Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
“I don’t deserve it, Ariana, but I’m going to ask for it, anyway. Please, forgive me.” His voice broke a little, and he sniffed, straightening as much as he could. “I was young. I was fucking stupid. I thought I was protecting you. I thought…” One of his crutches slipped an inch on the wet sidewalk, and he caught himself with a wince before he continued. “I know none of it matters now. I know we’re in the past and you’re happy and you’ve moved on, and I want that. I do. I want your happiness. But I also need your forgiveness.” He swallowed. “Please. Please, Ari, forgive me.”
I didn’t realize I was crying until the first tear slid down my cheek. It was so cold it stuck to my jaw, never falling to the ground, but instead marring my face like a tattoo.
“I forgive you for leaving,” I said, my voice stronger than I felt. “But I’ll never forgive you for staying gone.”
The impact was immediate.
His shoulders slumped, like I’d knocked the last bit of air from his lungs. His grip loosened, his hand falling away from my arm as if he’d forgotten it was there. For a second, he just stood there, glassy-eyed and stunned, staring at me like he’d finally understood it was too late to fix what happened between us, too late to right his wrongs.
I left him standing there in the snow, retreating back into the restaurant and pretending I was fine when I rejoined my colleagues. I drank my wine. I ate my pasta. I convinced myself I was proud of my response.
But I cried until I couldn’t breathe that night, curled into a ball and clutching my pillow like it was Shane.
I knew I’d never see him again, that those would be the final words between us.
I had been strong. I had defended my heart. I had denied the man who hurt me the privilege of forgiveness.
But alone in my bed, I only wished I’d been weak. I wished he were here with me now, holding me, kissing me, telling me he’d never leave again.
I’d lost him for a second time.
And I was the guilty one now.
The Man Who Walked Away
Shane
Present
“You would go to Mars?!” Ariana asked, jaw popped open.
“You wouldn’t?!”
“No!” She laughed, staring at me like I was insane. “Absolutely not.”
“Not under any circumstance?”
“I can’t think of even one.”
I sat up in the hammock we were sharing, one that was sprawled between two tree trunks on the edge of the University of Tampa campus where it hugged the Hillsborough River. Boats and kayaks passed us as we swung, Curtis Hixon Park alive with activity across the river from where we sat.
The hammock was large, but it didn’t matter the size. It was still impossible to put much space between us. Even when we tried, the way the hammock hung pushed us back to the middle, our thighs touching, Ariana’s hands wrapped tightly together in her lap like she was afraid to accidentally brush mine.
“Not even if you were ninety-nine years old, slowly dying, and they offered you the chance to be the first to go?”
Ariana considered it. “No, not even then.”
“Why on Earth would you say no to that?!”
“Because I’d want to spend my last moments with the people I love,” she answered simply. “With Georgie.”
“And Nathan,” I finished for her.
She flushed a deep red. We’d somehow managed not to talk about him all day. “Yes, and Nathan. I wouldn’t want to be alone. Wouldn’t you feel the same?”
I sat back again, bringing our bodies closer together. My eyes wandered to the water in front of us. “I’m pretty good at being alone.”
That quieted us both, but I quickly cleared my throat and laughed it off.
“Besides, I’ve watched too many space documentaries and read too many books not to be curious enough to say fuck it. If I’m going to die anyway, might as well die among the stars.”
“It would be cool to see Earth from space,” Ariana conceded.
“Just a marble floating around,” I mused. “Puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?”
My day with Ariana was flying by as quickly as I anticipated. I knew just having one day with her wouldn’t be enough, but I didn’t know how easy it would be to talk to her the way I used to, to catch up and hear about who she was now. I reveled in anything she gave me — how she liked her coffee now, how she’d become a big fan of sushi, how she’d ended up at the same party as Michael Jordan once by happenstance.
Some things didn’t sit right with me, like the gaps she wouldn’t fill about why she never ended up pursuing her career in social work. She’d had gigs within the space, that was for certain, but it was like her path was interrupted somehow. Of course, she hadn’t stopped working in the nonprofit sector, but it had changed, her work tied up with her husband’s.