Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“That’s not new news, buddy.” Kip teases with laughter. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
“What if it’s too late? What if too much time has passed and we can’t find our way back to one another?”
“Then you have no choice but to move on, but at least you’ll know. You’ll have answers, she’ll have answers, and then you can decide together what’s best. It might be that you both continue with your lives without the other being more than an acquaintance.”
My stomach rolls at the thought.
“However, you might find yourself in the life you always dreamed the two of you would have together, just a little later than you had planned.”
“I don’t even know where to start, Kip.”
“Reach out to her. Text her; see if the message goes through. Wait to see if she responds. Ask her if the two of you can go someplace quiet and talk, then slice open your chest, and let her see inside.”
“Before you called, I’d already decided I was going to fight for her,” I confess.
“What? Then why all this bullshit? You just wanted my sage advice, right?”
“I guess I just needed to hear someone say it so I know I’m not losing it. I feel like, after all these years, that I should be able to let her go, leave what we had in the past, but I can’t do that, Kip. Not without knowing I fought for her. For us. I should have fought all those years ago. I was missing her. Missing home, and when I saw her laughing carefree with my friends, I just… I left. That, mixed with her lack of response during boot camp, hit me that I’d lost her. I regret not fighting back then.” I say the words that have been harbored in my chest for seventeen years. I regretted walking away the minute I hightailed it out of this town that night, but I was too big a coward to do something about it. Hearing her say she didn’t want me anymore would have broken me even more than seeing her with my friends, acting as if I never existed.
That’s why I never tried outside of the letters I mailed her. Letters that went unanswered.
“We all have regrets,” Kip says, as if he can read my thoughts. “It’s how you move past the regret, how you learn from it that means the most. Talk to her. Even if she says the words you’ve dreaded that she would say all these years, you still need to hear them. That’s the only way you’re ever going to move past this.”
“I’ll never not love her. If she tells me there’s no chance for us, that’s it. I’m done. I don’t want anyone but her. My heart doesn’t know how to want someone else.”
“You don’t know that.” His tone is gentle. “But you’ll never know for sure unless you talk to her.”
“Fine. I’ll send her a message.”
“Ah, my boy is growing up,” he teases.
“Fuck off,” I grumble, but I’m also smiling, even though he can’t see me. “When are you coming to visit?”
“Soon. You get things worked out with your girl. Give your mom a hug from me, and keep me posted.”
“Will do. Wait, how are Sara and Sophie?” I ask about his wife and daughter.
“They’re perfect.”
If it were possible to hear love, it would be the tone of his voice any time he talks about his wife and daughter.
“Good. Hug them for me.”
“You got it, brother. Talk soon,” he says, and the call ends, the dash going dark.
Up ahead, there’s a pull-off on the side of the road. When I reach it, I pull over and put my truck in park. Reaching for my phone in the cupholder, I type out a message, then delete it and type it out again. I do this a dozen or so more times before I realize how ridiculous I’m being and try again, sending it without further thought.
* * *
Me: Hey, it’s Copeland. Just making sure you made it home okay.
* * *
I stare at the screen until my eyes are blurry, and the response I was hoping for never comes through. With a sigh, I toss my phone back into the cupholder and turn the truck around. Thankfully, when I get to Mom’s, the driveway is empty, other than her car, and the lights are on in the house. I know she made her friends leave, telling them she was just fine, and that’s true, but I hate the thought of her being alone during any of this. Maybe it’s because I spent so much time avoiding home. It’s my guilt; I know that. I also know that her friends would never have left if they hadn’t been certain she was okay.
Quietly, I make my way inside and flip on the small lamp in the living room. Kicking off my shoes, I pad down the hall and stop outside my old bedroom. The same room that I stay in every single time I’ve visited her in the last seventeen years.