What If (If Only.... #2)(66)

She wraps her arms around her midsection, her shoulder-length sandy waves lifting in the wind. “You mean with your heart. No one to f*ck around with your heart. You can’t even say it, can you?”

No I can’t say it. But I don’t say this. Because admitting it makes it real. It means I gave her my goddamn heart, and she lied to me. Maggie made me believe she saw something in me no one else could, but I guess she’s a better bullshit artist than I am.

“She knew how important tonight was, Nat. I know you planned this big party, but it only mattered to me that one person was here—her. She couldn’t even text. Just a big f*ck you by not showing up.”

Nat backs through the door and into the bar again, dragging me with her, and for some reason I let her.

“Can I drive you home, then? You’ll freeze out there.”

Her eyes, soft with pity, say it all. I see me the way my family does, the way Maggie must have seen me the day we met, the way she still sees me now.

“Look at me,” I say, holding my hands up as if to say ta-da! “Look at what I almost did in there! I’m still that guy. I’d have stood my ass up, too. But…why now? Why like this? I need to know why she let me hope if it was always going to end like this.”

I kiss my sister on the cheek and back out the door again. “I’m sorry for ruining the party,” I say. I reach into my pocket and toss her the keys to the truck. “Make sure Davis gets home okay. Will you?”

She looks at the keys, then behind her at Davis, who hasn’t left the couch. “Fine. I’ll get him home. Just tell me where you’re going.”

“I need to walk.”

“You’re not wearing a coat,” she says, worry tingeing her words.

“I’ll be fine. I’m not going too far.” Not too far if I was driving, but on foot the statement is a stretch. I’m almost out the door when Nat grabs my forearm.

“It wasn’t a choice,” she says, and my brows pull together. “To have Vi on my own. It wasn’t a choice.” Tears pool in her eyes, but she keeps talking. “He left me before I knew I was pregnant. I loved him, and he left, and he never knew he had a daughter, so I never told him. I didn’t choose this life, Griffin. It chose me. And I wouldn’t trade being Vi’s mom for anything. Not ever. But you have a choice I would have done anything for back then, if I wasn’t too proud to act on it. Don’t choose to be alone, Griffin.”

If she says anything after that, I don’t hear it. I hear nothing but the whoosh of the door as it closes and the pounding of my pulse in my ears.





Chapter Twenty-Four


Maggie


A dull throb beats at my skull as I lean against the cool glass of the passenger-side window.

Miles unscrews the cap from a bottle of water and lifts it out of the cup holder to hand to me.

“Take something before it gets worse,” he says, his voice gentle and reassuring. When I glance at him, his eyes are dark with worry, so I obey, if only to ease his mind.

“Thank you. I already hurled at the police station.” I sift through my bag and find the oral meds for the continuing migraine, trying to make a late-night injection unnecessary. The cop let me take one earlier, but I probably lost it along with my lunch in the station’s garbage can.

I swallow back the tablet, washing it down with large gulps of water, half of me knowing that hydration is another deterrent, the other half knowing if I’m drinking I don’t have to be talking.

“I need to go back to relieve Jeanie and George and make sure everything is set for closing.”

I nod, capping the bottle and setting it back in the cup holder.

“I called the bus company. They have your phone. I can swing by and get it on the way home. Paige is meeting us at the shop so you don’t have to wait for me.”

Again, a nod. Anything else is too much effort. Anything else will open the dam, letting everything spill out. And I can’t. I’m too tired, of all of it.

“He’ll understand, honey. All you have to do is tell him, and he’ll understand.”

This time I respond with a violent head shake, one that sets loose the salt-water blurring my vision.

“It’s too much,” I finally say, my voice a cross between a sob and whisper. “Getting lost would be one thing, Miles. But look at me. I’m a mess. No trigger other than stress and disorientation. I’m not ready. I can’t do it.” I wipe away the wetness from my eyes. “You weren’t there, in Chicago. I heard him telling his friends he couldn’t handle me, that he doesn’t do well with responsibility. How can I ask him to be responsible for this?” I motion to myself.

Miles extends his free hand to wrap around mine, giving me a gentle squeeze.

“Mags,” he says. “Do you know why I came to pick you up tonight?”

I sniffle and ask a reluctant, “Why?”

He kisses my hand. “It’s not because I feel obligated or responsible or whatever label you want to call it. It’s because I love you.”

My head falls against the cool glass of the window. “It’s not the same,” I tell him. “You loved me before any of this happened. You’re grandfathered in. I can’t ask him to take this on at the start, not when he’s finally choosing to stand on his own two feet.”