Chapter 86 (1/2)

“I’m sorry.” She sighs. “I can’t think.” I watch as she lowers herself to the ground and brings her knees to her chest again. She raises her head to look up at me. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course.”

“And you’ll be completely honest?”

“I’ll try.”

She seems to be okay with that, and I sit down on the edge of the chair closest to where she is on the ground. I’m slightly afraid of what she wants to talk about, but I need to know what’s going on with her, so I wait with my mouth shut for her to speak.

“Sometimes I feel like everyone else gets what I want,” she mumbles, embarrassed.

Tessa would feel guilty for saying the way she feels . . .

I can barely make out her words when she says, “It’s not that I’m not happy for them . . .” But I can all-too-clearly see the tears gathering in her eyes.

For the life of me, I can’t figure out what the hell she’s talking about, though Kimberly and Vance’s engagement pops into my mind. “Is this about Kimberly and Vance? Because if it is, you shouldn’t want what they have. He’s a liar and a cheater and . . .” I stop before finishing the sentence with something horrible.

“He loves her. So much, though,” Tessa murmurs. Her fingers trace patterns against the concrete under her.

“I love you more,” I say without thinking.

My words have the opposite effect from what I hoped, and Tessa whimpers. Literally whimpers, and wraps her arms around her knees.

“It’s true. I do.”

“You only love me sometimes,” she says, as if that is the one thing she knows for sure in this world.

“Bullshit. You know that’s not true.”

“It feels that way,” she whispers, looking out toward the sea. I wish it were daylight so the view could possibly help soothe her, since I’m obviously not doing a good job at that.

“I know. I know it might feel that way.” I can admit that’s how she probably experiences it now.

“You’ll love someone all the time, later.”

What? “What are you talking about?”

“The next time, you’ll love her all the time.”

In this moment, I have a strange vision of me thinking back to this exact moment fifty years from now, reliving all over again the sharp pain that accompanies her words. The feeling is overwhelming, and it’s so obvious—it’s never been more obvious.

She has given up on me. On us.

“There isn’t a next time!” I can’t help the way my voice is rising, the way my blood is burning just beneath the surface, threatening to rip me open right here on this damn patio.

“There is. I’m your Trish.”