Only Him
Page 52
“Okay, Maren.” Her voice was quieter. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
I took a breath and softened my tone, too. “I’m sorry, too. I’m not upset with you. I’m upset with myself. I’m having a really hard time getting past this.”
Silence. And then, “Do you still love him?”
I closed my eyes, felt my chest tighten. Of course I do. “It doesn’t matter.”
“If it makes a difference, Mare, when I talked to him, I felt like he was being sincere.”
“I did too, Emme—that’s the problem! He’s a master at sincere. He can make you trust him so easily it’s criminal.” I started to cry. “But it’s not real. And it doesn’t last. He always leaves.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. This is all my fault.”
“No, it isn’t.” I sniffed and wiped my eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m being bitchy and you’re trying to help. How are you feeling?”
“Great. I saw the doctor yesterday and everything is perfect so far. I’ll have an ultrasound at ten weeks to confirm the due date.”
“Has Nate recovered from the shock?”
Emme giggled. “Almost. I’ve only seen him faint one other time in his life, and that was the night he found out about Paisley.”
“So he’s consistent at least.”
“Yeah.” A pause. “Are you going to be all right?”
I swallowed. “Eventually. I hope.”
“Home tomorrow, right?”
“Right.”
“Travel safe. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” I ended the call and buried my phone in my suitcase again.
Hours later, I was still tossing and turning in the dark. It was almost worse than the nightmare. Sleep absolutely refused to come, and the thought of my phone in my suitcase was killing me.
Should I do what Emme said? Should I listen to his messages? Should I risk whatever healing I’d done this week, put what little peace I’d found with myself in jeopardy? Did I want to trade that in for another apology? Because I didn’t believe for one second that he actually loved me. He couldn’t.
But something in me would not rest. As if I were compelled by an outside force, I got out of bed and dug out my phone again.
Just the texts, I told myself as I plugged it in. I’d read his texts and then put my phone away.
There were two, both from late Tuesday night.
Maren, can we talk?
And then:
I don’t blame you for ignoring me. But if you have it in your heart to give me a few minutes, I’d really love to talk to you. Call me when you can.
I frowned at the screen. That did not sound like a man in love. That sounded like someone who wanted a favor. Or a man who was selling something.
Well, I wasn’t buying any insincerity today, thank you very much.
Then I noticed he’d left me a voice message on Wednesday morning. Convinced it could only reinforce my belief that Emme had been fooled just as I had been, I listened to it.
“Maren, it’s me. You’ve probably seen my messages by now. You haven’t called, which means you’re either too upset with me to talk or you need more time to think about it. I get that. I’ll be on a plane to Boston most of today, but you could reach me in the next couple hours or later tonight. I’ll be on your time zone by then. I don’t know if Finn told you or not, but I decided to have the surgery. It will be on Friday. I’d really like to talk to you before then, if possible. I … hope you’re well. I miss you.”
The sound of his voice sent chills up my spine and blanketed my arms with goose bumps, but I still hadn’t heard anything that suggested he’d changed his mind about us. To me, it sounded like he just wanted to apologize again, and he wanted me to offer my forgiveness before he went into surgery.
If that was the case, a text back would suffice. A simple I forgive you, good luck tomorrow. There was no way I could call him, like he’d requested—I’d break down and cry, and I was so tired of tears.
I typed out the message and hit send. A few seconds later, I got a Failed to Send text. I tried again, but it failed a second time. Sighing, I gave up on the text and decided to send an email to Finn. Dallas would probably hate that, but I had no other option. It was either Finn passing the message along or nothing. I didn’t have an email address for Dallas.
I opened my inbox. And there it was—a message from Dallas.
Subject: Those who understand us enslave something in us.
I recognized the words right away—they were from his tattoo, the first one I’d asked him about—and my breath caught in my lungs.
Before I could stop myself, I read through the email, my heart pounding faster with every word. I covered my mouth with my hand.
Was this real?
I read the entire thing over and over again.
My God, no wonder Emme had called me. If he’d sounded half as sincere on the phone as he had in this email, I’d have believed him too.
But should I?
My head said no.
My heart said yes.
My gut … I wasn’t sure yet. My inner voice was still silent.
Setting the phone down next to me, I pulled the covers up to my chin and lay there, shivering and scared and wide-eyed in the dark.
I wanted more than anything for his words to be true, for his feelings to exist as he’d described them. I’d never heard him so forthright about his fears or talk about the future like that.
I picked up my phone again and reread the ending.
For the first time in my life, I’m looking ahead and thinking to myself, I’m not done.
I’m not done living, and I’m not done loving you, Maren Devine. Not by a long shot.
Granted, I’m not much of a catch right now, but I swear to God if you’ll give me that second chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life making you the happiest woman alive.
You once asked me to let you love me, and I promised I would. Let me keep my promise.
Now, then, always and only yours,
Dallas
My eyes filled. My stomach churned. What if this was just his fear and adrenaline talking? What if he woke up after the surgery and said, Sorry, changed my mind. What if I showed up at the hospital and he refused to see me?
But … what if he meant these things? What if my head was wrong? What if my heart knew the truth? Which part of myself could I trust?
I closed my eyes. I breathed deeply, in and out, aware of each breath, turning my focus inward. Somewhere inside me was the answer, I was sure of it.
I heard Madam Psuka’s voice. Then the moment the dream is preparing you for has not yet come. The story is not done.
I drifted deeper.
Still the voice was hers. Be stronger. Be braver. Trust yourself. Open yourself up to all possibilities. Stop seeing yourself trapped in a cycle of heartbreak, and a way out will present itself to you—but not if you refuse to let it. Not if you refuse love.
And deeper still, until I’m in a room full of people, but they can’t see me.
I keep trying to talk to them, but I can’t speak. I can’t even open my mouth.
I look down and notice I’m naked.
That’s when I see the snake.
Slithering through the crowd along the dark wood floor, it’s heading straight for me.
Panicked, I start running for the door at the end of the room, carrying the clock. It’s ticking loudly.
Eventually, I reached the door but discover there is no handle. And it won’t budge.
For the first time, I turn around and face the snake. It stops short of me.
I hear a voice. It is my own, not speaking aloud, but inside me. It says, I am not afraid to love.
The snake hisses, as if it heard me.
I welcome the voice, and it speaks again. I am not afraid to love.
The snake begins to vanish.
I am not afraid to love.
The room is empty now; the people have disappeared. I look at the snake again and discover it’s gone.
I am not afraid to love.
I walk to the center of the room and set the clock on the floor, where it continues to tick loudly, neither fast nor slow, but with a steady, reassuring rhythm. Then I turn and look around. The closed door is still there. But there is another door as well, on the opposite side of the room. It has a handle.
I took a breath and softened my tone, too. “I’m sorry, too. I’m not upset with you. I’m upset with myself. I’m having a really hard time getting past this.”
Silence. And then, “Do you still love him?”
I closed my eyes, felt my chest tighten. Of course I do. “It doesn’t matter.”
“If it makes a difference, Mare, when I talked to him, I felt like he was being sincere.”
“I did too, Emme—that’s the problem! He’s a master at sincere. He can make you trust him so easily it’s criminal.” I started to cry. “But it’s not real. And it doesn’t last. He always leaves.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. This is all my fault.”
“No, it isn’t.” I sniffed and wiped my eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m being bitchy and you’re trying to help. How are you feeling?”
“Great. I saw the doctor yesterday and everything is perfect so far. I’ll have an ultrasound at ten weeks to confirm the due date.”
“Has Nate recovered from the shock?”
Emme giggled. “Almost. I’ve only seen him faint one other time in his life, and that was the night he found out about Paisley.”
“So he’s consistent at least.”
“Yeah.” A pause. “Are you going to be all right?”
I swallowed. “Eventually. I hope.”
“Home tomorrow, right?”
“Right.”
“Travel safe. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” I ended the call and buried my phone in my suitcase again.
Hours later, I was still tossing and turning in the dark. It was almost worse than the nightmare. Sleep absolutely refused to come, and the thought of my phone in my suitcase was killing me.
Should I do what Emme said? Should I listen to his messages? Should I risk whatever healing I’d done this week, put what little peace I’d found with myself in jeopardy? Did I want to trade that in for another apology? Because I didn’t believe for one second that he actually loved me. He couldn’t.
But something in me would not rest. As if I were compelled by an outside force, I got out of bed and dug out my phone again.
Just the texts, I told myself as I plugged it in. I’d read his texts and then put my phone away.
There were two, both from late Tuesday night.
Maren, can we talk?
And then:
I don’t blame you for ignoring me. But if you have it in your heart to give me a few minutes, I’d really love to talk to you. Call me when you can.
I frowned at the screen. That did not sound like a man in love. That sounded like someone who wanted a favor. Or a man who was selling something.
Well, I wasn’t buying any insincerity today, thank you very much.
Then I noticed he’d left me a voice message on Wednesday morning. Convinced it could only reinforce my belief that Emme had been fooled just as I had been, I listened to it.
“Maren, it’s me. You’ve probably seen my messages by now. You haven’t called, which means you’re either too upset with me to talk or you need more time to think about it. I get that. I’ll be on a plane to Boston most of today, but you could reach me in the next couple hours or later tonight. I’ll be on your time zone by then. I don’t know if Finn told you or not, but I decided to have the surgery. It will be on Friday. I’d really like to talk to you before then, if possible. I … hope you’re well. I miss you.”
The sound of his voice sent chills up my spine and blanketed my arms with goose bumps, but I still hadn’t heard anything that suggested he’d changed his mind about us. To me, it sounded like he just wanted to apologize again, and he wanted me to offer my forgiveness before he went into surgery.
If that was the case, a text back would suffice. A simple I forgive you, good luck tomorrow. There was no way I could call him, like he’d requested—I’d break down and cry, and I was so tired of tears.
I typed out the message and hit send. A few seconds later, I got a Failed to Send text. I tried again, but it failed a second time. Sighing, I gave up on the text and decided to send an email to Finn. Dallas would probably hate that, but I had no other option. It was either Finn passing the message along or nothing. I didn’t have an email address for Dallas.
I opened my inbox. And there it was—a message from Dallas.
Subject: Those who understand us enslave something in us.
I recognized the words right away—they were from his tattoo, the first one I’d asked him about—and my breath caught in my lungs.
Before I could stop myself, I read through the email, my heart pounding faster with every word. I covered my mouth with my hand.
Was this real?
I read the entire thing over and over again.
My God, no wonder Emme had called me. If he’d sounded half as sincere on the phone as he had in this email, I’d have believed him too.
But should I?
My head said no.
My heart said yes.
My gut … I wasn’t sure yet. My inner voice was still silent.
Setting the phone down next to me, I pulled the covers up to my chin and lay there, shivering and scared and wide-eyed in the dark.
I wanted more than anything for his words to be true, for his feelings to exist as he’d described them. I’d never heard him so forthright about his fears or talk about the future like that.
I picked up my phone again and reread the ending.
For the first time in my life, I’m looking ahead and thinking to myself, I’m not done.
I’m not done living, and I’m not done loving you, Maren Devine. Not by a long shot.
Granted, I’m not much of a catch right now, but I swear to God if you’ll give me that second chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life making you the happiest woman alive.
You once asked me to let you love me, and I promised I would. Let me keep my promise.
Now, then, always and only yours,
Dallas
My eyes filled. My stomach churned. What if this was just his fear and adrenaline talking? What if he woke up after the surgery and said, Sorry, changed my mind. What if I showed up at the hospital and he refused to see me?
But … what if he meant these things? What if my head was wrong? What if my heart knew the truth? Which part of myself could I trust?
I closed my eyes. I breathed deeply, in and out, aware of each breath, turning my focus inward. Somewhere inside me was the answer, I was sure of it.
I heard Madam Psuka’s voice. Then the moment the dream is preparing you for has not yet come. The story is not done.
I drifted deeper.
Still the voice was hers. Be stronger. Be braver. Trust yourself. Open yourself up to all possibilities. Stop seeing yourself trapped in a cycle of heartbreak, and a way out will present itself to you—but not if you refuse to let it. Not if you refuse love.
And deeper still, until I’m in a room full of people, but they can’t see me.
I keep trying to talk to them, but I can’t speak. I can’t even open my mouth.
I look down and notice I’m naked.
That’s when I see the snake.
Slithering through the crowd along the dark wood floor, it’s heading straight for me.
Panicked, I start running for the door at the end of the room, carrying the clock. It’s ticking loudly.
Eventually, I reached the door but discover there is no handle. And it won’t budge.
For the first time, I turn around and face the snake. It stops short of me.
I hear a voice. It is my own, not speaking aloud, but inside me. It says, I am not afraid to love.
The snake hisses, as if it heard me.
I welcome the voice, and it speaks again. I am not afraid to love.
The snake begins to vanish.
I am not afraid to love.
The room is empty now; the people have disappeared. I look at the snake again and discover it’s gone.
I am not afraid to love.
I walk to the center of the room and set the clock on the floor, where it continues to tick loudly, neither fast nor slow, but with a steady, reassuring rhythm. Then I turn and look around. The closed door is still there. But there is another door as well, on the opposite side of the room. It has a handle.
