Maybe Someday (Maybe, #1)(78)

“You think that’s what you want,” I sign. “It’s not. You can’t tell me you’d rather be with someone who would allow you to risk the time you have left than have someone who would do whatever he could to prolong his life with you.”

She exhales. I can’t tell if she’s admitting I’m right or if she’s frustrated because I’m wrong. She looks me square in the eyes and leans forward, then briefly presses her lips to mine. As soon as I lift my hands to her face, she pulls back again.

“I’ve known all my life that I could die at any moment. You don’t know what that’s like, Ridge, but I want you to try to put yourself in my shoes. If you knew all your life that you were going to die at any moment, would you be okay with just barely living? Or would you live as hard as you could? Because you’re needing me to barely live, Ridge. I can’t do that. When I die, I need to know that I did everything I’ve ever wanted to do, and I’ve seen everything I’ve ever wanted to see, and I’ve loved everyone I’ve ever wanted to love. I can’t just barely live anymore, and it’s not in your nature to stick by my side and watch me do all the things I still have left to do in my life.

“You’ve spent five years of your life loving me like no one’s ever loved me. My love has matched yours minute for minute. I don’t want you to ever doubt that. People take so much for granted, and I never want you to feel that I took you for granted. Everything you do for me is so much more than I deserve, and you need to know how much that means to me. But there are times when I feel like our devotion to each other is tying us down. Keeping us both from really living. The past few days have helped me realize that I’m still with you because I’m scared to break your heart. But if I don’t find the courage to do it, I’m scared I’ll just keep holding you back. Holding myself back. I feel like I can’t live the life I want to live for fear of hurting you, and you can’t live the life you want to live because your heart is too loyal for your own good. As much as it hurts me to admit this, I think I might be better off without you. I also think that maybe someday you’ll realize you’re better off without me.”

My elbows meet my knees as I lean forward and turn away from her. I can’t watch her say another word to me. Every single thing she’s saying is not only breaking my heart, but it feels as if it’s also breaking the heart within my heart.

It hurts so much, and I’m so f*cking scared, because for a moment, I begin to think there’s a possibility that she’s right.

Maybe she doesn’t need me.

Maybe I do hold her back.

Maybe I’m not the hero to her I’ve always tried so hard to be, because right now, I feel as if she doesn’t even need a hero. Why would she? She has someone so much stronger than I’ll ever be for her. She has herself.

The realization that I may not be what she needs in her life consumes me, and my regret and guilt and shame fold in on themselves, completely devouring the strength I have left.

I feel her arms wrap around me, and I pull her to me, needing to feel her against me. I love her so damn much, and all I want right now is for her to know that, even if it doesn’t change anything. I pull her to me and press my forehead to hers as we both cry, holding on to each other with all we have left. Tears are streaming down her cheeks as she slides onto my lap.

She mouths, “I love you,” then presses her lips to mine. I pull her against my chest as close as I possibly can without crawling inside of her, which is exactly what my heart is trying to do. It wants to embed itself within the walls of her chest, and it never wants to let go.


22.


Sydney


My cable won’t be connected until next week. My eyes hurt from reading too much, and maybe also from crying. I finally put a down payment on a car with my leftover student loans, but until I get a job, I can’t really afford the gas. I’d better find a job soon, because I’m pretty sure I’ve fictionalized how great living alone is. I’m tempted to try to get my job back at the library, even if I have to beg. I just need something to keep me busy.

I’m. Freaking. Bored.

So bored that I’m looking at my hands, counting random things that make absolutely no sense to even be counting.

One: the number of people constantly on my mind. (Ridge.)

Two: the number of people I wish would contract a sexually transmitted disease. (Hunter and Tori.)

Three: the number of months since I broke up with my lying, cheating bastard of a boyfriend.

Four: the number of times Warren has checked up on me since I moved out of the apartment.

Five: the number of times Warren has knocked on my door in the last thirty seconds.

Six: the number of days since I last saw Ridge.

Seven: the number of feet from my couch to the front door.

I open the door, and Warren doesn’t even wait for me to invite him in. He smiles and slips past me, holding two white bags in his hands.

“I brought tacos,” he says. “I was driving by on my way home from work and thought you might want some.” He sets the bags on my kitchen counter, then walks to the sofa and plops down.

I close the door and face him. “Thanks for the tacos, but how do I know you aren’t pranking me? What’d you do, switch the beef out with tobacco?”

Warren looks up at me and grins, impressed. “Now, that’s a genius prank idea, Sydney. I think you might finally be getting the hang of it.”