“This charade. We’re over. It’s over. We both need to move on.”
“We’re not over, Gwen.”
“Do I need to spell it for you? We’re done.” My harsh tone tasted like shame.
His posture stiffened, an imperceptible hardening of his stance. His lips compressed. “Such bullshit.”
It was my turn to flinch. I dashed at my drying tears. “What?”
“This is your thing, Gwen. This is what you do. You push people away when it gets too real, when they start to care too much.”
“I’m not nineteen anymore. This isn’t like then. Everything’s too intertwined.”
“You’re telling me you can walk away from us? Just like that? Like the past twenty-four hours never happened?”
If it were only that easy. “When I look at you, all I’ll ever see are the mistakes I’ve made. All I’ve lost. So, no…there’s no us . We’re done.”
“We’re done?” He stood statue still, back to repeating me.
Nothing about me was still. Not the addled thoughts spiraling through my head, or the frantic pounding of my heart. Done. August and me. Done. Finished. I choked down the sob threatening to rise. This was the right move. It had to be. It was the only one I could compute right now. He’d write more hate songs and meet a woman who wasn’t a train wreck waiting to happen. He’d find peace. “Yes, August. We’re done.”
He moved so close his hot breath brushed my cheek. “Tell me you don’t love me, too. Say it and I’ll go.”
I couldn’t. He knew it. Problem was, I didn’t love myself. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Please. I just need the letter.”
He scrutinized me.
I bit down on my cheek, willing the burn in my throat to cease. I would go to my father’s house on my own, ask to see photo albums. Find out who the man had been. Learn if he’d had kids. That thought winded me anew.
I’d daydreamed about the possibility when younger, wondered if I might have siblings, a sister or brother to commiserate with when my mother had berated me. Someone to tease and have in my corner. The prospect had taken a backseat to the more pressing issue of finding my father, but not now.
Now they could be all I had.
I wiped my nose with my forearm. Far from attractive. “Did my father have kids?”
“I…” August’s brows drew together. “Shit, I didn’t ask. I was upset and took off.”
I nodded and inhaled deeply. “Can I have the address, please?”
He reached for me. “Gwen…”
I angled my shoulder away from him. “I need the address and letter. I’m going there alone. We’re just not meant to be, August.”
A boulder lodged in my throat at the brush-off. It felt like a lie. I couldn’t see the truth any longer.
His hazel eyes were glassy. That muscle in his temple jumped incessantly. I wanted to burrow into his chest, wrap myself in his arms and scent and pretend I hadn’t ruined us.
Neither of us moved.
Eventually, he licked his lips and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. He held it out for me. “I love you, Gwen. I’ll always love you, and this isn’t over.”
Trembling, I snatched the paper from him and spun on my heels. I waited for a break in traffic and bolted across the street, locking myself in my car the second I reached it. The paper was folded into a small square. The edges were soft, ripped slightly like it had been read often.
Before I opened it, I chanced a glance back toward the bench.
August was still standing there, his hands shoved in his front pockets, staring at me. He mouthed something I couldn’t decipher. I tore my gaze away.
18