What If (If Only.... #2)(57)

“Mmmm-hmmm.” She spins so her back is flush with the window like mine, her legs dangling over the end of the bench. “But you never looked at me like you look at her.”

She says this not with jealousy or anger but with a smile and something that sounds like hope.

“I know,” I say. “Could you have, though? If things had been different, could you have seen me as someone who was worth it?”

Maybe the question isn’t a fair one, but it’s one that’s always lingered at the back of my mind, if Jordan saw me as anything different than what I let rise to the surface—if Maggie could really see past the guy I was when she met me.

“Is that what you think? That I never saw you as worth it? Griffin, I should have fought harder to show you how I felt. I’m the one who messed up. Not you. You’re worth everything, and there’s a girl in there who’s been looking at you all night like you’re the freaking air she breathes. She needs you.”

Needing her is what scares the shit out of me.

She spins to face me, one leg still dangling. “You know, in some ways Aberdeen was both the most painful year of my life and the best one. I think that’s where you are now, sweetie. The good is so good. It really is. But you’ll miss out on it if you don’t also accept there will be some pain.”

My eyes meet hers, and she smiles. Again I’m taken aback by how much she’s changed, how much I can tell she’s grown since I saw her last.

“When did you get so wise?” I ask her.

She laughs. “I surprise even myself sometimes with my endless fountain of wisdom.”

“Can I hug you?”

“Most definitely.” She slides closer and wraps her arms around me, this stranger I thought I knew. “Tell her how you feel,” she whispers to me. “Let her in, and she’ll do the same for you.”

“You make it sound so easy,” I say.

“It’s scary as f*cking hell to tell someone you love them, Griffin. But you want to know what’s worse?”

“What?”

“Never saying it at all.”

She kisses my cheek, and the bathroom door creeps open. Maggie stands, framed in the blackness of the unlit room. She is pale. That much I can see. As she emerges into the lit bedroom, her usually vibrant green eyes are bloodshot, dark circles underneath. The left sleeve of her shirt is pushed high above her elbow, and a small circle of dried blood shows on her upper arm.

I want to go to her, ask her for answers, but something in her stance tells me to keep my distance.

“I’m…I’m so sorry for ruining the night. I’m going to take a quick shower and then go to bed.” She smiles at Jordan. “It was so nice meeting you all. Please take Griffin back to the party and enjoy what’s left of the evening.”

Jordan ignores the stay-away vibe and heads right for Maggie, hugging her.

“We’re so happy you’re okay. We’ll head back down for a drink or two. We’re hanging at your swank hotel now. But only on one condition, that this isn’t good-bye yet. There’s a Starbucks across the street. Meet for coffee in the morning?”

Maggie nods, and I’m filled with relief. Because I’m not heading back down with Jordan, not yet. I’m not leaving this room until I know Maggie is okay, and if that means waiting until she showers and falls asleep, so be it.

“I’ll be down in a bit, then,” I say, and Jordan flashes me a look of understanding.

“See you soon,” she says, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“See you soon.”

“And you…” Jordan looks at Maggie as she backs toward the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Maggie forces another smile. “Sure. See you in the morning.”

When Jordan’s gone, I follow her lead and ignore whatever it is Maggie is doing to keep me away, and as soon as my hands cup her cheeks, her tears begin to fall.

She opens her mouth to say something, but I don’t let her apologize, not again, not for something that is as much my fault as it is her own.

“It’s my turn,” I tell her. “My turn to say I’m sorry. You told me this could happen. You told me, and I didn’t take it seriously. I’m so sorry, Maggie. God, if this weekend was some sort of test for us, I f*cking failed. I should have been there for you, and I wasn’t.”

The tears keep falling, and I kiss them as they do, the word sorry spilling from my lips over and over again. Maggie makes no move to kiss me back.

Finally she’s able to talk through the tears.

“I need to clean myself up.” Her voice is flat aside from the tremble of the ebbing sobs. “Then sleep. You should go be with your friends.”

She pulls free, grabbing her toiletry bag from the top of her suitcase, and then she retreats into the bathroom again, closing the door while I stand there alone.

My first instinct is to follow Jordan downstairs. To run. When a girl heads to the bathroom in tears, that’s always my sign for an exit. It would be so much easier. If Maggie doesn’t want me here, then I don’t need to be here.

But even if she doesn’t want me, she sure as hell needs me—needs someone. And I’m her only choice. So I sit on the foot of the bed and wait, and when she emerges in a T-shirt and shorts, hair wrapped in a towel, and her red eyes evidence that she spent the whole shower with tears streaming, I still don’t move.