Letting Go (Thatch #1)(25)

My stomach clenched, and my grip on the ring tightened. If he was here at all, and he was with someone . . . I didn’t think I could handle seeing it. And that sick, jealous feeling sitting at the bottom of my stomach made no sense to me. Because again, I reminded myself that I had run from him. That even though he hadn’t tried to get ahold of me since the night I’d left, I hadn’t tried to call him either. And most importantly, my heart still belonged to his best friend.

Janie, Heather, and I had been inside for close to twenty minutes, and I’d been staring at another drawing of me—the one that portrayed all of my grief—for countless minutes without realizing that the other two had left my side. I pressed the ring to my lips as I stared, and a jolt went through my body when I heard a deep voice directly behind me.

“This is the hardest one to look at of you.”

“Jagger,” I breathed. From the corner of my eye, I watched as he stepped up next to me. Close enough so our voices wouldn’t carry, but far enough that I’d have to reach to touch him. Keeping my eyes on the drawing, I shakily asked, “If it’s hard for you, then why is it here? Why do you keep it?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “Probably because of what you said to me that night.”

My brow furrowed, and I turned to look up at him, but his eyes never left the piece in front of us. “What night was it?”

“Night of Ben’s funeral.”

I nodded slowly as I looked back at the canvas. “I came to your house, but I don’t remember what I said.”

“I opened the door, and you said, ‘Make it so that this is a dream. Wake me up, Jagger.’ And I remember thinking that was exactly what I wanted. To wake up. I couldn’t wake us up, but while I drew this that night, I knew I would do anything to keep us moving.”

And he had. He’d always been there to talk about Ben, never treated me like I was too fragile, and had always pushed me to keep going. Everything I’d needed, and everything I’d pushed away.

“I’m so sorry, Jag,” I whispered a minute later.

He exhaled slowly, and when he spoke, there was a hint of the pain he’d been in since I’d left. “I never should have told you.”

“Why?” I looked at him again, and when he still wouldn’t look at me, I reached out for him.

“Because you ran away from me, Grey.” The pain in his voice tore through me, and my arm fell limply at my side. “You ran, and you stayed gone. But I get it, Grey, I swear to God I do. I understand why that upset you, why you aren’t okay with it. I thought—I thought if I gave you time, you would change your mind. I came here hoping enough time had passed, and I don’t know what I would’ve said to make you change your mind. But after seeing you come in . . . seeing how much better you look now that I’m not in your life . . . I can’t stand the thought of watching you go back to how you were. I can’t do it now.”

“Jagger . . .” The plea in that one word was clear, but in that moment, I still wasn’t positive what I was begging of him. To forgive me? To understand why I was trying so hard to not let anyone else touch my heart? To know that I needed him more than he realized . . . more than even I had realized?

“I just needed you to know that I understand, Grey.”

Before I could ask what he understood, he turned around and walked away from me. In our short conversation, he’d never once looked at me. My eyes went back to the drawing of me, and I listened as his heavy footfalls drifted away. I could feel each step like it was another nail in the coffin of my relationship with Jagger, as friends or something more. I knew what I did right then would forever change Jagger and me.

If I continued to look at this drawing for another minute before walking away from the gallery, then that would be it. We could never go back to the way we had been, because we couldn’t go back to being as close as we were now that I knew how he felt. I couldn’t do that to him; I couldn’t give him hope that there would someday be an us when I knew that I would never allow it. He would eventually find someone else, and I . . . I would just focus on moving.

But if I stopped him, then the dynamics of our relationship would change in a way everyone had already been expecting them to. A way Jagger wanted them to. A way I wanted them to.

That thought shook me as I finally admitted what I’d been trying so hard to deny. I wanted this. I wanted him.

“Jagger,” I mumbled, and turned to look for him in the gallery. He was twenty feet away from me, shaking a man’s hand, with his back to me. “Jagger,” I said louder when he began walking again.

He glanced over his shoulder for a second, before pausing and turning to face me. His face went blank in an attempt to mask his emotions. I walked toward him, each step feeling a little easier than the last—as if my decision was solidifying with every step closer. He didn’t move toward me, and didn’t say anything when I stopped directly in front of him, just looked at me with those green eyes . . . waiting.

“I’m sorry that I ran,” I whispered, and a muscle ticked in his jaw from the strain he was putting on it. “I was scared, and I think I still am. But I’m not better without you. It hurts to be away from you. This?” I gestured to the side and shrugged. “Seattle? I needed to think about what you said, what my family said . . . I just needed to think. I can think here with Janie, but that doesn’t mean I’m better here. And all of this”—I gestured toward myself—“was only because of tonight. Janie and Heather did this because they thought I would see you. I miss you every day, Jagger. I don’t know how long I would’ve stayed gone, but please . . . don’t stay away from me for me.”