Later that evening, I had dinner with Stella and told her what had happened. I was only slightly less emotional than I had been at Emme and Nate’s house the night before, but I at least managed to get through the story without getting in her lap.
“I feel so stupid,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut. “How could I have fallen for him again?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Maren. We can’t control our feelings.”
“I know, but …” I set my fork down and covered my face with my hands. “I feel like I put myself right back where I was at eighteen. Like I’ve learned nothing. Like I’m doomed. God, I feel so stupid for trusting him. For trusting anyone that much.”
“Stop.” She reached out and tugged at one wrist. “It doesn’t do any good to blame yourself for the actions of someone else. Yes, you trusted him, and he hurt you. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t trust again, Maren. It means you have a big heart.”
“Maybe.”
She smiled. “Listen, I know Emme was the one we always teased about falling in love easily, but it can happen to anyone. Don’t be ashamed of having those feelings.”
“Okay. I’ll try.” But deep down, I vowed I would never put myself in this position again. I would be more careful, more guarded. If men could turn off their feelings to protect themselves like Nate said, then I could, too.
And no matter what Finn Shepherd said, I had to give up on Dallas.
He’d given me no choice.
Seventeen
Dallas
In the biggest dick move ever, I left Finn’s house Wednesday morning without even saying goodbye to Bree and the kids. Finn was already gone by the time I came downstairs, and there was no note or anything, no text or email from him, which I took as a sign that he didn’t really care whether I left or not.
I went to the airport, turned in my rental car, and booked a flight to Portland. While I waited for departure, I felt guilty enough to send a message to Bree.
Hey, I felt like I needed to go home for a while. I left early, before you guys were awake. Please say goodbye to the kids for me. Thanks for everything.
I hit send, and then a minute later sent another text.
I’m sorry.
Then I turned off my phone and shoved it in my bag. The calls from my mother would start soon, no doubt, and Finn would be on my ass, too.
I didn’t look at it again until I was sitting at the gate in Denver. As expected, I had missed several calls from both my mother and Finn. He’d also sent a text.
Bree said you left without saying goodbye.
I braced myself for the lecture. Instead, I got an apology.
I’m really sorry about what I said this morning. I shouldn’t have pushed you. It’s very frustrating for me to be in this position. I want to save your life, but you don’t necessarily want it to be saved. I wish I could convince you that you’ve got a lot to live for, and that needing help doesn’t make you less of a man. It takes courage to face something like this, and to admit you can’t do it alone. We’re your family, and we love you. We’re here for you, no matter what you decide.
There was one more message.
Also, Mom is going nuts wondering what is going on. Do you want me to explain it to her? I promise to do it without criticizing your need to take a little time and think things over on your own. That is your right, and I will make sure she and Dad understand that. And respect it.
In reply, I simply said, Yes. Thank you.
In some ways, it was the nicest thing he’d ever done for me.
That afternoon, I returned to the house I was renting and flopped onto my couch. I lay there for a while, grateful for the peace and quiet. I’d almost dozed off when my phone vibrated. I looked at the screen, expecting it to be another text from one of my family members, but it was from Evan.
It was a picture of him holding a newborn baby wrapped in a blanket. A series of messages followed.
It’s a boy
Hunter William Brawley, born 6:02 A.M.
7 lbs, 8 oz
Holy fuck, I’m a dad
Help
I grinned and replied.
Me: Congratulations, asshole! How’s Reyna?
Evan: Who?
Me: Your wife? The person who just gave birth?
Evan: Oh her. Yeah she’s fine.
Me: Tell her congrats from me.
Evan: Will do. You in Boston? How did it go with the surgeon?
Me: I’m in Portland. It went fine and I’ll fill you in soon. I’m happy for you.
Evan: Thanks man.
I set my phone aside and crossed my arms over my chest. Holy shit, Evan was a dad. He was the first one of my friends to hit that milestone, and it seemed crazy that I could be that old. As a kid, and by kid, I mean from age one to twenty-nine, I’d never really given much thought to the future—I’d lived for the moment and sought out as many extreme experiences as I could. I’d figured that was all we had control over—the moment we were in. You couldn’t change the past, and you had no fucking clue what the future would bring. For all I knew, I’d be dead by twenty-five, so why not get the tattoo, buy the Porsche, swim with the sharks, dive off the cliff? And I’d thought for sure that was the way I’d go—doing something reckless but fun. Something worth it.
A brain tumor?
Not worth it.
But what could I do?
You know what you could do. Fight it. Push back. Refuse to go quietly. Stand up and say, “Not like this, universe. No fucking way.”
I frowned. And if it wasn’t enough?
Then you make the most of the time you have. Mend the relationships that matter. Live fully. Love hard.
There was no one I wanted to love harder than Maren if my time was short. But suddenly I had other regrets—I’d never been to Bali. Never seen my artwork in a gallery. Never done anything to really make my grandfather proud.
I’d never get married, be a father, raise a family. It wasn’t something I’d ever had my heart set on before, but it had never been off the table, either. It was always there, like that shirt in the closet you never wear but you can’t bring yourself to throw out, because maybe someday you’ll want to wear it. If and when you do, it’s there.
I didn’t like the notion that fate was taking away all my maybe somedays.
Eventually, I nodded off, and when I woke up, it was dark. My stomach was growling, and I thought about calling Evan and asking if he wanted to grab something to eat with me, but then I remembered—he had a new baby. Impromptu meet-ups were probably off for a while. In the end, I ordered takeout and spent the evening alone, ignoring my family’s calls and texts, eating Chinese food, watching old movies on Netflix, and wishing Maren was here with me. We’d stretch out on the couch, my arms wrapped around her, her head beneath my chin. One of those vivid memories struck me—dancing with her on the rooftop at the hotel. I could smell her hair, see the lights in the city, feel the breeze on my face, hear her gentle weeping. I closed my eyes and melted into it.
But as intense as the memory was, it couldn’t compare to the real thing. Breaking things off, putting distance between us, refusing to talk to her—none of these things had alleviated the ache of losing her. If anything, it had only gotten worse. I loved her so much I had to do something about it, or I was going to lose my mind. I was full of this raging, pulsing, physical urge. If she’d been here, I would have ravaged her body all night long, worshipped every inch of her skin, made her feel so good she’d never want to leave. I’d have told her over and over again how much she meant to me, how sorry I was for hurting her, how I was going to spend the rest of my days making it up to her. I’d have made promises to her and kept them.
But without giving in, what could I do?
By the time the sun came up, I had an idea.
“What? No.” Beatriz sat back and folded her arms.
“Come on, Bea,” I said angrily, laying my forearm on the table in front of her. “Don’t give me any bullshit.”
“Who’s Maren?” she asked, looking at the letters I’d stenciled on my inner left forearm.
“A girl.”
She rolled her eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Dallas.”
“Just do it, okay?”
“Why? You’ve never talked about this person before, and now you want me to put her name on your skin? Have I not taught you anything?”
“I feel so stupid,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut. “How could I have fallen for him again?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Maren. We can’t control our feelings.”
“I know, but …” I set my fork down and covered my face with my hands. “I feel like I put myself right back where I was at eighteen. Like I’ve learned nothing. Like I’m doomed. God, I feel so stupid for trusting him. For trusting anyone that much.”
“Stop.” She reached out and tugged at one wrist. “It doesn’t do any good to blame yourself for the actions of someone else. Yes, you trusted him, and he hurt you. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t trust again, Maren. It means you have a big heart.”
“Maybe.”
She smiled. “Listen, I know Emme was the one we always teased about falling in love easily, but it can happen to anyone. Don’t be ashamed of having those feelings.”
“Okay. I’ll try.” But deep down, I vowed I would never put myself in this position again. I would be more careful, more guarded. If men could turn off their feelings to protect themselves like Nate said, then I could, too.
And no matter what Finn Shepherd said, I had to give up on Dallas.
He’d given me no choice.
Seventeen
Dallas
In the biggest dick move ever, I left Finn’s house Wednesday morning without even saying goodbye to Bree and the kids. Finn was already gone by the time I came downstairs, and there was no note or anything, no text or email from him, which I took as a sign that he didn’t really care whether I left or not.
I went to the airport, turned in my rental car, and booked a flight to Portland. While I waited for departure, I felt guilty enough to send a message to Bree.
Hey, I felt like I needed to go home for a while. I left early, before you guys were awake. Please say goodbye to the kids for me. Thanks for everything.
I hit send, and then a minute later sent another text.
I’m sorry.
Then I turned off my phone and shoved it in my bag. The calls from my mother would start soon, no doubt, and Finn would be on my ass, too.
I didn’t look at it again until I was sitting at the gate in Denver. As expected, I had missed several calls from both my mother and Finn. He’d also sent a text.
Bree said you left without saying goodbye.
I braced myself for the lecture. Instead, I got an apology.
I’m really sorry about what I said this morning. I shouldn’t have pushed you. It’s very frustrating for me to be in this position. I want to save your life, but you don’t necessarily want it to be saved. I wish I could convince you that you’ve got a lot to live for, and that needing help doesn’t make you less of a man. It takes courage to face something like this, and to admit you can’t do it alone. We’re your family, and we love you. We’re here for you, no matter what you decide.
There was one more message.
Also, Mom is going nuts wondering what is going on. Do you want me to explain it to her? I promise to do it without criticizing your need to take a little time and think things over on your own. That is your right, and I will make sure she and Dad understand that. And respect it.
In reply, I simply said, Yes. Thank you.
In some ways, it was the nicest thing he’d ever done for me.
That afternoon, I returned to the house I was renting and flopped onto my couch. I lay there for a while, grateful for the peace and quiet. I’d almost dozed off when my phone vibrated. I looked at the screen, expecting it to be another text from one of my family members, but it was from Evan.
It was a picture of him holding a newborn baby wrapped in a blanket. A series of messages followed.
It’s a boy
Hunter William Brawley, born 6:02 A.M.
7 lbs, 8 oz
Holy fuck, I’m a dad
Help
I grinned and replied.
Me: Congratulations, asshole! How’s Reyna?
Evan: Who?
Me: Your wife? The person who just gave birth?
Evan: Oh her. Yeah she’s fine.
Me: Tell her congrats from me.
Evan: Will do. You in Boston? How did it go with the surgeon?
Me: I’m in Portland. It went fine and I’ll fill you in soon. I’m happy for you.
Evan: Thanks man.
I set my phone aside and crossed my arms over my chest. Holy shit, Evan was a dad. He was the first one of my friends to hit that milestone, and it seemed crazy that I could be that old. As a kid, and by kid, I mean from age one to twenty-nine, I’d never really given much thought to the future—I’d lived for the moment and sought out as many extreme experiences as I could. I’d figured that was all we had control over—the moment we were in. You couldn’t change the past, and you had no fucking clue what the future would bring. For all I knew, I’d be dead by twenty-five, so why not get the tattoo, buy the Porsche, swim with the sharks, dive off the cliff? And I’d thought for sure that was the way I’d go—doing something reckless but fun. Something worth it.
A brain tumor?
Not worth it.
But what could I do?
You know what you could do. Fight it. Push back. Refuse to go quietly. Stand up and say, “Not like this, universe. No fucking way.”
I frowned. And if it wasn’t enough?
Then you make the most of the time you have. Mend the relationships that matter. Live fully. Love hard.
There was no one I wanted to love harder than Maren if my time was short. But suddenly I had other regrets—I’d never been to Bali. Never seen my artwork in a gallery. Never done anything to really make my grandfather proud.
I’d never get married, be a father, raise a family. It wasn’t something I’d ever had my heart set on before, but it had never been off the table, either. It was always there, like that shirt in the closet you never wear but you can’t bring yourself to throw out, because maybe someday you’ll want to wear it. If and when you do, it’s there.
I didn’t like the notion that fate was taking away all my maybe somedays.
Eventually, I nodded off, and when I woke up, it was dark. My stomach was growling, and I thought about calling Evan and asking if he wanted to grab something to eat with me, but then I remembered—he had a new baby. Impromptu meet-ups were probably off for a while. In the end, I ordered takeout and spent the evening alone, ignoring my family’s calls and texts, eating Chinese food, watching old movies on Netflix, and wishing Maren was here with me. We’d stretch out on the couch, my arms wrapped around her, her head beneath my chin. One of those vivid memories struck me—dancing with her on the rooftop at the hotel. I could smell her hair, see the lights in the city, feel the breeze on my face, hear her gentle weeping. I closed my eyes and melted into it.
But as intense as the memory was, it couldn’t compare to the real thing. Breaking things off, putting distance between us, refusing to talk to her—none of these things had alleviated the ache of losing her. If anything, it had only gotten worse. I loved her so much I had to do something about it, or I was going to lose my mind. I was full of this raging, pulsing, physical urge. If she’d been here, I would have ravaged her body all night long, worshipped every inch of her skin, made her feel so good she’d never want to leave. I’d have told her over and over again how much she meant to me, how sorry I was for hurting her, how I was going to spend the rest of my days making it up to her. I’d have made promises to her and kept them.
But without giving in, what could I do?
By the time the sun came up, I had an idea.
“What? No.” Beatriz sat back and folded her arms.
“Come on, Bea,” I said angrily, laying my forearm on the table in front of her. “Don’t give me any bullshit.”
“Who’s Maren?” she asked, looking at the letters I’d stenciled on my inner left forearm.
“A girl.”
She rolled her eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Dallas.”
“Just do it, okay?”
“Why? You’ve never talked about this person before, and now you want me to put her name on your skin? Have I not taught you anything?”
