I think she was afraid I wouldn’t come back for her.
It’s as heartbreaking as it is confusing because all of it is true.
There are far too many people in this world who have left her, abandoned her, and let her down.
Her mom.
Her dad.
Me.
That thought knocks all air out of my lungs, replaces the empty spaces with
shame,
regret,
disgust.
“Goodnight,” John says, not waiting for a reply before closing the door between us.
It hurts.
That’s the only way I can describe what it feels like to watch her, to see her dark lashes fan across her cheek, her lips shifting slightly with every inhale, every exhale.
It hurts.
That I have to accept the fact that I’ll never know the feeling of those lips against mine. That I’ll never deserve to.
It hurts.
That I’ll never be able to look at her like this when she’s awake because she’ll look away too fast, because for her…
For her, it hurts more.
I give up on my work, throwing the sanding block to the side, and scoot over to her. On my knees, I reach out, run a finger along her forehead to move a strand of hair away from her face. “Mia,” I whisper, and she doesn’t budge.
I was so, so wrong. When we stood on the top of the milking parlor and I told her I could ignore how I felt, I lied. Because I couldn’t, and I can’t. And maybe it’s a good thing that I’m leaving tomorrow. Maybe I need the break, the distraction.
“Mia,” I say again, louder this time, and grasp her shoulder, gently shake her.
Her eyes flutter open, the lightest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.
She smiles. It’s lazy and unintentional and not at all meant for me. I think. But then she reaches up, inhaling deeply before sliding the tips of her fingers across my jaw. She runs a thumb across my nose, forcing my eyes to close at her touch. “The freckles are here,” she mumbles.
When I open my eyes again, hers are half-hooded, tired and weary. “What freckles?”
“At the start of summers, they weren’t there, but by the end…” Her eyes widen as if she’s just woken from a dream. Or a nightmare. She sits up, her spine straight, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me. “By the end…” she repeats in a daze, her voice hoarse.
It hurts.
Watching someone’s eyes as they relive the agonizing moments of torment until you can’t see them clearly anymore because the liquid pain prevents it. The tears come so fast, so prevalent, and then she’s on her feet, wiping them away and running to the door before I can get out two words.
Two simple words I should’ve said two years ago.
I’m sorry.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Leo
When I get back home, the house is empty. Lucas and Logan work with Dad now, and the twins are old enough to do whatever they want within reason. Lachlan, for the most part, has to stay with either Laney or Lucy. It’s strange... that for so much of my life, all I wanted was a moment of quiet, and now that I have it—it feels kind of hollow.
I drop my bag full of dirty laundry by the front door and climb the stairs two at a time, my entire body aching from fatigue. I didn’t sleep last night. Not a wink. I would’ve left during the night, but I wanted to say goodbye to John before I took off. Shamefully, I split before Mia was up.
My bedroom is as I left it, and I don’t even bother taking off my shoes. I just fall face-first onto the bed, and a minute later, I’m dreaming about a girl with red plaid pajamas and tears in her eyes.
I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.
That was my first mistake.
The second was not locking my door.
The whole “issuing a buzzcut while someone’s sleeping” prank is so basic and effortless, and I think that’s why it pisses me off the most. It’s Logan with the shaver and Lucas with the baby oil—to make the now-shaved hair stick to my skin, because of course. I don’t know which one of them is laughing the most, and it’s a weird sound—the two of them together. Typically, they’re the ones fighting, and I’m the one in the middle, trying to break shit up.
I’m still half asleep, and physically fighting them would be pointless because it’s not going to make my hair grow back. So, I grab the bed sheets and start wiping the baby oil/hair mix