Page 50 of Always and Forever
“I guess I was wrong.”
“Summer, no. Please don’t say that. You can trust me; I am your partner. I made a mistake, a huge one, by not telling you about Devereaux as soon as he reached out to me. Nothing I do or say can take that back, but there has to be something I can do to make you give me another chance. Giveusanother chance.”
I risk it and reach out to take her hand, but she pulls back, shaking her head.
“I don’t know if I can.”
No. No, no, no, no, no. She has to forgive me; this can’t be the end. But as she gives me one final, painful glance, then walks slowly back up to her truck, it starts to sink in that maybe this can’t be fixed.
“I love you, Summer,” I cry out, my voice cracking. I swipe angrily at the wetness on my own cheeks, not wanting tears to blur my vision of her.
She turns around and for a fleeting second, I have a brief flash of hope. Then the anger and pain in her expression hits me with the force of a Mack truck.
“How dare you. Howdareyou say those words now. I can’t trust them, Ethan. I can’t trust anything you say.”
Summer takes off at a run toward her truck and I move to follow but stop myself. I can’t, not after what she just said. Instead, I stand there, frozen in my own version of hell, watching the woman I love more than anything on earth drive away from me.
I have no idea how long I stay at Oceanside. All I know is that the light fades, and eventually I am surrounded by the dim, grey light of dusk. It’s cold, any trace of springtime warmth gone. The only light comes from a sliver of the moon, and I stumble, tripping over rocks and my own feet as I make my way to my truck. I haven’t eaten all day, haven’t done anything except sit in misery at my own stupidity. How could I have been so foolish as to think we had a chance of surviving this? A lie of omission is still a lie, and Summer made it clear to me how she felt about trust and honesty thanks to the games her mother played. Not that I can place any blame for this current mess on her mom. Summer has been nothing but open and receptive to me since the beginning. She took a chance on us, before we knew how Mila would feel, before Summer herself even knew what her plans were for the resort. Her feelings for me were strong enough that she trusted I would be there for her no matter what, and I broke that trust completely.
Somehow, I manage to drive back to my house on autopilot. It’s a miracle I make it unscathed given how oblivious I feel to anything but my own heartache.Selfish bastard.But telling a woman that I love her isn’t something I’ve done before. My sister and my mom not included. Having that love thrown back in my face is a type of pain I have never experienced.
When I get home, traces of her are everywhere, and they hurl themselves at me like tiny daggers. A sweater of hers, draped across the back of a chair. The mug she used for her coffee this morning sitting on the counter beside mine. A heart she drew with our initials in it, taped onto my fridge. Remnants of a broken relationship, a love that could have been, but now may never will be. Like a fool, I go into my bedroom, only it’s worse there. It smells of her — sunshine, lavender, peppermint, and happiness. The bathroom has two toothbrushes in the holder, two towels on the rack. Everywhere there are signs of how we were merging our lives together.
My sorrow over losing her mixes with my rage at myself and at Devereaux. Logically, I know that none of this is his fault, but it’s so easy to cast blame. If he hadn’t wanted the property. If he hadn’t come to town. If he hadn’t found her before I could tell her the truth.
If I hadn’t lied to her.
I make my way into the kitchen, grab the bottle of whiskey and a glass, and go to the couch. Dimly I think about eating something, but the oblivion I can hopefully find with the whiskey is too alluring right now. Anything to dull this pain. Before I can down even one glass, my phone rings. Putting the glass down on the coffee table, I debate not looking at it, ignoring whoever it is. But then I pick it up and see that it’s my sister. I don’t want to talk to her, yet at the same time some small, sadistic part of me needs to know if she’s talked to Summer.
“Hey, Mills.”
“What the hell happened, Ethan? I saw Summer parking behind the bakery earlier and run up the stairs to her apartment with tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t even listen when I called out to her. Is she okay?”
“I…we…shit.” My voice breaks on a sob that I can’t contain, and I drop my head into my hand.
“I’m coming over.”
Ten minutes later, I hear a key in the lock of my front door. I’m on my second glass of whiskey, and slowly starting to feel numb.
“Ethan? Where are you? Why the heck is it so dark in here?”
Mila turns on the lights in my living room, and I blink from the sudden brightness.
“Jesus, Mills. Do you have to turn all the lights on?”
I squint over at the entryway where my sister stands, her hands on her hips. The damn dog is by her side.
“I thought you were taking the dog to the vet?”
“I did. He’s healthy, except for some kind of old leg injury, and I’m keeping him for now. But this isn’t about the dog. What happened with Summer?”
“Devereaux got to her first.”
Mila comes over and sits next to me, and the damn dog jumps onto the couch between us. His head rests on my lap, and it’s the first thing all day that almost brings a smile to my face. I lower my hand to his back and stroke his soft coat.
“I hurt her, Mila. She has every right to be angry, to not trust me. But I told her I love her, and she walked away.”
“Oh, Ethan.”
