Page 41 of From This Moment (After We Fall 4)
I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell her that kiss wasn’t a mistake; it was everything I’d always dreamed about. I wanted to take her in my arms right now and soothe her, heal her, fix what was broken.
But she didn’t want me. She never really had.
After a painful silence, she sighed and looked down at the envelope in her hand. “I’ll give Abby the letter. But Wes, I think maybe you should stay away for a little while. As much as I enjoy being with you, I think all the time we’ve been spending together is confusing me. Making me feel things that aren’t real.”
It is real. I feel it too.
But I nodded. What choice did I have? I had to respect Hannah’s wishes, not to mention general rules of propriety, which dictated that it would not be okay to go after my late brother’s wife.
No matter how m
uch I wanted to.
“Okay. Thanks. Tell her I’m sorry I couldn’t walk with her today.”
“I will.”
I let the screen door close, reluctant to leave but unable to think of a reason to stay. “Well, have a good day. And…call if you need anything.” A lightbulb changed, an ice cream cone, an orgasm…
She nodded. “I will.”
But I knew she wouldn’t.
I ran home, irritated with myself, with Hannah, with the entire situation. I was especially irritated with Drew, for swooping in and stealing Hannah’s heart before I could work up the nerve to ask her out, for cheating on his beautiful, loving wife just because he wasn’t getting enough sleep or attention, and for dying and leaving me to deal with all this shit. Hannah wasn’t the only one with unresolved feelings.
Because I was mad, I pushed my body to the limit, running harder and faster than I was used to. By the time I reached home, my clothes were drenched with sweat and I could hardly breathe. My muscles were screaming, my head hurt, and my heart was pumping way too hard. But I ran all the way down to the beach before slowing down to check my pulse.
Once my feet were on the sand, I paced back and forth along the shore, fingertips on my throat. When I was sure I wasn’t about to die, I allowed myself to mutter a string of curse words that would make a sailor blush. Why was everything so fucked up? Why did I have these feelings for a woman who was so out of reach? What was I supposed to do with them?
And why, why, had I stopped her last night? What if I’d blown the only chance I’d ever have to be with her that way? To feel her body on mine? To give her the kind of pleasure that only a lover could give? What the fuck did I care what her reasons were for doing it? We were two grown adults, weren’t we? It wouldn’t have hurt anyone!
I wanted to go back and do it all over. Everything. From the very beginning.
I wanted to make her mine.
I’d marry her and have children with her and walk them to school on the first day. I’d buy her a house and reach things on the high shelf and let her sleep in on Saturday mornings while I made the coffee and cooked her breakfast.
I could have made her happy, too.
But instead, I’d stepped aside—again.
I thought about her constantly over the next few days. On Tuesday night while I looked at houses for sale. On Wednesday morning as I ran on the beach before work. On Thursday evening as I drove home in my newly purchased SUV. I imagined what it would be like to go pick her and Abby up and take them to dinner or a movie or maybe an apple orchard. We’d pick apples and eat donuts and drink cider, and then we could bring the apples home and Hannah could make applesauce or, better yet, an apple pie.
I had a thousand questions for Abby. How was the first day of kindergarten? Did she like her teacher? Had she made new friends? Did she wonder why I hadn’t come to walk her home yet? Late Tuesday morning I’d gotten a text from Hannah with an adorable photo of a grinning Abby wearing a little blue jumper, her new backpack, and a huge smile. Her hair was caught up in two pigtails, and she held the little elephant I’d given her underneath one arm. The message was sent to me, my mom, my dad, and another number I didn’t recognize, which was probably her mother’s. It said, All set for the first day of school.
But that was it—no other details and no follow up message later in the day letting us know how it had gone, unless she’d messaged someone separately. On Friday morning, I’d said casually to my mother, “Have you heard from Hannah?”
She seemed surprised I’d asked, pausing with her coffee cup halfway to her mouth. “No. Why?”
“Just wondering how the first week of school is going for Abby.”
“Me too, but I don’t like to meddle too much.”
Since when? I thought.
Work was a welcome distraction, and compared to the challenges I’d faced in Africa, my father’s family practice was fairly easy. We saw patients together so he could introduce me, and I saw a few patients on my own. There was a little bit of everything, and all ages, from babies with croup to kids with rashes to seniors with pain in their joints. Nothing serious or severe enough to really take my mind off Hannah, but if I hadn’t had the work, I’d have driven myself crazy.
On Saturday afternoon, I was so restless I drove to the mall, even though I hate the mall, and picked up a few news shirts. While I was shopping, I got a text from Pete asking if I wanted to meet up for a beer around seven, and I answered yes. The last thing I wanted to do was sit around the house with my parents, listening to them bicker while I moped about Hannah.
