Page 56 of The Tryst List
“Fine, I’ll give you that. The point is, I’m not leaving Seattle. This is my home and I love it. I don’t want to be away from my family and business.” I glance down at my phone, where Peter’s daily texts stare me in the face. I show them to Merc.
Peter:
Jordan, I’m sorry. Keeping the London project from you was wrong. I should have been honest from the start.
Peter:
I’ve been thinking about everything I said, and I realize how much I’ve hurt you. It wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry for being such a dick. It’s eating me up inside, and I wish I could take it all back.
Peter:
Baby, every day without you feels empty. I regret everything I’ve done to make you walk away. Please give me another chance. I made a mistake;, one I deeply regret. I’m sorry for letting you down and for the pain I’ve caused.
Peter:
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Not just about what I said, but about how I’ve handled everything from the beginning with you. I let my fears and ambitions get in the way of our trust and openness. That was wrong, and I’m so sorry. You deserved honesty and transparency from me, and I failed to give you that. I understand if you can’t forgive me, but I want you to know how truly sorry I am and how much you mean to me. I love you.
Peter:
Jordan, every morning I wake up wishing I could turn back time and fix the things I’ve done wrong. I was so scared of losing you, but in doing so, I ended up hurting you even more. I’m so sorry for everything. If there’s any chance we can talk, face-to-face, I’d give anything for an opportunity. I love you more than any job and miss you more than words can express.
“Ah, he’s groveling. That’s good. Seems sincere.” Merc quirks an eyebrow.
I shut my phone off and place it face down on the table. “Yeah…as heartfelt as Peter’s texts seem to be, I’m taking my time to consider the entire situation. God knows, part of me wants to put myself in his shoes, be understanding and run to him. The weight of leading a major project like SoHo is probably overwhelming. It’s possible the stress and pressure he’s under clouded his judgement…”
Merc leans forward. “But…”
“A bigger part of me is petrified of being lovestruck and naïve. I opened myself to him once long ago and his behavior wounded me deeply. Now, I've given him a second chance and he’s done it again. As they say, fool me once… Ah, whatever the stupid saying is.”
He nods. “I get it. You believe he'll fuck up again and you'd only have yourself to blame.”
“Yeah.” I hang my head.
Merc snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Jordan. Eyes up here. Newsflash. He’s going to fuck up. So are you. It’s called life.”
“What?” Merc’s tough love bit surprises me.
He stands. “Baby girl, don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been dodging calls from your parents and friends too. Everyone’s wondering who your date was at Jace’s wedding and why you’ve fallen off the planet this past week.” On his way out the door he looks over his shoulder. “I’m sure they think you’re in some sex bubble somewhere, but it’s clear you need support. You’re surrounded by people who love you, lean on them if you need to.”
“Oh God,” I groan, rubbing my temples. “I know and I will. I can’t deal with their questions right now. They all met him, liked him, and… What do I tell them? Vegas guy played me again? Ugh.”
Merc blows me a kiss. “Tell them the truth—you’re figuring things out. You don’t owe anyone a perfect love story.”
“Thanks, Merc. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” His words are a balm and I find myself smiling, despite the turmoil churning inside my head.
Merc’s grin epitomizes his easygoing and sassy self. “Probably mope around and make bad tattoo decisions.”
As I wait for my next appointment, Peter’s words, his apologies, and the unresolved feelings between us dominate my thoughts. When my client arrives, the hum of the tattoo machine and the familiar scent of ink and antiseptic are comforting, but don’t fully distract me from my dilemma.
When the shop closes and the last artist leaves, I sit alone. The quiet gives me time to think, free of distraction. No matter what I decide, this is a turning point in my life. My heart aches with love for Peter, but it’s also guarded, bruised by his words and the uncertainty of our future.
My phone pings. Another text from Peter.
Peter:
I’m sorry for every pain I’ve caused you. I understand if you can’t forgive me, but know I love you more than anything. You mean everything to me.
A tear rolls down my cheek. The sincerity in his words is evident, but so is the pain they bring. Forgiving him isn’t about overcoming a single argument; it’s about trusting him with my heart. About believing he and I can navigate a committed relationship.