Page 121 of Falling Back to You

“Elle—”

“Wait, let me get this out before I lose my courage.” She sniffed. “I never blamed you for your excitement. I was so happy for you—so proud.” A soft smile curved her lips. “I still am. But back then, I did resent that you got handed everything on a silver tray: the fame, the dream job, the perfect family. I felt like a consolation prize whose life was falling apart. I couldn’t keep going like that. So I ran. From the weight of responsibility, from the only guy I ever loved, from the adopted family who loved me better than my own. I needed to breathe. Six months in, I was so homesick I almost came back.”

I gripped the coverlet, listening. Getting closure felt a lot like heart surgery, dredging up sharp fissures and suturing old wounds. But without it, true healing couldn’t happen. How could I have been so blind? The woman I loved with my entire being had been struggling, and I’d missed all the signs. The only way she caught my attention was by running. “Why didn’t you?”

She swiped a rogue tear off her cheek. “I convinced myself you could never forgive me. I couldn’t even forgive myself. You wouldn’t want me back, and I couldn’t blame you. So I stayed away. And then when I finally got a hold of my courage . . .” She lifted her head. “It was too late.”

“Too late? Never,” I said roughly.

“Cal.” There was so much agony wrapped up in that one word. “The night before I flew out, I saw your wedding pictures. It was the definition of too late.”

A knife lodged in my chest, and I sucked in a ragged breath, unsure of what to say.

But Noelle wasn’t done. “I stole a T-shirt from your room when I left. It smelled like you for three months, then I bought your cologne and kept spraying it.”

Hope crashed over me like waves on the shoreline. “You still loved me?”

Noelle’s laugh was watery. “I never stopped. Every guy I dated after you couldn’t measure up to the standard you’d set. There weren’t many, but still. I didn’t know how to live with everything that happened. I was drowning, and I couldn’t get out. Wendy grew up.”

I smiled at her messy bun, tearful dark eyes, and earnest expression. We were finally talking. Breaking down the barriers. “Good thing this Peter Pan grew up then, too. If you want me, Noelle, want us, I’m not letting you go a second time. I should have chased you—I regret not manning up back then.”

Maybe I was falling too hard, too fast. But we were two pieces of a puzzle. Pursuing her felt right. She was the only woman I wanted at my side. Wanted to laugh with and come home to. I wanted the good, bad, and everything in between. Call me a sap, but I knew what I wanted.

“Go on another date with me?” I asked.

“If you insist.”

“Oh, I do, sweetheart.” I smiled at the screen. “I’m playing for keeps.”

Chapter forty

Noelle

Clearing the air with Cal last night was freeing.

Even though I knew he’d forgiven me, sharing the messy, broken pieces of my heart wasn’t as scary as I’d expected. Giving those shards to him was healing. Like God could forge something beautiful in our lives from the heartache.

The one thing I hadn’t confessed was that I was currently in the middle of a flare-up, and it was killing me. Pain coursed through my body. I sniffed against the exhaustion pressing into my body as I curled up in the fetal position on the couch. It’s simple. Pick up the phone and call Jules. She’ll understand.

But would she? Most of my friends in New York had gotten tired of my canceling plans at the last minute. Macy was the only one who stuck around.

“Miss Noelle?” Khia’s big blue eyes widened as she wandered over to me, clutching Mrs. Pickles.

“I’m okay, sweetie.”

It wasn’t fair to worry her, and Cal wasn’t home until tomorrow. I hit Juliet’s contact, and she picked up on the third ring.

“You guys on your way?” she asked.

“Um . . . I’m sorry, but I’ll have to take a rain check on girls’ night,” I said, trying to infuse as much strength into my voice as I could.

“What’s wrong?” Juliet asked, concerned.

Guess I hadn’t hid the pain well enough.

“I . . . I’m having a flare-up,” I whispered. “I’m too tired to get off the couch and everything hurts. There are dishes in my sink, and I haven’t showered in two days.” I sniffed, tears burning behind my eyes. “I’m sorry. Maybe next time? And . . . I have Khia.”

“Don’t apologize, I’m not mad,” she said kindly. “And I’m going to swing by real quick and pick her up, okay? Don’t worry. Do you have a spare key, or can I borrow Cal’s?”