by Jewel E. Ann
For a girl who didn’t believe in fate or anything written in the stars, I knew with one kiss that I would never want to kiss another man again.
But I did. I kissed Nate. And it didn’t feel entirely wrong, but it should have. So I have to let my grocery store guy go be someone else’s perfect man. No one will ever love him more than I love him, but maybe they’ll love him better.
I don’t try to stop the tears or even wipe them from my face. Everything is too numb. Everything except my heart. It feels like it’s gone ten rounds in the ring. Would someone please just knock me out already?
Griffin finally looks at me. He grimaces, pumping his fisted hands several times. “Who are you?”
I swallow, trying to keep the pain from suffocating me. “I don’t know.”
Sliding off the stool, he pulls in a slow breath that expands his chest, pushing back his shoulders. He’s always had this confidence I can’t imagine finding in a million lifetimes.
He steps toward me. I step toward him. His knuckles brush my tear-stained cheek. “Remember when you were mine?”
I choke on more sobs, making it impossible for him to catch all of my tears. Nothing good can come from telling Griffin that Nate kissed me. It feels cruel if I’m not leaving with him—if we’re over. But that’s not us. I tell him about my day, and he tells me about his. We share the highs and lows.
I should have shown him that picture. I should have told him how confused and curious it made me feel.
Griffin was my person. And if we carry pieces of other people with us, woven into our souls, then I will take part of him with me to my next life. And if I touched him the same way, I don’t want us to end on a lie, hidden beneath a secret.
“Nate kissed me, Daisy. His friend.”
His jaw steels, face distorts into anger. But nothing but pain shows in his eyes. “Did you kiss him back?”
“Yes.” My mind screams at me. Tell him it wasn’t you who kissed Nate back, tell him it was Daisy.
I don’t say any more. There’s no way to make this okay for him. No excuse. No begging for forgiveness or mercy. I want to always remember Griffin as the most honest, purest part of myself.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he says with a tight voice.
For my insecurities. For being a bad housekeeper. For shrinking your wool shirt. For putting ginger in the Alfredo sauce. For forgetting your birthday. For vomiting on you. For taking the wrong job. For kissing Nate.
“I’m sorry you got in the wrong line at the grocery store.”
“Jesus …” he whispers as pain fills his eyes.
I slip off my engagement ring. “You are unequivocally the greatest moment of my life.” Sliding the ring into his hand and closing his fingers around it, I lift onto my toes and press my lips to the angle of his jaw. “I love you, Grocery Store Guy.” Releasing his hand, I step back and smile through my tears. “Always.”
Leaving my heart at his feet, I turn and leave.
Okay, Daisy, finish this.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Griffin
I lost her.
It’s a special kind of Hell. But I can’t compete with something that took place before I took my first breath.
I’m not sure what will ease the pain. Something tells me this isn’t the answer, but for lack of a better idea, this is all I’ve got.
“Griffin …” Professor Took Something That Was Mine doesn’t even pretend to be surprised to see me waiting at the door to his office. “I have a class in fifteen minutes.”
I glance around at the hallway congested with students. “This won’t take long.”
He nods at me. It’s slow, like he knows exactly why I’m here. “I’m sure it won’t,” he mutters, opening his office door. He takes three steps inside. I shut the door behind us. The second he turns, I land one fist into his gut. As soon as he buckles over, I land another fist into his face. Stumbling back a few steps, he presses his fingers to his bloodied lip.
Not an ounce of shock on his face.
Not a bit of rage in his posture.
Not a single balled fist.
Not the breath of a word.
“You want her to be someone she’s not.” I shake out my fist and ball it again because I’m not sure if I’m done bloodying his face. “So you can kiss her. You can fuck her. You can pretend she’s your baby’s mama. But it won’t bring her back. She’s dead. You’re chasing a ghost. One day Swayze is going to wake up and realize she settled for a borrowed life. And that’s the best case scenario.” I shake my head, clenching my jaw. “If you let that shrink try to bring back memories … it will destroy her. And that’s on you.”
Thunk!
I land a final hook into his jaw. He bounces back like he’s taken more than a few jabs to the face. “Fuck you for taking my whole goddamn world.”
I turn and grab the door handle.
“She doesn’t love me,” he says.
Gripping the handle tighter while pinching my eyes shut, I let his words die behind me. “I know.”
*
Swayze
“Hey, Sweetie. What a surprise—”
The second my mom opens the door, I fall into her arms. I let every single emotion go. “I-I lost h-him.”
“Oh, Swayze …” She hugs me, stroking the back of my hair.
“Why …”
She pulls back, cupping my face that’s contorted into an ugly cry. All of my heartbreak reflects on her face. “Why what?”
“Why can’t I be normal?” I choke on another sob. “M-my whole l-life … I just wanted … to be normal.”
Kissing my forehead, she hugs me again. I used to think she could make everything better with a magical hug.
I used to think the same thing about Griffin’s embrace. But the demons inside of me are untouchable. They demand my attention. I’m a slave to their intentions.
“Sit. Let’s figure this out.”
If only …
I sit in the leather recliner, and she kneels in front of me, handing me several tissues before resting her hand on mine. When she squeezes it, it wrings out more tears.
“Sherri told me about Griffin finding the picture.”
I nod. God, I love her for not giving me the I-told-you-so look.
“He’s moving.” I sniffle, blotting my eyes.
“Sherri said he wants you to go with him.”
Another nod. “But I can’t.”
“Swayze … you can. I don’t want you to move, but after talking with Sherri, I think Griffin’s right. If it’s going to work, you need a fresh start. You need to choose a life.”
“I can’t. Doug Mann murdered me. And he’s going to do it again if I don’t do something.”
She cringes. I know talking about myself as Daisy in first person must sound crazy. But I can no longer separate the two.
“I have to let Dr. Albright try hypnosis on me. If I can remember all the details, then they can arrest him.” I shake my head. “I can’t live my life looking over my shoulder. I can’t run.”
She lets out a slow breath. “We’re not talking about catching a thief, Swayze. If the pieces of what you remember are true, he’s a serial killer.” Squeezing my hand again, she leans into me. “If he murdered Daisy and her soul resides in you, then you’re asking Dr. Albright to bring back memories of someone murdering you. My dear child, do you get that? People commit suicide because they have memories of abuse, rape, war, and torture stuck in their heads.”
“Then she hypnotizes me and takes away the memories after Doug is in prison.”
Mom frowns. “Griffin said Dr. Albright can’t guarantee that will work.”
“It worked for her.”
She sighs. “Please. I’m begging you. Let Griffin take you away from all of this. Let him keep you safe.”
I pull my hand from hers and lean back in the chair, hugging my arms to my body. “This isn’t a switch that can be flipped. This isn’t a bad experience in school. This is
n’t a missed opportunity. This isn’t anything you, or Sherri, or Griffin, or anyone can even begin to understand!”
Her forehead wrinkles. “Swayze, calm down. I wasn’t—”
“I can’t calm down! Don’t you see? I am a grade-A fucking mess.”
“Swayze …”
“I can’t run. I can’t just decide to let go of something that is gnawing at my very existence. I can’t shut it off. And I can’t go with Griffin.”
“Please … you’re going to lose every—”
“I’VE ALREADY LOST HIM!” I drop my head in my hands, shaking with grief.
Mom rests her hands on my legs.
“Nate … kissed me.” My voice shatters into small sobs.
“Oh, honey …”
“And …” The shame. It’s a heavy weight bearing down on my chest. A knife digging into my gut. A cancer in my brain. “I kissed him back.” I lift my head. “It felt like I’d done it a million times. It was wrong, but in the moment it didn’t feel wrong.”
Tears fill my mom’s eyes. “It’s going to crush Griffin.”
I blink big crocodile tears.
“Swayze …” She shakes her head slowly as her gaze inches to my chest. I let her pull my arm away from my body. Her fingers ghost over my naked left ring finger. “What did you do?” she whispers.
I swallow back a thick lump in my throat, blinking my swollen eyes. “I need answers. And it doesn’t feel like a choice. It’s like I’m telling my lungs to stop breathing. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop whatever this is. And …” I draw in a shaky breath. “I had to tell him because I love him.”
“He’s going to leave. With or without you. That’s what Sherri said. You’re going to lose him for—”
“Ever,” I whisper.
Her head eases to the side. The pity on her face compounds my self-loathing. “It’s not a break. He’s not taking a vacation. This is forever. Tell me you really comprehend this. Tell me you know that some girl is going to pick up all the pieces to his heart and mend them.”
“I know.” I don’t feel anything right now. Everything is numb.
If I could change the cards in my hand, I would. But I can’t. So I’m going to play them and pray that I live to tell about it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Griffin’s working in the garage when I get home.
Home.
I’m not sure where my home is anymore. It used to be simple—Griffin was my home. When my soul can’t decide on a life, how am I supposed to find a home, a husband, or any sort of normal existence?
This doesn’t even feel like a breakup. It feels like a tragedy. A brain tumor. Terminal cancer. A soldier going into battle. Cupid with a busted arrow and a tear in his eye.
At twenty-two my dreams have been stripped of hope. Unicorns, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and happily ever afters don’t exist.
I stop halfway to the back door and turn. Eyeing the door to the garage, my feet take me there. He’s leaving. I know.
We’re dying. I know.
But he’s not gone yet. And my heart still gallops in his proximity, so … we’re not dead.
He could hate me. But what if he doesn’t?
Doug Mann could run my vehicle off the road tomorrow and Griffin leaving me wouldn’t matter. My mom never planned on living alone in her forties.
I ease open the door.
Fuck. My heart …
Griffin doesn’t acknowledge me. He’s boxing up his tools.
He’s leaving me. Oh … my … heart …
I close the door behind me. It’s warm in here. The heater in the corner kicks on.
I drop my bag by the door and look around the garage. My bucket isn’t in its usual spot. Did he hide it? Throw it away? Pack it?
The workbench is clear, so I hop up on it, fold my hands in my lap, and watch Griffin. I wonder if twenty years from now I’ll remember how much I loved just watching him. I hope so. I hope, if he finds love again, she knows how amazing it is just to be with him.
I hope she has exciting days to share with him. And I hope she knows how incredibly rare it is to find a man who genuinely gives a shit about her day.
Maybe I shouldn’t be out here. Maybe it’s a slap in his face. Maybe it’s salt on the wound. My brain—my conscience—knows this. But my heart doesn’t understand.
I wonder if my heart will ever understand.
Does he wonder why I won’t leave, like I wonder why he won’t stay? Or do we both know the answers. But … yeah … the heart doesn’t think. That’s not its job.
My head knows I should be inside packing up my stuff, at least an overnight bag to take to my mom’s house. But my heart keeps my ass planted to this workbench, my eyes tracking his every move.
Seconds give way to minutes. I spend them thinking of every memory we’ve marked in time. Memories eat up almost two hours—two hours that I don’t feel Daisy.
Two hours of the girl who met the guy in the grocery store. I like her. I like them.
I glance up from somewhere in the past when the lights go off. Griffin stands at the door, holding it open. My lips turn upward. A tiny smile he can’t see.
Our gazes meet for the first time tonight when I brush past him, stepping out into the chilly night. After several steps, I turn, remembering my bag on the floor.
But it’s not in the garage. Griffin has it clutched in his hand.
Our gazes meet again. It’s not like earlier today. It’s … peaceful. Maybe it’s acceptance. So I turn and let him carry my purse. I let him follow me into the house.
Yeah, I’ll flashback to Griffin Calloway for the rest of my life.
He sets my bag on the kitchen table and washes his hands. I make my way to the bedroom, grab a bag from the closet, set it on the bed, and start to put some clothes into it. I told my mom I’d be back to stay with her. She’s probably worried about me.
I walk back into the kitchen to grab my phone from my bag. Griffin has two plates on the counter, and he’s making sandwiches.
My lips find that tiny smile again as I tip my chin toward my phone, shooting off a text to my mom.
Me: Sorry, I’m running a little late. Packing my bag now and grabbing a sandwich. Be there soon.
Mom: OK. Text me when you leave so I can keep an eye out for you.
Me: Will do.
Griffin sets the two plates on the table, but he doesn’t look at me. He sits down and starts eating. I miss him already. Taking a seat next to him, we eat in silence. It’s sad, but comforting. And with no spoken words, we say so many things.
I’m sorry. Life’s not fair. This hurts. I’ll never forget you.
And when we’re both done, he finally looks at me. And it’s clear that the only words left are the ones that change nothing, but mean everything.
I love you.
When he takes our plates to the sink, I go back to the bedroom and finish stuffing a few things into my bag. I zip the bag and draw in a long breath, releasing it a little at a time along with the weight of the world while glancing around the room.
If I stayed, if I rented the house from Sherri and Scott, I’d have these memories. Some days they’d give me comfort, other days they’d suffocate me with grief. I guess that’s life, a steady pendulum. Balance is nothing more than a breath in the middle. Maybe at night, I could pretend that he’s next to me in bed; maybe then I could find balance and take a breath.
I think I can do this—I can survive on one good breath a day.
Griffin startles me when he sneaks up behind me, reaching around to grab my bag. His chest brushing my back. Of course he’s going to be the gentleman, the protector, and walk me to the car.
Thunk.
He drops my bag on the floor.
I turn. Our eyes meet. He grabs my face and kisses me. It’s hard and demanding. It’s impossible to breathe. That’s okay … I only need one good breath. I’ll catch it later.
He erases every trace that another man held me—kissed me. It’s
not right and it’s not wrong. It simply is.
It’s Griffin and Swayze.
And maybe this is futile, a team down by twenty points with ten seconds left in the game. But who doesn’t love watching the losing team play hard until the clock runs out?
Griffin pulls back, breathless and beautifully haunted as he gazes upon me. Is he making sure all he sees is his Swayz?
He shrugs off his shirt. I shrug off mine. And we kiss again, leaving it all on the field. His hands fist my hair as my fingernails dig into his back.
It’s not a race. We’re slow to make a pile of clothes on the floor. There are too many kisses to be had to rush anything. The future holds no promises, so we take our time making another memory.
It’s a good one.
He eases my naked body onto the bed beneath his.
“I know every curve of your body … I know what each curve feels like under my hands.”
I love his hands. In my favorite dreams, they were made to touch me. Only me. Always me.
He takes his leisurely time making sure his lips touch every inch of my flesh. I writhe beneath him, committing this feeling to the deepest parts of my soul. If I take something with me when I die, this time it’s going to be how incredibly revered I feel by this man.
*
Griffin
I’m letting her go and it fucking hurts. Finders keepers doesn’t apply to humans. But she’s here now and so I’m taking now, and I’ll take every minute of later that she gives to me—only me. Then I will walk away. I’ll let her find what’s missing, but I just can’t be here when she realizes it’s not me.
For now, I’m leaving my touch everywhere. When he touches her, I want her to remember my lips were here first.
I roll her onto her stomach. She arches her back, stretching her neck up. “Griff …” she murmurs as I drop kisses down the length of her spine. Her arms stretch over her head, hands clawing at the sheets. She’s never looked more beautiful, bowed beneath my touch.
If this were our life, I could keep her for eternity. She loves me. Swayze loves me.
