Within These Walls (Within These Walls #1)(56)

“I cannot even begin to understand what you went through, but to hear you say you thought your life was over pains me in a way I can’t describe. You were twenty-two, Jude. You lost someone you loved, but your life was definitely not over. I really hope you don’t still think that.”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore.” He sat up and ran his hands through his hair in a frustrated manner. I followed, sitting with my legs crossed beside him.

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe your life had just started?” I asked.

His eyes flew up to mine in surprise. “How?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but you said you were scared to death of what might happen when you returned to New York. Did it ever occur to you that by staying here in California, you might have given yourself a chance to create something new, something different?”

He scooted forward, out of my grasp, until he moved off the bed completely. He stalked across the room. “Are you saying that Megan’s death happened for a reason?” His words were clipped as he paced from one corner to the next.

My face fell at his angry words. “God, no, Jude. That’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“Because you have no idea, no clue what she was like or what I went through. She was everything to me!” he shouted, causing me to jump.

Tears fell from my eyes as I struggled to find words to fix this. “I know. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.” The words tumbled out as I tried to grasp on to anything to keep him from leaving this room, from leaving me.

“My break is over. I’ve got to go.” He turned, walked out, and didn’t bother looking back.

My palms came to my cheeks, and I let go of the flood I’d been holding back as I mourned a woman I never knew, a woman who still held the heart of the man I loved.

Will he ever be able to let go?

Twenty: Letting Go—Jude

IT HAD BEEN two days since I stormed out of Lailah’s room. It had been forty-eight hours since I saw her face or heard her voice. Hell, even our flirty text conversations had ceased.

I’d spent two entire days of work avoiding her. I would make a wide berth around her doorway, and I would take my lunch breaks alone in the corner of the cafeteria while I’d sit and wonder what she was doing. Even as I’d done this—making every attempt to avoid confrontation, to avoid the conversation I knew we’d have to have—I continued with my plan. I’d been taking my meetings that I’d scheduled with various hospital officials to secure proper approvals. I’d gone over lists with Grace, Marcus, and even Lailah’s mom, who would eye me with the usual wary indifference.

I was continuing with my biggest plan of all because, deep down, I knew Lailah was right.

The other night, I had stood there, looking my future straight in the face, as I stared into the eyes of the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

And she wasn’t Megan.

Lailah hadn’t said those words to hurt or anger me. She’d said them to try to help me heal. Instead of recognizing that when I should have, I’d lashed out in anger, defending a ghost and a memory.

Megan would have been ashamed by my actions.

Megan would never have wanted me to continue mourning her like I had been.

Yet, here I was, three years later, still stuck in the same place I had been the day we arrived in that ambulance. Maybe I was supposed to do that though, so I could end up here.

I didn’t know. I couldn’t even begin to understand how the world worked.

I needed to let go. I needed to say good-bye to Megan, the woman I’d lost, and to the life I’d once had. And I needed to forgive myself for the mistakes I’d made that led me here.

She might have spent her years cooped up in a hospital room, but the wisdom Lailah possessed was more than most people gained in a lifetime.

I had been punishing myself, living in a purgatory for my sins, and it was finally time to break free.

“You want to what?” Margaret asked once again.

“I’d like to purchase a plaque for the bench on the second floor. Don’t play coy with me. I know you know what bench I’m talking about,” I said, leaning back into the tall wingback chair that seemed to be my home lately.

I’d dropped by her office early this morning after having had about three hours of sleep since I clocked out. But I couldn’t wait any longer. Each hour ticking by marked how long I hadn’t seen Lailah, and the passing time was starting to weigh on me.

Does she think I left for good? Is she okay? Does she hate me?

God, I’m an ass.

But I needed to do this before I could step foot in that room again.

I needed to return whole—or at least, on my way. Aside from flying to Chicago and visiting where Megan was buried, this was the only way I could work it out in my head. I wanted a way to say good-bye—a remembrance, something concrete and real that I could remember.

I’d skipped her funeral service. Too swallowed up by grief and regret, I couldn’t bring myself to face our families and friends. So, I never got the chance to say good-bye, to have that sacred moment to wish for more, a better afterlife, for the loved one who had left me.

I needed that now.

“I’m not really the person to talk to about that type of thing, Jude,” she started.

“Oh, come on, Margaret. Let’s cut the shit, shall we?”