Pieces of Summer (A stand-alone novel)(31)

“Why did you do it? And why the f*ck did you give it that awful name?” he asks, but he keeps his tone light as he smiles at me.

“Closure,” I say yet again, ignoring the name barb. Why does everyone hate the simple name? “It was unfinished. You know how much I hate that.”

His smile slips, and that sadness I once saw in his eyes when he was younger is suddenly there again, easy to see even with just the light of the candle.

“Did you come back because of me?” His voice is strained, as though that question is impossible for him to ask.

That’s not an easy question to answer.

“Yes, but not because I want you back. I came back to get what I needed… What you didn’t give me… A chance to move on. I live my life for me now, and I’ve made a lot of changes to make me better.”

He clears his throat and looks away.

“You hurt me, Chase. You really f*cking hurt me. And I still held on to the memory of what we were for longer than was healthy,” I tell him honestly. “This was the last thing I needed to do in order to get… over it.”

I almost said get better.

Problem is, I still don’t feel like anything is resolved, and the nagging feeling is stronger than ever. My skin is crawling with the need for resolution… for finality. It’s like my head can’t digest the bowling alley is finished, and this chapter of my life should now be closed. I’ve typed the end on the manuscript, erased it, typed it again, erased it once more, and typed it again. Usually if I type the end, then I’m able to move on.

I get my closure through healthier means than I used to. I keep my life moving forward by turning the uncontrollable factors into controllable stories. It keeps me mostly normal.

“You love writing?” he asks me.

If I hadn’t found the ability to channel all my energy into writing, I’d still be stuck in that hell.

“It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” I answer quietly.

“Would you have been a writer if you had stayed with me?” he asks, acting as though it’s not an easy question to release.

It’s something I’ve thought about for so long, even tried to work out the conclusion for the sake of my own closure. The truth is, I don’t know. Most likely, Chase would have gone doubly protective after… After the accident. It’s doubtful he would have allowed the measures taken that Aidan did. It’s possible I wouldn’t be a functioning person and he’d be caring for me, unable to live his own life.

“No,” I say quietly. “You did the right thing, Chase. We weren’t meant to be. You just did it the wrong way.”

None of that sounds right, but that’s life. It sucks you in, chews you up, and vomits you onto someone’s shoes. It’s grand, eh?

“Every time I tried to write a letter, it turned into a f*cking love letter instead of one that said goodbye,” he grumbles, looking down. “I was a heartbroken kid who didn’t see any hope for myself, and yeah, I was bitter. I was also selfish and missed you, so I… I left it unfinished. In a way, I kept thinking your need to finish things would send you running back to me almost immediately. It didn’t.”

He keeps his head down, and I tuck my legs under me.

“You could have called when you got a phone. I at least deserved to hear it from you.”

He nods, still staring at his feet.

“I know.” Then his head comes up. “How did you know I got one?”

Deciding to keep my own secrets, I shrug. “Everyone has a phone these days.”

My number has changed numerous times since that spring. It wouldn’t have done any good for him to call after that. But I also don’t mention that. He had a phone before he moved on.

He blows out a breath, leaning back to stare at me again. “I tried to find you on social media. Never could.”

“I’m only on there under my author name.” The name that anchors me to the past, according to my shrink who wants me to lose the Chase surname and adopt a new pen name.

It could have been worse. I could have used his surname. It makes me feel a little less crazy to not have used Mikayla James.

“So you looked me up?” he asks, referring to the fact I admitted to knowing he moved.

I stalked your page numerous times a week to see if you had made any post I could see.

“Yeah,” I say vaguely.

“Why not message me?”

“Why not call me? My number was the same for a long time. You might not have called it, but you had it. My address was the same too for a while. You knew how to write.” The words come out with more bite than I mean for them to, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Think it’s time to stray from memory lane. How about telling me what your plans are now that you’re in town?” he asks, confusing me with how nice he’s being tonight.

“I don’t know. I try not to make plans because I have to follow through with them. You know? That whole unfinished thing.”

He grins again. “It was one of my favorite things about you. Considering I didn’t have anyone in my life who ever carried through with plans or kept promises, it made me appreciate your inability to leave something unfinished.”

My chest aches a little from that confession.

“Why did you come back to Hayden?” I ask him.