Page 116 of Timid (Lark Cove 2)

I opened my mouth to tell her good-bye but the words wouldn’t come. My feet wouldn’t move off the edge of the deck, because the moment I stepped off, this would be over.

I took one last long look at Willa, the woman who’d given me the best summer of my life, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t look at me.

She just let me go.

I stepped off the deck, nearly collapsing as a lead weight settled on my shoulders. My boots were so heavy I had to practically drag my feet across the yard and onto the school’s property.

Every step I took, I got colder. I felt sicker.

This feeling was the reason I didn’t get close to people. This was the reason it was better to live alone. It hurt too much to say good-bye. It was damn near crippling.

I walked faster, angry at myself and this entire situation. And I was angry at Willa for making me feel this way.

Why had she waited so long for me? Why had she made me crave her? Why couldn’t she have gone to college and met her future husband? That way, I never would have known her. She would have always just been Willow.

This was just as much her fault as it was mine.

My strides got longer as I played the irrational blame game. I didn’t play for long. I wanted to be mad at Willa, but I couldn’t.

She was innocent, just a victim of my fucked-up life.

Maybe I wasn’t so different from Melissa Page after all. I’d stolen a page from her playbook today, making sure that I was never the one in the rearview mirror again.

I’d almost reached the swing set when an angry word rang across the playground.

“No.”

What? My feet stopped and I spun around.

Willa was right behind me, not five feet away. Had she been following me this whole time?

“Willa—”

“No,” she cut me off again, closing the distance between us.

“No, what?”

“No, you don’t get to leave.”

I sighed. “Go home, Willa.” Please go home. I didn’t have it in me to say no if she asked me to stay.

She looked up at me with a defiance like nothing I’d ever seen before. She looked fierce and bold and beautiful.

And she told me, “No.”

“Why are you doing this?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Because I want an explanation.”

“And I just gave you one.”

“It wasn’t good enough.”

Her chin rose as she spoke. She stood taller today since her knee-high boots gave her a few extra inches. I still towered over her, but her stance was almost intimidating. When had she gotten this backbone? She never challenged me on, well . . . anything.

“I don’t know what else to say.”