he’s never experienced the overwhelming rush of emotion that comes from hearing them fall from the mouth of the person you love.

Three little words. And what he wants more than anything in the world is to hear them from me.

But he won’t. He never will.

Sad. That the man who, on the surface, looks like he has it all really has nothing.

That he’s been surrounded by so much and so many, but he’s simply been used, his life on the surface appearing so full but underneath the façade is stark and echoingly empty.

That all he has is worthless and immaterial.

Money. Possessions. Power.

What does any of that matter when you’re alone? When you have no one to share any of it with. When, like Ace, you could be dead tomorrow.

Guilt. When I realize how difficult it must have been for him to say those words aloud. Words they refer to as little when they’re, in fact, quite the opposite. They’re the biggest words you will ever say out loud in front of another person.

The most important. The most exposing. Potentially, the most damaging.

Words that can make you or break you. The thumb up or thumb down resting solely in the hands of that other person. Of the person you love. Your person. A person who may or may not love you in return. Words that Eoin O’Connell won’t have said before. Words he may never repeat again for fear of further rejection.

He’s sacrificed his heart to me by saying them aloud. He’s made himself weak. He’s made himself vulnerable. He’s also just made his final move in the game he and I have been playing for over two years because he trusts me to do the right thing with his heart.

But I won’t. His trust is misplaced and always has been.

I pause before I respond. There’s no rush. Neither my sadness or my guilt will see me deviate from my laid-out plan.

“I don’t have three words for you, Eoin. I only have one.”

He tenses beneath me. “And that is?”

“Karma.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-SIX

EOIN

Eoin's Apartment, Hudson Yards, New York

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