Listen to Your Heart(30)

Still, I have to know.

“Caleb, you said you never would’ve made that promise if you’d known you were going to meet me.”

“That’s right.”

“But you did. You’ve met me. Everything has changed. Or . . . nothing has changed. I’m afraid that’s up to you.”

He frowns. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Are you still getting married?”

“Yes, but I won’t be married long.”

I know he doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, but it makes me rage just the same.

“I see. So, what are you asking me, Caleb? Are you asking me to wait for you? Are you asking me to sit around and count the days, just waiting for this poor woman to die?”

“It’s not like that—”

“It’s exactly like that. You’re asking me to wait until this woman is in the ground. Then we can be together?”

Caleb bows his head. “I know . . . I know it’s a lot to ask.”

He’s out of his mind. Is he seriously asking me to bide my time? Wait my turn? As if I’m supposed to take some sick, twisted joy in that poor woman’s death? Besides, what if the doctors are wrong? What if she lives six more months? Or a year? Or, what if the idea of grandchildren suddenly gives her a new lease on life and she outlives us all?

That would be wonderful.

But he’d still be married.

And I’d still be waiting.

“I made her a promise, Skye.”

“I know. I would never ask you to break that promise. And you shouldn’t ask me to wait.”

The expression on his face breaks my heart. With a sad smile, I place my hand on his cheek.

“I think you’re wonderful, Caleb Lynch. Loyal. Selfless. Kind-hearted. Those are important qualities in a man—especially in a man who has completely stolen my heart. I would never ask you to choose.”

His eyes brighten, and I die a little more inside.

“But you have to understand that I can’t do this. I will not put my happiness in this dying woman’s hands. That’s not fair to her, and it’s not fair to me.”

“It’s not like that, Skye . . .”

“It is, Caleb. It’s exactly like that. I won’t be the other woman in any scenario. Fake wedding or not. I will not play that role. And you shouldn’t ask me to.”

“You just said you wouldn’t ask me to choose. You’re asking me to choose.”

“And the fact that you think there’s a choice to be made absolutely breaks my heart.”

Blinking back my tears, I stand up from the bench. His arms encircle my waist, and he pulls me to him, resting his forehead against my stomach. I slide my fingers through his hair and hold him close. We need this, just one last time. Very gently, I lift his head so that I can look into those beautiful blue eyes that I love so much. And I do. I love them. And his heart. And I think I might love him, too.

Sometimes love just isn’t enough.

“I don’t want to be a choice you have to make. I want to be your heart’s only option.”

Caleb chokes out a sob. “You are . . .”

That’s not true. Not really. And knowing it’s not true gives me the strength to pull myself out of his arms and walk away.





Raising the bottle to my lips, I wince as the burning liquid coats my throat. Flames erupt in my stomach as the booze settles there, and I lean my head back against the wall, forcing my eyes to adjust to the shadows of my pitch-black living room.

She won’t wait for me.

I’d been stupid to think she would. When Skye said she understood—that what I was doing was admirable—I allowed myself a sliver of hope. They say the truth shall set you free, but that’s not true. Not for me. In my case, the truth only tightened the shackles around my heart.

“I don’t want to be a choice you have to make. I want to be your heart’s only option.”

Maybe if I keep drinking, I’ll forget the heartbreaking sound of her voice and the wounded look in her eyes when she said those words to me.

Suddenly, I hear the click of a lock, followed by someone walking through the door. The room is suddenly flooded with light. With a groan, I lift the bottle to shield my eyes.

“Oh, Caleb.”

Her voice is just a whisper, but I can still hear the sorrow in it.

Another woman whose heart you’re bound to break. You’re good at that.

I struggle to focus on her face. Finding it impossible, I take another drink and close my eyes. She must take pity on me, because she flips a switch, and the room is once against blanketed in blessed darkness. She walks closer and reaches down, grabbing the bottle out of my hand. With a weary sigh, she slides down to the floor next to me.

“Did you come home early?” I ask, trying to remember the day of the week.

“Yes, I came home early,” Juliana says softly. “It’s a good thing I did. Otherwise, you’d be in a drunken coma by morning.”

I shake my head and regret it immediately. Why won’t the room stop spinning?

“Why are you home?”

“Because we need to talk. Not tonight, obviously. But first thing in the morning.”

“I have school in the morning.”

“No, you don’t.”