Maybe Someday (Maybe, #1)(75)

Since the moment I lost both of them.

I pick up my phone and palm it for several minutes, too scared to text her. I’m afraid of what her response will be. When I finally do type out a text, I close my eyes and hit send.

Me: Are you ready to talk about it?

I stare at my phone, waiting for her to respond. I want to know if she’s okay. I want to be able to tell her my side. The fact that she’s more than likely thinking the worst is killing me, and it feels as if I haven’t been able to breathe since she found out about Sydney and me.

Maggie: I’ll never be ready, but it needs to be done. I’m home all night.

As ready as I am to see her, I’m also scared to death. I don’t want to see her heartbroken.

Me: I’ll be there in an hour.

I grab my things and head straight out the door—straight back to the half of my heart that needs the most mending.

? ? ?

I have a key to her place. I’ve had a key to her place for three years, but I haven’t had to ring her doorbell in all that time.

I’m ringing her doorbell right now, and it doesn’t feel right. It feels as though I’m asking permission to break through an invisible barrier that shouldn’t even be here in the first place. I take a step away from the door and wait.

After several painfully long seconds, she opens the door and makes brief eye contact with me as she steps aside to let me in. I pictured her on the drive over with her hair a mess, makeup smudged underneath her eyes from all the crying, and sporting three-day-old pajamas. The typical heartbroken attire for a girl who just lost all trust in the man she loves.

I think I would rather she looked the way I pictured her than how she actually looks. She’s dressed in her typical jeans, and her hair is neatly pulled back. There isn’t a smudge of makeup on her face or a tear in her eyes. She gives me a faint smile as she closes the front door.

I watch her closely, because I’m not sure what to do. Of course, my first instinct is to pull her to me and kiss her, but my first instinct probably isn’t the best. Instead, I wait until she goes into her living room. I follow her, wishing more than anything that she would turn toward me and throw her arms around me.

She does turn to face me before she takes a seat, but she doesn’t throw her arms around me.

“Well?” she signs. “How do we do this?” Her expression is hesitant and pained, but at least she’s confronting it. I know this is hard for her.

“How about we quit acting like we’re not allowed to be ourselves?” I sign. “This has been the hardest three days of my life, and I can’t go another second without touching you.”

I don’t give her a chance to respond before my arms are wrapped around her and I’m pulling her against me. She doesn’t resist. Her arms wrap tightly around me, and as soon as my cheek is pressed against the top of her head, I feel her begin to cry.

This is the Maggie I need. The vulnerable Maggie. The Maggie who still loves me, despite what I’ve put her through.

I hug her and pull her to the couch, keeping her secured against me as I sit with her now on my lap. We continue to hold each other, neither of us knowing how to begin the conversation. I press a long kiss into her hair.

What I wouldn’t give to just be able to whisper all my apologies into her ear. I want her as close to me as possible while I tell her how sorry I am, but I can’t do that and sign everything I need to say at the same time. I hate these moments in life where I’d give anything to be able to communicate the same way so many others take for granted.

She slowly lifts her face, and I reluctantly let her pull back. She keeps her palms pressed against my chest and looks me directly in the eye.

“Are you in love with her?” she asks.

She doesn’t sign her question; she only speaks it. The fact that she doesn’t sign it makes me think it was too hard for her even to ask. So hard that maybe she doesn’t really want to know the answer, so she didn’t really want me to understand her question.

I did understand it.

I grab both of her hands pressed against my chest, and I lift them, kissing each of her palms before releasing her hands to answer her.

“I’m in love with you, Maggie.”

Her expression is tight and controlled. “That’s not what I asked.”

I look away from her, not wanting her to see the struggle in my eyes. I close them and remind myself that lying won’t get us back to where we need to be. Maggie’s smart. She also deserves honesty, which isn’t at all what I’ve been giving her. I open my eyes and look at her. I don’t answer her with a yes or a no. I shrug, because I honestly don’t know if I’m in love with Sydney. How could I be when I’m in love with Maggie? It shouldn’t be possible for the heart to love more than one person at once.

She diverts her eyes away and scoots off my lap. She stands and slowly walks the length of the living room and back. She’s thinking, so I give her a moment. I know my answer has hurt her, but I know a lie would have hurt her even more. She finally turns to me.

“I can spend all night asking you really brutal questions, Ridge. I don’t want to do that. I’ve had a lot of time to think this through, and I have a lot I need to say to you.”

“If brutal questions will help you, then ask me brutal questions. Please. We’ve been together five years, and I can’t let this tear us apart.”