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What was the point?
She was leaving. She was going back to New York.
“Why didn’t you tell her?” I heard my grandad’s voice from behind me.
When I turned around, I saw him standing in the hallway.
“What? Tell her what?”
“Tell her that you love her and that you don’t want her to go back to New York.”
Fuck. Did everyone know how I felt about Ruby? Was it tattooed on my forehead, or something?
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” he asked.
Why was I the only one who could see that this was an impossible situation?
“Because her life isn’t here. Did you hear what she said? She got a show. I can’t ask her to stay for me.”
“Okay, maybe you can’t ask her to stay, but you can tell her how you feel.”
My phone rang, and I saw that it was Taylor calling. “It’s Tay.”
“Good, maybe she can talk some sense into you,” he mumbled as he shuffled down the hallway toward his bedroom.
“Hey,” I answered.
“You got shot?” Her tone was calm, but I could hear the stress right under the surface.
“Yes, but I’m okay,” I assured her before explaining what happened and that I was truly fine. I even told her I would forward her the E.R. report so she could see for herself.
“Are you in a lot of pain?”
The physical pain had nothing on how bad my heart was breaking at the moment.
“Yeah,” I lied. I knew if I didn’t, she would know that something else was bothering me and ask me about it. I didn’t need to hear her say, I told you so. “I’m tired; I’ll call you when Harp wake?—”
“What else is wrong?” She cut me off.
“I got shot,” I emphasized, clearly communicating that it should cover all sins in the ‘what is wrong’ department.
“I know what you sound like when you are in pain. This isn’t pain. You’re upset about something. Is it Ruby? Did she freak out about you getting shot and…”
“No. No, she was…” Kind. Caring. Loving. Everything I needed her to be. “No, she didn’t freak out.”
“Okay, then what is it?”
Fuck it. I was too tired and in too much pain to try and skirt the issue. “She got a job. She’s leaving.”
Taylor was silent for a second before stating, “You didn’t tell her.”
“What?”
“You didn’t tell her that you love her.”
I sighed, not even bothering to try to explain, again, why I’d kept that lovely nugget of information to myself.
