A Lover's Lament(25)

I finish off the beer and timidly pass him the empty bottle. Standing, I avert my eyes and hope to hell he will let me go so I can go lick my wounds.

“I just want what’s best for her,” he repeats, this time his voice unyielding, as though to drive home his point. I nod blankly and make my way back to my car. “Devin…”

He stops me in my tracks and I turn to face him. “No, it’s okay, I totally understand what you mean.” Turning around on my heel, I head toward my car, yank open the door and climb in, hoping to wash my hands of this entire conversation.

“Do you?” he asks skeptically as he approaches the car. Cranking the engine, I close my door and roll down the window. Each of his hands are cupped against the window frame and he’s leaning in toward me. “Devin, I think very highly of you, you know that. This—”

“No, really, I completely understand. You want your daughter to be with someone a little less like me, and a little more like Wyatt, right? Someone that comes from a thoroughbred family, someone that is destined to get into an Ivy League school and make more money in one week than I’ll make in a year.” My chest tightens because I know that I’m right. That’s exactly what Christopher Devora wants, and I can’t f*cking blame him. Hell, that’s what I want for Katie.

Shifting the car into drive, I’m hoping that he’ll get the hint and remove himself from my car. Reality just slapped me in the f*cking face—with a little help from Katie’s dad—and as much as I hate it, I know what I have to do.

His eyebrows furrow and he glares at me for a second before pushing away from my car. “Devin, that’s not—”

Before he even has a chance to finish, I shove my foot on the gas and speed away from the only real home I’ve ever known. Mr. Devora’s large frame slowly fades away in my rearview mirror, and when he’s no longer visible, it hits me that I’ll probably never see this place again … or the girl I love.

Never could I have provided Katie with the type of life she deserved, and that night it became clear that I would only be holding her back. She deserved someone who could give her the world … someone like Wyatt.

Fucking Wyatt.

I hadn’t even thought of that name in about a decade, and now here it is again digging itself underneath my skin. I wonder for a moment if they ended up getting together. Since the day I left her, I just always assumed that’s how it would turn out—that Wyatt would be there to pick up the pieces, and she would welcome him with open arms.

Wyatt is the one Katie’s dad wanted her to be with all along … the one that fit the perfect husband mold for his dear daughter. He may have thought highly of me, or so he said, but I could see it beneath the surface. Wyatt had the great home life, the family money, and the excellent grades. I was just the kid from the other side of the tracks with the messed-up mother.

Katie has no idea that it was her dad’s last words to me that ultimately gave me the courage to walk away from her, to leave her without notice. And she would never dream that those words are also the reason why I’m where I am today.

As awful as it sounds, I contemplate throwing her letter with the others and joining the rest of my platoon in their slumber, not even bothering to respond. But I'm torn. I want to write her back and explain what happened. I also want her forgiveness—badly. But haven’t I put her through enough already? Wouldn’t telling her the truth be counterproductive?

I could leave us out of it entirely, because despite what she may think, Katie Devora has always been—and will always be—my best friend, and there’s not a second that’s gone by I haven’t thought of her and wondered how she was doing. I want to be there for her, especially since I can read the desperation in her sentences, the pain in her words. I feel that pain, too. I know that pain. It sits heavy in my bones. Could I offer her some sort of comfort?

Maybe we are all monsters, created by war like some lab experiment gone wrong. Maybe I should tell her the man that took her father’s life deserves to be hanged, along with every drunk driver. Maybe I should tell her that I want nothing more than to kill him with my bare hands for hurting her, because even after all these years, she still means the world to me.

Maybe I should just be honest.

I remove a pad and pen from my duffel, and then I sit and stare at the paper, scanning my brain for the right words to say. I manage to write ‘Dear Katie’ before uncertainty takes hold again.

Closing my eyes, I picture the two of us on that last perfect night. Feeling her lips on mine, my skin against hers, and knowing that everything was going to be okay. And then the reality of it all settling in … Wyatt with his straight A’s and bloated trust fund, her father and his unattainable expectations, my inadequacies. Shaking my head, I push the memory away.

Grabbing the flashlight from my pillow, I shine it at the pad, and before I know it, the pen begins to move. I don't process every word I write; I only write from the heart. Letting the words flow out of me freely, I scrawl with feverish intent, letting truth dictate the message. For the first time in years, I let my heart take the lead.





“Sad” – Maroon 5

“HOLD UP.” MAGGIE DROPS HER fork on the plate and leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “You actually went through with it? You wrote him a letter?” I nod my head at the same time I shovel a bite of pizza into my mouth. “And you told him what happened and how you were feeling … and you didn’t hold anything back?” Nodding again, I reach for a napkin and she slides one toward me. “Wow,” she says, a look of disbelief on her beautiful face.