“And what about you? You’d just continue taking all the blame? Letting me hate you?” My rage is nearly blinding. I’m furious — at him for hiding this secret, at my parents for ruining everything, at myself for not seeing the truth sooner.
“I’d rather you hate me forever than see you in this much agony. I’d rather watch you marry someone else than make you this miserable.”
“That’s not your call to make!” I whirl around to face him. “If you really loved me—”
“I do love you, Jo.”
I flinch at his words. Words I was so desperate to hear, only moments ago. Words that now, only cause me more pain.
“I can’t—I just—” I’m standing on the precipice of a full emotional breakdown, mere seconds from falling to the ground and curling into the fetal position. I need space to breathe. I need time to think. Most of all, I need to be alone. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
Before I fall apart completely, I race for the door. Archer’s voice chases me out onto the landing.
“Jo, wait!”
But I don’t wait. I fly down the stairs, nearly losing my footing on the bottom step. My field of vision is blurry with tears as I race out of the building, into the rain. I’m sobbing in full as I climb into my car and slam the door closed. My hands are shaking so badly, I can barely get the key into the ignition.
I don’t allow myself to hesitate as I pull away from the curb. But as I race down the street, away from Archer’s apartment, my gaze slides up to the rearview mirror. For just a second, I catch sight of him standing in the middle of the road, rain pattering all around him, staring after me with a look of such indescribable loneliness, a fresh flow of tears gathers behind my eyes.
I turn the corner with a sharp jerk of the wheel. But the image of him standing there haunts me long after I’ve driven out of sight.
TWENTY-EIGHT
archer
I knew tellingher wouldn’t be easy.
I had no idea it would be so damn hard.
After Jo drives off, I stand beneath the shower faucet until the water runs cold. There’s no washing away the dirty, broken feeling inside me. My soul itself feels stained with regret.
Wishing I’d told her sooner.
Wishing I’d never told her at all.
Wishing I had something to distract my thoughts.
My hands splay against the wall, my forehead coming down to rest between them on the cold, hard tile. I’m consumed by memories of the look in her eyes as I shared the truth about her parents.
Betrayal.
Pure, undiluted.
The broken, bitter sting of it sucked the light right out of her, a poisonous leech. I’ve been there. I know what she’s going through; spent time in the exact circle of Hell in which she now finds herself. I worked my way out, step by anguished step. It didn’t happen overnight.
Much as I want to go after Jo, to support her as she spirals through denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance… there’s nothing I can say to comfort her. Not right now. Not yet. She needs time to work through her thoughts on her own; time to digest the monumentally heavy load I’ve just dropped on her shoulders.
How much time, I don’t know.
How long does it take to process a betrayal of this magnitude?
For someone like Josephine — a girl who is so naturally good, so naturally giving — to experience such deeply personal duplicity… I can only pray the experience doesn’t change her on a fundamental level.
Don’t worry,a self-loathing voice snarls.She has a fiancé to comfort her, remember?
I sigh and shut off the water.
My cellphone is ringing when I emerge from the bathroom. I race to it, thinking it might be her, but of course it’s not. Even if she had my number, she wouldn’t call me. Not after today. My brows lift as I see Tomlinson’s name on the caller ID screen. It’s been less that four hours since we left the ball field. Somehow, it feels like an eternity.