“We met a week ago, Austin.” Aaron let his voice come out as matter-of-factly as possible. “No one falls in love in a week.”
“Some people are known to do it in a day,” Austin countered.
“Not this person.” Aaron pointed to himself jokingly, but underneath the bravado he could feel the heat rising up from his neck onto his cheeks, and he’d be a fool to think that he could flat-out lie to his twin brother and get away with it. Because honestly, within the week, he had transformed into a person who would fall in love so quickly, all from meeting a particular woman.
He shook his head. “Even if you’re right—and I’m not saying you are—I’m not sure it matters.”
“Why’s that?” Austin asked.
“Because it’s Kennedy.” His gaze drifted past Austin to the picture he kept on the wall of the three of them—him, Austin, and Jared—covered head to toe in mud after a day of four-wheeling. “I’m not sure if she’s ready.”
Austin cranked his neck to the picture, then slowly turned back around. “Ready for what? To let go of Jared or to reciprocate feelings for you?”
Aaron scratched at his eyebrow. “Both.” The memory of her hesitation prodded at his mind, and he remembered her green eyes flipping through several conflicting thoughts and emotions like a slot machine before it settles on the winning lottery. He had every confidence that she’d been with him and only him during the majority of the night, but there were small glimpses after and before that while her body had been wrapped next to his, her mind was with someone else. Aaron had no right to feel envious of it, to even request her to ignore her internal tug-of-war. He could only embrace the moments when it was his turn, and be grateful for the fact that she felt even a sliver of the way he felt.
His back straightened and he pushed up out of his chair. The urge to see her, tell her all of this instead of bottling it up, as his brother had put so bluntly, overwhelmed him. He’d be okay with her response; he had to be, no matter what it was.
“I gotta go,” he said, heading back toward the door, forgetting the shower completely.
Austin swiped up the remote and pressed play. “Take your dog with you this time.”
—
The B&B was unusually quiet, especially given all the guests who were there for the weekend. Aaron supposed most of them were in town, impromptu get-togethers being held right before another storm would come rolling in. He took the stairs two at a time to Kennedy’s top-floor guest room, Charlie bounding up next to him, tripping him every time he hit a landing.
Her door was open, and he felt a grin pull at his lips with the anticipation of seeing her, only to have it fade the moment he peered in and saw the room completely empty.
His brow furrowed, and he foolishly checked behind the door in case she was waiting to jump out and say, “Boo!”
Charlie went immediately to the bed, jumping up and making himself comfortable. Aaron was halfway to scolding the pup before he paused mid-sentence, his eyes settling on the urn resting on the nightstand, a small piece of notepaper propped up against it.
He crossed the room in two long strides, confusion wrinkling his forehead as he read the words in her loopy handwriting.
I love him, too.
His head jerked a little, and he flipped the paper around to the empty backside before putting it back in place. His knuckles gently nudged the urn, and he assumed with the weight that it was still full. Kennedy couldn’t have gone back home already; she’d never leave without Jared’s ashes, but truthfully, Aaron hoped she wouldn’t leave without at least telling him goodbye.
But the fact that he couldn’t see her luggage, her toiletries in the bathroom, her laptop open to a redlined manuscript, anything that belonged to her other than the urn, had his gut twisting so hard that it nearly brought him to his knees. Charlie sniffed and shuffled on the bed, rolling over with his tongue hanging out and his belly on display to be scratched. Aaron shook his head and turned toward the closet, sliding open the doors to an empty space.
She wouldn’t leave, he told himself, trying to calm the panic rising in his chest, squeezing at his heart. His fingers fumbled for his phone, slightly shaking as he scrolled through and found Chelsea’s number.
Is Kennedy with you? he typed, then tapped his phone against his leg as he went to the window to check the docks—which were also vacant.
Nope. She said she was going to take a nap. LET HER SLEEP, AARON! We all know you kept her up late ;)
He would have smiled at the joke if he weren’t in Kennedy’s room at that moment staring at a very empty, very made bed.
She’s not here, he typed back, then slumped down on the mattress and put his head in his hands. It had been too much for her; that had to have been it. She just needed space, that’s all.
Or maybe he’d missed her heading to his place, needing to be with him as much as he needed her. He held on to that hope and sent a message to Austin.
If Kennedy shows up there, will you have her call me?
He didn’t even have her number. He’d fallen in love with a woman, and hadn’t asked for her phone number. She’d hypnotized him to the point that he had no idea what was up or down, and as the time ticked by in silence, the realization that he had no way to get hold of her directly sank deep into his soul and glued his feet to the floor.
His phone buzzed in his hand, the vibration causing Charlie to roll and push at Aaron’s knuckles.
Daniel said he just dropped her at the train station…Chelsea’s message started, followed by Aaron, I’m so sorry.
He blinked, the screen of his phone blurring as his head spun. It was lying; she wouldn’t leave. Not Jared. Not him.
His hands started to shake, and he tossed his phone, worried he might break it. Charlie pushed against his elbow, most likely sensing Aaron’s panic bubbling to the surface. His heart was a wild beat in his ears, his mind a swirling vortex of unanswered questions. He buried his face into his palms, blowing out breaths in a sore attempt to calm himself.
You knew she’d leave, he tried telling himself. You knew that she wasn’t going to be here forever.
But…he’d been hoping that he could talk to her before this happened. He hoped that, maybe, they’d make that decision together. Eventually.
Charlie rolled again, a soft whine piercing through the room, and Aaron, having lost all his patience, whipped his head around and scolded, “Not now, boy—”
His harsh tone cut off, and luckily the pup hadn’t noticed Aaron’s temper slip. The husky rolled again, making a soft crinkle that Aaron hadn’t noticed amid the loud pounding of his pulse in his head. He pulled at the white corner sticking out from under his dog’s back and brought out a thick, folded note that had his name scrawled across the folded front.
Aaron, it started, and his eyes moved over the loopy handwriting, his anger and confusion dissipating with every word, replaced by a savage blade that tore through his chest, and by the time he reached the end, his body was left a broken and shattered mess. He gulped against the pain, but it only sent a sting through his throat. His shoulders slumped and he let the note fall to the floor at his feet.
This time when Charlie nudged at his hand, he put it on his dog’s belly and rubbed defeated circles across the fur, the only comfort he had left.
Chapter 19
Kennedy
Kennedy sucked in a deep breath, holding it in her cheeks until her head went fuzzy, then let it out slowly.
“It’s okay,” she told herself for the millionth time, though it felt anything but “okay.” She’d been a complete wreck ever since she left Lyra Valley, her week back home just one string of Netflix binges and edited manuscripts. But no amount of work or hourlong dramadies could erase the immense amount of guilt that racked her every day and consumed her every night.
Her fingertips grazed the cold brass of the closet doorknob in her one-bedroom apartment, sending goosebumps up her arm and the back of her neck. The box full of empty trash bags felt like
the weight of a thousand horses. She bit her lip and straightened her spine. This was long overdue, and how could she ever learn to move on if she couldn’t learn to let go?
The door creaked as she opened it, the sound long and jagged over the tunes coming out of her iPod speaker. She’d set the playlist to her “You Go Girls” playlist, which was all her songs that had strong women singing strong things—she’d hoped that it would help, but the moment she inhaled the subtle scent of Jared’s cologne, all the music did was fade into the background.
Her eyes ignored the right side of the closet, which held all her belongings, hanging loose and unorganized since she would run in and get ready each day and run back out. The left side, however, was all color-coded, each shirt hanging sleekly next to another, the one suit in a black, zipped-up garment bag, and shoes set up neatly in a holder behind the door.
Kennedy pressed her lips together hard, and she winced as her teeth nearly broke through the skin. Jared had had so many hats that they took up the entire top shelf, and they were stacked at least ten tall. She tentatively lifted a hand, drawing it back only briefly before taking a breath and plucking one of his favorites from the stack nearest her. When he’d shaved his head clean before his treatments, this was the one she bought him. A small smile formed as she remembered his face when he’d opened it.
“I look that bad bald?” he’d teased with his signature half grin and wink. That look alone had gotten him lucky on many occasions, and Kennedy missed it now.
“It’s so your head doesn’t burn to a crisp out in the sun, Mr. Ungrateful,” she’d said right back, taking the hat and slapping it on his smooth head. It had suited him, the color bringing out the brightest of blues sparkling in his eyes. Those sparkles faded quickly when treatments began, and Kennedy slammed her eyes shut, forcing those memories away. They were painful enough to live through, and each time they made their way back, it was like the wound was ripped fresh open.
With one exception, however. And her eyes slowly opened up again as she remembered a night, not long ago, when in the darkness with a man she hadn’t really known, she was able to reminisce without feeling so broken. In fact, it was Aaron whom she was channeling now, the easy way he made her feel, the comforting touches that seemed to heal every jagged scar, that made her feel ready to do what she needed to do to move on.
She looked down at the hat, eyes filling to the brim with the first of what she gathered would be very many tears, and she placed it next to the “stay” box. The rest…the rest of the hats would go, and she steeled all her strength to reach up, grab a stack, and set it next to the box marked “donation.”
Her knees hit the floor, and she sank into her tears, letting them overtake her for several minutes. The clothes were already losing their smell after a year, now more musty than “Jared,” but that didn’t change the fact that it was all she could think about—how cleaning out and giving away meant losing his smell. She’d already given up the ashes, the inanimate urn that she spoke to every night; foolishly, she’d thought this would be easier after that. But it was then that she realized that none of this would be easy.
Tingles ran through her feet, her position quickly making her legs fall asleep. She sat on the floor and pulled her knees up to rest her forehead against.
“I’m not trying to forget you,” she told the empty closet. “I just…I need to know how I feel, and I can’t do that if I don’t try to at least…let you go. Just a little bit.”
The answering silence was just another heartbreaking reminder of how alone she was—that even though her heart felt torn in two pieces, it really didn’t belong to anyone, because she hadn’t learned to give it away. She wasn’t sure how to anymore.
She blinked out another tear or two, let them track down over her cheekbone and drop off her chin as she looked at the hat she wanted to keep. Jared had worn it during a conversation she couldn’t believe she’d forgotten until right then. The memory hit her like waking up from a yearlong dream.
Jared’s body was weak, monitors around them as they lay side by side in a hospital bed. He was thin, a whisper of the man he used to be, but it was somehow still him, buried under layers of that wretched disease. Kennedy stirred next to him, wanting his arm to lift and hold her, but knowing that he had no strength to do it.
She traced his face, trying to smile through all the sorrow she was feeling. Jared had made her promise to smile; he’d said it was his favorite thing about her, and he wanted it to last for as long as he did.
“I love you,” she’d whispered, as she had every moment they spent together in the hospital bed, several times throughout his last days. He didn’t always respond verbally—there were times he’d simply nod or try to squeeze her hand….Kennedy understood, but she was slowly realizing just how quiet her life was becoming, and how achingly silent it would be once he was gone.
When Jared had made no movement, she’d let out a sigh, still trying to smile through a wall of tears. “I always will, you know? No one’s going to steal this away from you.”
She’d lightly tapped her chest before settling down on his shoulder. It was a good while before she’d felt Jared shift, his eyes deadly serious when he caught her gaze.
“You…” he’d mumbled, his voice hard to make out and barely recognizable. “Neesom wan ta…” He’d paused then, his forehead wrinkling from the strain it took to speak, to think, and his arm making a slow path across his body so he could lift a finger to Kennedy’s heart.
It had been so long since he’d said something, that when Kennedy recalled what he’d said next, she’d forgotten what he’d been trying to say before…what he had been really saying to her.
“Take care of it,” he’d said. It was broken and fell off his lips in a mumbled rush, but Kennedy had thought she understood, and she’d nodded, promising him that she would—she’d save her heart, take care of it until they could see each other again. But as she sat in the closet, remembering the broken fragments of the beginning of that sentence, she realized she’d been wrong. Even in his last moments, Jared had told her that it was okay.
“ ‘You need someone to take care of it,’ ” she whispered into the hat, a small laugh coming out at herself as she imagined Jared sitting somewhere on the edge of heaven and earth saying, “Finally.”
“That’s what you were saying, wasn’t it?” she said, pulling the hat from her lips. “You…you want me to find someone to take care of it while you’re gone and I’m still here.” As the memory invaded her, it brought something warm and bright in its wake, starting up in her chest and spreading through her like wildfire. It stole the breath from her lungs, made the entire room disappear, and she felt something she hadn’t in all her conversations with Jared, in all those times she’d spoken with the urn propped up on the bed next to her, in all her joking and angered and sorrowful conversations….
She felt a response.
It hit her in the chest, so overwhelmingly clear that it rocked her where she sat. Aaron’s face was brought to the forefront of her mind, his smile, his touch, the way he held her on the dock, his muddy grin at the dirt hills, the shadows on his face in the dim light of the fire as he told her his worst mistake, and the look in his eyes every time before he kissed her. She grasped at her chest, blinking against the unknown power that seemed to be healing her from the inside out. Her heart expanded, pulsing just under her palm.
No…she wasn’t torn in two. She wasn’t a woman clinging to one man while falling for another. She was a woman in love with two men—one who was her past, and one who she hoped would be her future.
She let the tears come, let them fall as she covered her face and laughed at the sheer joy and relief and calm that she felt in the wake of whatever had just hit her. Was it possible that her heart was big enough to contain all she felt for both these men? That she could give to Aaron as much as she’d given Jared…maybe more? For the first time, without a doubt, she could answer yes.
She scrambled to her f
eet, clutching Jared’s hat in her hand as she plucked her phone off her bed. Uncontrollable laughter came through her tears as she fumbled through the train times, finding the soonest one she could make. She had a lot of apologizing to do, to both the men she loved so dearly. To one, for letting him go. And to the other, for clinging on too tight.
Chapter 20
Aaron
“Bro, get up,” Austin said, smacking the tip of Aaron’s boot off the arm of the couch, where he had it propped up for the last hour and a half—the only amount of sleep he got that night. “You’re starting to stink.”
Aaron ran a hand over the full, scraggly stubble that had grown in over the course of the week. Ugh, it’s only been a week. He turned himself on the couch, burying his face into one of the throw pillows and groaning. He’d be lying if he said he was at least trying to look like he was handling Kennedy’s departure well; everyone in town knew he wasn’t, whether they were aware of what had happened between them or not. There had been whispers that he deserved it, what goes around comes around and all that, but Aaron hadn’t given them a second thought. No one thought that more than he did anyway.
What was worse was that every time he passed the lake, he felt like driving right up to it and cursing out Jared. So far he’d defeated the impulse, but he wasn’t sure how much more self-control he had left. Every day was a fight to get up and move, to avoid drinking until the break of dawn, and to go through the motions like he hadn’t been turned inside out, had his newly healed heart stomped on and then thrust back into his chest. Kennedy’s note had given him exactly what she’d intended, he was sure—finality. In the same beat that she’d told him she loved him, she’d told him goodbye. He wasn’t sure what part was worse—just that she was leaving, or the fact that her falling in love with him was why she left. Neither was an easy pill to swallow.
Aaron opened one eye when Austin let out an exasperated sigh and spotted Charlie sitting by his brother’s legs, his usual carefree spirit doused with the heartbreak that Aaron didn’t have the strength to hide. Even his dog was avoiding him, and he reluctantly pushed out of the couch and got to his feet.