Page 183 of Just One More Thing

I didn’t think I had any tears left. Apparently my body was just saving them for catastrophic new information.

I stand too fast and nearly knock the beer over.

He turned it down.

While I was there.

While I was still close enough to choose him back.

And then I left anyway.

I walk into the bedroom. My suitcase is still on the floor. Jake’s jersey is draped across the bed where I left it this morning. I stop and just look at it. White and red. Number 11. Soft with wear.

I peel off my clothes and throw them into the hamper.

He chose me.

I wash my face, mascara smearing under my eyes, my reflection looking worse by the second.

He turned it down.

I brush my teeth. The normalcy of it makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

He went to Tampa. And that should prove my point, shouldn’t it? That I did the right thing. That I got out of his way and let him be free. I stepped aside, and he walked straight back into the life he was always meant to have.

I spit, rinse, and grip the sink.

No.

That’s not what this proves.

This proves he went after I left. After I removed myself from the equation. After I made the choice for both of us.

I told myself I was protecting him. Giving him freedom. Doing the right thing.

But he didn’t ask to be saved from me.

He asked for me.

He chose me.

I pull his jersey over my head. Then I climb into bed and grab my Kindle from the nightstand because maybe I can read my way out of this spiral.

I make it through a paragraph. Maybe two. I have no idea what either said. Every thought in my head is the same.

He turned it down.

He chose me.

I lower the Kindle to my chest and stare at the ceiling.

He chose me over and over.

Not just with words. With the way he kept showing up. The way he made room without making me feel trapped. The way he let me come closer at my own pace, even when he had every reason to stop waiting. With every chance he gave me to stay.

He never gave up.

“Oh God,” I whisper into the dark.