Chapter 18
Harlow
"It’s supposed to be nice all weekend long." I stare at him wondering what the fuck he is thinking. "I’m going to go and check on dinner." The nerves are going to take over my whole body and I need to step away from him for a second. I grab my wineglass and finish the rest of it. "I’ll be right back."
"I’m not going anywhere." His statement sends shivers down my spine and I avoid his eyes. Walking back into the house, the cold air hits me right away. I close the door behind me and I can’t help when my body collapses with my back against it. Ever since he walked out of my office this afternoon, I’ve gone over everything in my head. Why the hell was he here? Why after all this time, was he here? One night with him has sent my life into an upheaval.
Pushing myself from the door, I walk over to the oven and open it to see the potpie a golden brown. "It’s smells delish," I say, walking over to grab two plates. I grab a big tray and arrange everything on it. After I add the utensils, I walk over to the fridge and take out the premade salad that I bought myself at lunch thinking that I was going to have a nice relaxing evening at home, instead of this. "What the hell is going on?" I mumble when I look outside and see Travis standing up, looking around. "Why the fuck is he even here?" Putting on the oven mitts I take the potpie out of the oven and place it on the tray. Taking off the mitts, I place them on the counter and take another look outside, seeing the sun setting right behind him. My stomach flutters when I see his silhouette facing away from me. He stands there with his hands in his pockets just looking off into the distance, and again I wonder what the hell was he thinking. "Get through dinner and maybe he will go back from where he came," I say, walking over to the door and opening it before going back and grabbing the tray.
He must sense me coming because he turns around and rushes to my side to grab the tray from me. "Why didn’t you call me?" he asks as he takes the tray from my hands.
"Well, because it’s just a tray of food and I could carry it," I huff out, walking toward the couch area to grab the wine and the bottle. When I walk back to the table area, he has the tray in the middle of the table and he’s setting the utensils on the place mats. The sun went down a lot faster than I thought it would and the little fairy lights that I have wrapping around the trees are starting to turn on. It gives it a whimsical glow. I’m not going to lie, but lying in the hammock with the lights on and listening to sounds of nature is relaxing.
"This smells amazing," he says, and I look over at him as I pour him another glass of wine and then fill my own glass a bit more than I should.
"You sound both shocked and amazed by this." I try not to laugh as I sit down in front of him.
"That’s because I am." He doesn’t lie to me, which I guess I should give him props for.
"Well, I can use an oven like no one else can," I joke with him and cut the pie in fourths. "It’s hard to fuck up when all you have to do is set the temperature and put on a timer."
I hold out my hand for his plate and he hands it to me, our fingers graze. "Didn’t you burn a pizza pocket?"
I glare at him as I put a big piece on his plate. "That was in the microwave and I pressed an extra zero by accident."
He laughs as I hand him his plate. "Didn’t you have to buy a new one?"
"No," I say, putting my own piece on my plate and sitting down. "I just chose to because I couldn’t scrape out the cheese and it smelled bad." I roll my eyes. "I can’t believe it exploded," I say, laughing at myself. "Who would have thought."
"It was a massacre," he adds in and waits for me to pick up my fork before he picks up his own.
My stomach is so twisted in knots I barely eat anything, and when he grabs his glass of wine and leans back in his chair, I ask him what I’ve been dying to ask him ever since I saw him standing in my waiting room. "Travis." I say his name, grabbing my own wine and take a shot for liquid courage.
"Harlow." He says my name and I ignore the smirk on his face. If I wasn’t so nervous, I would laugh at how crazy this whole thing is. If I wasn’t so nervous, I would make a joke about it. If I wasn’t so nervous about all of this, I wouldn’t be able to ask him the loaded questions. But he is here and it’s been four years; if I get anything out of this, it will be the questions answered I’ve asked him in my head the last four years.
"Why are you really here?" I ask him. My heart is starting to pick up its pace and the back of my neck suddenly feels like it’s on fire.
My eyes never leave his as I wait for him to answer the loaded question I just asked him. "I missed you," he says, and I don’t know if it’s the nerves or the wine or a bit of both but I laugh.
"You were getting married last week," I say, the words tasting like bile in my mouth. "And you missed me?" I shake my head and laugh bitterly as I take another sip of wine. "You broke up with me." Fuck, I want to kick myself for making it sound like it still bothers me.
"I broke up with you," he says, putting his glass of wine back down on the table. Then leans back again in the chair, folding his hands in front of him, looking calm, cool, and collected. Irritating me even more, because he looks so fucking good doing it. "Because I was an idiot."
My mouth gets dry all of a sudden and all I can say is, "Keep going." Trying to get my heart to calm the fuck down.
"I broke up with you because I knew I couldn’t do the long-distance relationship." His eyes never leave mine.
"Who said you had to do that?" I lean forward, putting my glass on the table. "Who told you that we had to be in a long-distance relationship?" I throw up my hands as he opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. "You didn’t even ask me. You never had a conversation with me." The hurt from four years ago is now suddenly front and center.
"But your family is here," he says softly, and I have to wonder if he is feeling like he, too, is back to that moment four years ago. "And you had everything mapped out for you."
"Plans change," I finally say to him. "Things change. You didn’t even sit down and talk to me about it." I try not to cry, I try to fight away the tears as hard as I can. I shake my head, angry that it’s still getting to me and knowing that whatever happens from here, I have to know what the fuck he was thinking four years ago. "How could you just have made that big of a decision on your own without so much as talking to me about it?"
"I didn’t want to make you choose," he says, looking down.
"Again"—my voice rises just a bit—"you never even fucking asked. Like, how could you just do that? I sat down that day trying to wrap my head around what the hell you did." I finally admit to him. "You tossed away our relationship like it was nothing."
"I never ever wanted to toss you away," he finally snaps. "You think it was easy for me to do what I did?" He points at my chest. "You think walking away from you was easy for me?" He isn’t the one giving me a chance to speak. "Do you think any of that was easy for me? I walked around in a daze for years," he says. "Not singular either." And maybe it’s just the pettiness in me or maybe it’s the fact that I’m still bitter, but I roll my eyes. "You had a plan set in place." His voice finally goes down a touch. "You never ever wavered on that plan. What kind of an asshole was I going to be if I just erased all your dreams?"
"I really want to know who you had a conversation with regarding me and my dreams." I almost smack my hand on the table, the sadness definitely replaced by anger. "I would love to know where this conversation took place." It’s his turn to roll his eyes. "I mean, at the very least, I should have been included in those discussions since it had to do with my future and my life. Don’t you think?"
"I couldn’t do that to you." His voice is almost in a whisper. "The thought of making you choose me or your family, I just couldn’t put you in that position." He shakes his head. "Have you pick me or your family; how would you be able to do that?" I can see how torn up he is about it even after all these years. "What if you picked me and regretted it and then resented me?”
"I loved you with everything that I had." I put my hand to the middle of my chest where the pain is starting to form. "And you just threw it away."
"I didn’t throw it away." He shakes his head. "I let you go so you could do this." He raises his hands toward the backyard. "So you could build the practice that you always thought you would have. I sacrificed myself for you." I see him blinking away his own tears. "That was the single hardest thing I ever had to go through.” I see his Adam’s apple move up and down when he swallows. "Even harder than when my father died." His voice cracks and I gasp in shock. Never once did I think that he hurt as much as me, or maybe I just didn’t want to think about it. Maybe I wanted him to hurt for hurting me, but I never ever thought it would be as bad for him as it was for me. Because he was the one who let me go. "What if I had asked you to come with me?" He looks at me and I see the pain in his eyes. "Would you have come with me?"
"It’s too late for that," I answer honestly, not willing to go back to that time. Not wanting to go back to the same question I asked myself over and over again. "It’s too late for that," I repeat again, shaking my head.