Page 102 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
Rachel squeezes my hand once before letting go. “I’ll make you some tea,” she offers, rising from the couch. She shoots Adam a look I can’t quite interpret. It’s not hostile, but it’s not friendly either.
Adam moves toward the door, his steps slow, as if he’s reluctant to leave. Then he stops, turns back, and in a movement that catches me completely off guard, drops to his knees in front of me. He takes both my hands in his.
“I’m sorry, Caitlin. You need to know that none of this was your fault. It was my fault. I am to blame for everything that went wrong between us. You were everything good in my life, and I failed you. It’s not enough; it will never be enough. But I need you to know I’m sorry.”
Adam rises and with one last look at me, a look so full of love and regret that it makes my throat tighten, he turns and walks to the door. The soft click as it closes behind him feels strangely final, like the period at the end of a sentence.
A few minutes later, Rachel comes back with the mug of tea, steam curling up from its surface. “Chamomile with honey,” she says, setting it on the coffee table in front of me. She settles back beside me on the couch, tucking her feet under her. “How are you feeling?”
I consider the question, trying to sort through the tangle of feelings inside me. “I don’t know,” I admit finally. “Empty. Confused. A little bit numb.”
Luna crawls higher up my lap, settling against my chest, her little face turned up to mine. I stroke her soft fur, finding comfort in the simple, uncomplicated affection of a cat.
“I don’t know what to do, Rachel,” I whisper, the words falling into the quiet room like stones into still water.
“You don’t do anything tonight,” she says gently. “Tonight, you drink your tea, you pet your cat, and you just breathe. Tomorrow will come soon enough.”
I shift so my head rests on her shoulder, and she wraps her arm around me. She picks up the remote and turns on the TV, finding some mindless cooking competition that requires no emotional investment. She doesn’t press me to talk more, doesn’t offer advice or opinions about Adam. She just sits with me in comfortable silence, a steady presence at my side.
As the evening settles around us, I sip my tea and stroke Luna’s fur, letting my mind drift. Adam’s words echo in my thoughts. I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know what I want to do next.
And for tonight, I don’t have to know. For tonight, it’s enough to sit here with my cousin and my cat, to let myself rest in this moment of calm after the storm. The future, with all its questions and possibilities, will wait until I’m ready to face it.
36
Chapter 36
Adam
I drive with my windows down, the cold air rushing in, but it does nothing to cool the burning shame in my chest. Caitlin’s tears have soaked through my shirt, through my skin, straight to my heart where they’ve frozen into something sharp and painful. I grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white. I made her cry. Again.
Almost automatically, I take the turn onto the gravel road leading to her grandmother’s house. Each bump and dip jars me, but I barely notice. All I can see is Caitlin’s face crumpling as the tears started to fall. All I can hear is the awful, broken sound of her sobs. I pull up to the house and kill the engine, but I don’t move. I just sit there, staring at the darkened windows, remembering how I’d held her while she cried, how her body had shaken against mine.
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and finally let my own tears fall. They come hot and fast, burning tracks down my cheeks. I pound my fist against the dash once, twice, the physical pain a welcome distraction from the agony inside.
When I finally drag myself out of the truck, the afternoon is silent around me. No birds, no distant traffic, just the sound of my boots on gravel and my uneven breathing. I fumble with the key, push open the door that still sticks, and step inside.
I know this house now, every creaking floorboard, every stubborn door. I move through the rooms like a ghost, trailing my fingers along walls that Caitlin once touched as a child. Everything in the kitchen is exactly as we left it, but I can’t face it. Not tonight. Not with the echo of Caitlin’s tears still ringing in my ears.
Instead, I find myself climbing the stairs to the second floor. My footsteps are heavy, each one carrying the weight of my guilt. The upstairs bathroom is next on our renovation list. It’s seriously outdated; everything in it is at least forty years old and in poor shape. It needs to be gutted completely. Just like my life. Just like everything I thought I knew about myself.
I flip on the work light I’d set up earlier in the week. The harsh glow bounces off the cracked tiles and tarnished faucets. Without thinking, I grab a sledgehammer from where it leans against the wall in the hallway. I’d planned to start demolition next week, to do it carefully, methodically.
To hell with careful.
I swing the hammer at the tile wall, and the impact reverberates up my arms into my shoulders. The tiles crack and shatter, falling to the floor with a satisfying crash. I swing again. And again. Each impact sends shock waves of pain through my already aching body, but I welcome it. I deserve it.
“You hurt her,” I mutter, swinging the hammer at the ancient vanity. The wood splinters under the blow. “You made her cry.”
Sweat begins to soak through my shirt as I work, demolishing the bathroom with a fury I didn’t know I possessed. I tear the medicine cabinet from the wall, smash the toilet tank with a single well-placed blow.
“You let your mother treat her like dirt,” I growl, attacking the bathtub surround now. “You let Millie undermine her at every turn. You gave Millie time that should have been hers. You made Millie your priority instead of her.” The tiles crack and fall. “You made her feel like she didn’t belong in your life.”
I’m breathing hard, my muscles screaming in protest, but I can’t stop. The physical pain is nothing compared to the agony of seeing Caitlin broken because of me. I swing the hammer until my arms feel like lead, until the bathroom is nothing but rubble around me, until sweat drips into my eyes and mingles with tears I didn’t know I was still crying.
Finally, I drop the hammer. It lands with a dull thud on the debris-covered floor. I sink down against the wall, my legs no longer able to hold me up. Dust and grit coat my skin, my clothes, my hair. I probably look as wrecked as I feel.
In the sudden silence, broken only by my harsh breathing, I’m forced to face one simple fact. I betrayed her. It’s that simple. All of my reasons and excuses mean nothing in the face of that truth. I betrayed the woman I love.
