It was, for all intents and purposes, our last night together. At least, our last night guaranteed together. Tomorrow we would drive into Seattle, to my new home, and I didn’t know if he would stay once we got there. I didn’t even know where his final stop was, or what it was that he “needed to see.” I only knew it was somewhere in Washington, and that I’d had the time of my life on this journey with him, and now it was ending, and I didn’t want to lose him.
I pressed my fingers hard into my temples, massaging the muscle there, my eyes closed as I tried to find the easy answer that eluded me. But there was no easy answer, no simple solution, and as sick as it made me feel reaching a hand out until I felt that leather binding, I couldn’t stop myself.
I was an addict, fiending for comfort from his words, chasing the high that came from finding a new layer of him buried in those pages.
Pulling the book into my lap, I ran my hand over the page bookmarked, the entry he was writing last night before bed. Kalo put a paw on the pages with a whine, as if to tell me to reconsider, but I’d already had the first taste. There was no turning back now.
I remember the first time a girl told me she loved me.
It was Melissa Rickman, and we were seniors in high school. She told me she loved me after we’d been dating for a little over a month. I just stared at her before finally asking, “Why?”
That night, I talked to my dad about it, and I asked him to tell me how he knew he loved Mom. He’d sat on the edge of my bed with this far off look in his eyes and this goofy ass smile. He told me there was one night where Mom invited him over to her apartment because she wanted to cook a meal for him.
But she was an awful cook, he’d told me, which didn’t surprise me since she still is. He said watching her try to make a meal for him was the most endearing thing. He said she was making something so simple, a pasta dish, but the sauce was all over her apron and splatted on her face.
He said at one point, she’d given up, placing her hands on the counter and hanging her head as she started to cry. All she’d wanted was to do something special for him.
Dad said in that moment, he knew he loved her.
It was nothing crazy, nothing she said or did that really stood out, just seeing her standing there with pasta sauce on her face and tears in her eyes. He loved her. It hit him simply and without fuss, and he didn’t tell her until a full six months later.
I told Melissa Rickman the next day that I didn’t love her, and she broke up with me, which was fine.
I’ve written about love in this journal before today, always with the firm belief that it didn’t really exist. I’ve always believed it was a fantasy, something we cling to as humans to make this world a little less lonely. Because it is fucking lonely.
But tonight, I walked with Cooper in downtown Grants Pass, and we were just talking and drinking hot chocolate and looking at Christmas lights when she tripped a little. She spilled hot chocolate on her scarf, and her little face crumpled at the sight of it. She was so devastated by that splash of brown on her otherwise blue scarf, and I found it so fucking adorable that all I could do was laugh and pull her into me and kiss her. I mean physically, there was nothing else I could have done in that moment. I couldn’t not kiss her.
And I’m not saying it’s love, but it made me think of my dad, and my mom, and that damn pasta sauce.
I’m not saying it’s love, but it was something… different. Foreign. Intense.
I smiled, biting my lip as I traced those words with my fingertips before moving on.
I haven’t said a word to her since that moment, because as soon as her lips left mine, I remembered that Seattle is just seven hours away. I remembered that our trip is ending soon… mine in a very different way than hers.
I’ve deceived her. I’ve hidden the truth from her, afraid of how she might take it, of how it might break her, of how it might break me, too.
But if nothing has changed, if the plan remains the same, I have to tell her soon.
Or walk out of her life like a ghost.
Which is better — to tell her the truth, or forever let her wonder?
That is what plagues me tonight.
My stomach dropped as I finished the entry, fingers already flying back through the pages to find something more. I’d gone in with the intention of feeling connected to him, of finding reassurance until Emery came back to me. But all I’d found was a new source of anxiety, a new reason to question everything.
What was he hiding?
Could he really just leave me, just… ghost me, as he’d put it? What was his plan, to tell me he would be back, only to leave me without the intention of ever seeing me again?
Thoughts tumbled over themselves in my mind as I flipped, back and back, looking for something, though I didn’t know what. When I flipped past a worn page, one that was dogeared in the right-hand corner just enough to look out of place, I paused. I think I knew right then, in that moment, on that bed as the snow fell quietly outside that I was about to find answers to questions I never meant to ask, answers never meant to be found.
I flipped back to the marked page, eyes glancing at the date before focusing in on the first sentence.
Grams died today.
A shiver sped down my spine, from neck to lower back, the snow suddenly seeming like it was falling inside of me instead of outside the window. There were dried tear stains on the pages, blurring some of the ink. He’d cried when he’d written it, or perhaps when he’d read it, or maybe even both.
I couldn’t imagine Emery crying at all.
I steeled a breath, blinking my eyes a few times before I continued reading.
Grams died today.
I wrote that sentence three hours ago and then I walked away, because writing it makes it real, and of all the things I wish weren’t true, that sentence is at the top of the list.
It’s like a knife has been jabbed into my throat, the blade rusty and dull, and now I have to somehow learn to breathe with it there. I can’t remove it, can’t shove it in farther to finish the job — I just have to exist with an infected wound, with a clogged airway and a constant reminder of the loss of what was.
She’s gone. She’s never coming back. And I’m still here.
Mom and Dad know I’m not okay. They didn’t even want me to go in to see her at the end of it all, when she was literally on the welcome mat of Death’s door, but I pushed past them and forced my way in. I had to see her one more time, had to hold her hand while she crossed over.
She didn’t even look like Grams on that hospital bed, her body frail and weak, all the machines hooked into her. Her organs were failing her, one by one, for no other reason than that she was tired. Life had been long and she was tired.
Grams asked me for something.
She told me she understood how I felt, which I already knew. She was the only one who ever understood my depression, who ever empathized because she, too, battled with it. She’d been my war buddy, the one I could swap stories with to feel a little less alone. But on that bed, with her hand in mine, she asked me to take a trip.
She wants me to get in my car and take a road trip across the country. She mentioned a few spots she wants me to hit, one of them being an old diner in Mobile, Alabama, where she and Gramps stopped once. She said he ordered the steak and eggs, and being there with him was one of those moments when she loved being alive, when she looked at him and felt it in soul, in her heart, that she was meant to be there with him. Another stop she wants me to make is at a healing institute in California, and there are a few other miscellaneous spots along the way.
She begged me to make that drive, to see the country.
She said if I travel across the United States and don’t find a single thing that reaffirms my love for life, if I spend that time alone and find I’m still a victim to the dark thoughts in my head, that she will understand if I choose to no longer bear them.
There’s a place she loved in Washington, a place of wonder. She
said if I make it there and I still feel the same, that I can end it all. I can find my peace and join her on the other side.
But only she believes that last part.
I know there’s no heaven waiting for me, no hell, either. There’s just life and the nothingness that exists after we’re done here. She wants me to give life one last chance, one last shot to dig its nails into me and latch on, giving me a reason to stay. And I know her, I know she thinks I’ll find something. She doesn’t think there’s even a slight chance I’ll actually make it all the way there without changing my mind, otherwise she wouldn’t have suggested it at all.
So, tonight, I’ll load up the car. And in the morning, I’ll go.
But I know the truth.
I know I won’t find anything on this trip.
But it was her dying wish, so I’ll go. I’ll drive and I’ll stop at all the places she wants me to. I’ll keep my eyes and mind open, and at the end of it all, I’ll finally find peace. I’ll finally let go.
Grams told me she wasn’t scared with her last breath, and I squeezed her hand, telling her I wasn’t either.
It isn’t death that’s scary. It’s living without actually living at all, breathing without purpose, existing without essence. Soon, it will all be over, and I won’t have to apologize for how I feel, or explain why I feel it. I’ll walk into Death’s arms willingly with a smile on my face, and that cold embrace will be the warmest I’ve ever been.
I’m not scared.
I never have been.
I covered my trembling lips with one hand, the other still holding the journal as I shook my head in disbelief. Tears were running hot down my face, joining his already on the pages, the snow falling inside of me like a blizzard now. Every part of me was ice, the kind of cold that hurts, and all I could do was stare at that page, at those words, at the truth I was never supposed to find.
“What are you doing?”
My entire body shook at the sound of his voice, my fingers still on my lips as I lifted my eyes to his. He was standing in the bathroom doorway, towel tied at his waist, a menacing scowl branded on his forehead as he glanced at the journal before turning on me again.
Two more tears fell in sync, one hitting my hand as the other hit the page.
“You can’t…” I choked, a sob ripping through my throat as I tried to speak over it. “Please, Emery, don’t take your life. You can’t. Not after…” I shook my head, my emotions strangling me, rendering me speechless as tears flooded my eyes again before pouring down. I’d never felt so desperate in my life, yet so frozen. “Not after this. Not after us.”
“This is my fucking journal,” he seethed, crossing the room in three sweeps before he ripped the book from my hands. He slammed it shut, shoving it back in his bag before standing to face me again. “What the hell were you thinking? Why would you ever think it’s okay to read that?”
“I was just trying to reach you,” I cried, throwing the covers off me and standing. I took a step toward him, but he backed away, holding a hand up to stop me from advancing any farther. “You’ve been so cold and distant since last night, and we’re running out of time. I wanted to know what you were thinking.”
“You should have asked.”
“And you would have told me?” I challenged, nose flaring as my stomach rolled on itself. I shook from head to toe like a pine tree struck by lightning, the snow falling away, the wood charred and naked beneath it.
“In time, yes.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
It came out as a whisper, my plea almost as silent as the snow falling outside.
“I thought you understood. I thought you were the first person to respect that sometimes I just need time. I was in that shower thinking of how I would tell you, and I came out here with all those words finally making sense, and then I find you with my fucking journal in your hands like it’s one of your goddamn books. I have never—“ He shook his head, hands flying up into the air. “How could you do that, Cooper?”
My lips quivered again. “I’m sorry, I just… I was so desperate for you to come back to me. I thought I could find something…”
“What?” He took a step toward me, but I didn’t back down. “What could you possibly have hoped you’d find?” His eyes went wide, the words hanging there on his lips. “Wait…”
Emery swallowed, his eyes flicking back and forth as he ran a hand through his hair, glancing back at his journal and slowly finding my gaze again.
“This isn’t the first time, is it?”
I blinked, freeing another set of tears, guilt creeping up from my gut in a slow tide.
“Tell me you haven’t been reading my journal this entire time,” he demanded, his voice cracking as he moved into my space. His chest met mine and I looked away, eyes on the carpet as he towered over me. “Tell me!”
But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t lie to him any longer.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” He blew out a breath of anger, raking his hands through his hair before letting out a frustrated growl. “It was all a lie. It was all a fucking lie. I trusted you,” he spat, and when I looked up to meet his eyes again, I wished I hadn’t. “I trusted you!”
“Please, it wasn’t a lie,” I pleaded, moving forward and into him. I tried to wrap my arms around his waist but he threw me off, making me lose my balance and fall back onto the bed. “Emery, everything between us is real. I invaded your privacy and I’m sorry, but I never did it to hurt you. I wanted to know you more, to understand you. I loved what I read in there. And I know that doesn’t make it okay but those are your deepest, darkest thoughts, and they didn’t scare me. They made me want you more.”
“They were never meant to be read! Do you not understand that?” He ripped clothes out of his bag, pulling on briefs under his towel before shedding it on the floor and yanking a sweater over his still wet hair. “You played this innocent card with me this entire time and all the while you were betraying me, stabbing me when I didn’t even know you had a knife at all.”
“Emery, it’s not like that.” I frantically wiped the tears from my face, standing again, desperate to gain composure and make him see. “I’m sorry, I never should have read it. I wish I could take it all back. But it doesn’t change the fact that everything between us is real. It has been since the moment we met and you know it. I know you know it.”
“Yeah, because you read my fucking journal.”
“I did! I did read it, and I know how you feel about me.”
When his jeans were on, he yanked the zipper up, turning on me with heat rolling off him in waves of steam. “You know how I felt about who I thought you were. I don’t fucking know you, Cooper.”
His words sliced through me, my heart bleeding out in front of him.
“You know me,” I whispered. “You know me more than anyone else. And I know you. And I lo—“
“DON’T,” he roared, shoving the last of his belongings in his bag before slinging it over his shoulder. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. You don’t love me, you don’t know me, and you don’t get to think either of those things just because you read the thoughts I’ve written in that book.” He swallowed, his voice breaking at the end. “You lied to me.”
“And you lied to me, too!”
He froze at that, only his chest moving with his heavy breaths, his nose flaring. The same guilt that seeped through me crept across his face then, both of us caught in the sticky goo of truth. We weren’t perfect. We didn’t mean to hurt each other, and yet it was all we’d done.
I took a step forward, my hand finding his forearm. He didn’t flinch, so I wrapped my fingers around his warm skin, praying he’d feel me in that moment.
“We messed up, both of us. But we can start over. Just… let me in, and I promise, I will never lie to you again. We can make it through this. You can make it through this.” I sniffed, squeezing his arm. “Please, just trust me. Believe me.”
His eyes found mine then, the gold shaded with doubt, and
his face twisted as he pulled his arm from my grasp. “How can I?”
And there it was, the gust of wind that broke what fragile house we’d built. The blizzard came quick and without warning on the heels of a day of sunshine.
I’d lost him.
“You’re close enough to Seattle, I think you can figure it out from here.” He ripped his eyes from mine, adjusting his bag on his shoulder as I reached for him again, his name rolling off my tongue over and over again, each time more desperate than the last. “Don’t follow me.”
He broke our connection, slamming the door closed behind him as I fell to my knees. The most painful scream of my life shredded my vocal chords as I cried out for him one last time, face collapsing into my cold hands when I realized it wasn’t enough to bring him back. I crawled to the door, using the handle to climb to my feet, opening it with numb awareness as my heart beat in my ears.
Thump.
My bare feet in the snow, Emery shutting the trunk.
Thump.
My voice muted by the snow, Emery’s hand on the wheel.
Thump.
Our eyes connecting, memories striking me like a whip.
Thump.
My knees hitting the snow, vision fading to black as the car drives away, taking my bruised and bleeding heart with it.
He left just the same as he’d come, all at once, never expected, a tide that washed me clean before leaving me raw and bare in its wake. He’d asked me that first day what made me happy, but I couldn’t answer him. Now that I finally could, he was too far away to hear.
“You,” I whispered, the truth of it cracking the last whole piece of my heart, and then everything went dark.
Summer Romance Boxset - Weightless, Revelry, On the Way to You Page 80