Epoch (Transcend Duet #2)(61)

“I can’t calm down! Don’t you see? I am a grade-A fucking mess.”

“Swayze …”

“I can’t run. I can’t just decide to let go of something that is gnawing at my very existence. I can’t shut it off. And I can’t go with Griffin.”

“Please … you’re going to lose every—”

“I’VE ALREADY LOST HIM!” I drop my head in my hands, shaking with grief.

Mom rests her hands on my legs.

“Nate … kissed me.” My voice shatters into small sobs.

“Oh, honey …”

“And …” The shame. It’s a heavy weight bearing down on my chest. A knife digging into my gut. A cancer in my brain. “I kissed him back.” I lift my head. “It felt like I’d done it a million times. It was wrong, but in the moment it didn’t feel wrong.”

Tears fill my mom’s eyes. “It’s going to crush Griffin.”

I blink big crocodile tears.

“Swayze …” She shakes her head slowly as her gaze inches to my chest. I let her pull my arm away from my body. Her fingers ghost over my naked left ring finger. “What did you do?” she whispers.

I swallow back a thick lump in my throat, blinking my swollen eyes. “I need answers. And it doesn’t feel like a choice. It’s like I’m telling my lungs to stop breathing. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop whatever this is. And …” I draw in a shaky breath. “I had to tell him because I love him.”

“He’s going to leave. With or without you. That’s what Sherri said. You’re going to lose him for—”

“Ever,” I whisper.

Her head eases to the side. The pity on her face compounds my self-loathing. “It’s not a break. He’s not taking a vacation. This is forever. Tell me you really comprehend this. Tell me you know that some girl is going to pick up all the pieces to his heart and mend them.”

“I know.” I don’t feel anything right now. Everything is numb.

If I could change the cards in my hand, I would. But I can’t. So I’m going to play them and pray that I live to tell about it.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT





Griffin’s working in the garage when I get home.

Home.

I’m not sure where my home is anymore. It used to be simple—Griffin was my home. When my soul can’t decide on a life, how am I supposed to find a home, a husband, or any sort of normal existence?

This doesn’t even feel like a breakup. It feels like a tragedy. A brain tumor. Terminal cancer. A soldier going into battle. Cupid with a busted arrow and a tear in his eye.

At twenty-two my dreams have been stripped of hope. Unicorns, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and happily ever afters don’t exist.

I stop halfway to the back door and turn. Eyeing the door to the garage, my feet take me there. He’s leaving. I know.

We’re dying. I know.

But he’s not gone yet. And my heart still gallops in his proximity, so … we’re not dead.

He could hate me. But what if he doesn’t?

Doug Mann could run my vehicle off the road tomorrow and Griffin leaving me wouldn’t matter. My mom never planned on living alone in her forties.

I ease open the door.

Fuck. My heart …

Griffin doesn’t acknowledge me. He’s boxing up his tools.

He’s leaving me. Oh … my … heart …

I close the door behind me. It’s warm in here. The heater in the corner kicks on.

I drop my bag by the door and look around the garage. My bucket isn’t in its usual spot. Did he hide it? Throw it away? Pack it?

The workbench is clear, so I hop up on it, fold my hands in my lap, and watch Griffin. I wonder if twenty years from now I’ll remember how much I loved just watching him. I hope so. I hope, if he finds love again, she knows how amazing it is just to be with him.

I hope she has exciting days to share with him. And I hope she knows how incredibly rare it is to find a man who genuinely gives a shit about her day.

Maybe I shouldn’t be out here. Maybe it’s a slap in his face. Maybe it’s salt on the wound. My brain—my conscience—knows this. But my heart doesn’t understand.

I wonder if my heart will ever understand.

Does he wonder why I won’t leave, like I wonder why he won’t stay? Or do we both know the answers. But … yeah … the heart doesn’t think. That’s not its job.

My head knows I should be inside packing up my stuff, at least an overnight bag to take to my mom’s house. But my heart keeps my ass planted to this workbench, my eyes tracking his every move.

Seconds give way to minutes. I spend them thinking of every memory we’ve marked in time. Memories eat up almost two hours—two hours that I don’t feel Daisy.

Two hours of the girl who met the guy in the grocery store. I like her. I like them.

I glance up from somewhere in the past when the lights go off. Griffin stands at the door, holding it open. My lips turn upward. A tiny smile he can’t see.

Our gazes meet for the first time tonight when I brush past him, stepping out into the chilly night. After several steps, I turn, remembering my bag on the floor.

But it’s not in the garage. Griffin has it clutched in his hand.