An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(76)

He flinches when it scalds him, tossing the burned-out stub to the ground and stomping it out with the toe of his dress shoe. The wind howls as he glances up at me again. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

I shake my head through a frown. “No, I just…I’m trying to explain. I’m trying to help you understand my motives.”

“None of that explains why you lied to me.”

My eyes round. “I didn’t—”

“You told me you had fucking asthma,” he blares, a finger lashing out and pointing at my face. “I questioned it. The mysterious scar on your chest, the fact that I never saw you with an inhaler. But you’re Lucy fucking Hope, and I never in a million years thought you’d lie to me.”

I’m a shaken soda can about to implode, waiting for that cap to be pulled off so I can erupt like a geyser. Guilt stabs at my chest. “I didn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t,” I cry. “I didn’t want people grieving for me like I was already gone. I didn’t want to be sad all the time. I couldn’t bear the looks, or the whispers.”

“Sounds like a selfish reason to me.”

Selfish?

Have I been selfish?

From my point of view, it feels like I’ve been anything but. I’ve sacrificed love, sex, relationships, all to protect the man susceptible to the loss of me.

I swing my head back and forth, the guilt mixing with outrage. “You’re acting like you understand what it’s like to be me; like you’re the one who’s dying,” I tell him, my voice rising over the shrill pitch of the wind. “You could never understand.”

His face twists into a deadly scowl as he takes a deliberate stride toward me. “I died the day I lost her, and I’ve died over and over again, every day since,” he spits out, teeth bared. “And then you come along and bring me back to life, only to put me right back in the fucking ground.”

My lips part to speak, but nothing comes out, so I close my mouth and pull his jacket tighter around me. Silence permeates. It festers. Cal breaks our stare-off first, looking off toward the parking lot of idle cars, and my shoulders fall as I release a breath. “When I was just a little kid, right before I moved next door to you, I overheard my kindergarten teacher talking about me to another faculty member. She said I wouldn’t live past high school,” I say, the memory like poison. “She said it so flippantly, like the topic of my life expectancy was nothing more than lunchroom chatter. I was only five years old, but it traumatized me. I went home in tears and begged my parents to keep my secret. We moved two months later, and they kept it. They never told anyone the truth about my medical condition—they would always just say that I had asthma.”

Cal’s eyes pan back to me, and I swear they soften briefly.

He swallows, taking a small step forward. “Did Emma know?”

“No,” I admit.

“You should have told me.”

I close my eyes with a nod. “I thought it was a well-intentioned omission. I didn’t think you would react like this.”

“What, like I give a shit? Surprise. I fucking give a shit.”

“You said…” I trail off, chewing my lip and glancing away. “You said you wouldn’t love me. I didn’t think it would change anything. I just wanted to be your friend again.”

He doesn’t say anything. A white sedan pulls up to the curb in the midst of our tangible silence, a driver stepping out and observing from afar.

“That’s my Uber,” Cal murmurs, letting out a sigh.

My throat stings. “Okay.” Our night of intimacy is snuffed out like the smoking remnants of his cigarette butt smoldering on the cement. Cal is leaving in an Uber instead of in my Volkswagen, and I’m returning home to my bed instead of his, the memory of his kiss still buzzing on my tongue.

I ruined everything.

He moves around me, side-stepping me, without a goodbye. Desperation has my hand reaching out and latching onto his bicep, stopping him in his tracks. “Cal, wait. Don’t leave like this.”

Canting his head toward me, his eyes find mine, reluctantly lingering. His muscle twitches beneath my touch. “I’ll see you at work.”

I can’t stomach his brush-off and squeeze him tighter. “Please. I’m sorry.” I step closer, right up to him, flush against him, then tentatively nuzzle my cheek to his chest, dampening his shirt with my tears. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Lucy, I have to go.”

My chin pops up, my eyes wide and emotion-glazed. I drag my hand up the length of his arm, cupping the side of his cheek. His stance relaxes, just a little, by the way he leans ever so slightly into my touch. I drink in a shaky breath, grazing my thumb up and down his jawline. “I’m sorry,” I repeat softly.

“I know.”

“I still want you.”

His eyes close, then reopen slowly, as if he were savoring my confession in the privacy of his own mind. I didn’t mean to purge those words. I hadn’t intended to speak so brazenly, but it’s the truth. And I’m done hiding away the truth.

Cal swallows, lifting his hand and placing it along my waist. His fingers curl into me like he’s still holding on, like he doesn’t want to walk away just as much as I don’t want him to. “I know,” he echoes.