Page 11 of My Best Years
Five minutes after getting into my car, I pulled off into a post office parking lot before I got in an accident for reckless driving. My hands are shaking. My lungs are failing. And my heart is beating at a rhythm that’s scaring the shit out of me.
The sun is setting, painting the sky a vibrant mixture of red, yellow, and orange—so many colors—so opposite of how I feel inside.
My fingers tremble as I reach for my phone and call my sister. She’s the only one who knows my true feelings for Callum. She was the one who took care of me when he wrecked my entire world.
“Hey, B,” Winnie answers after one ring. No matter what, she always picks up my call.
“Hey,” I reply, my voice cracking. She instantly knows that something is wrong.
“What’s going on?”
“I…” I trail off. “Winnie...”
I inhale a jagged breath as a tear rolls down my cheek.
“What?” Concern fills her tone. “What is it?”
I swallow the lump in my throat before responding.
“He’s here,” I mutter.
I don’t have to tell her who. Because she already knows. For me, it’s only ever been him.
“What do you mean, he’s there?” Her tone is full of shock.
“He’s here, Winnie,” I repeat. “In Gulf Shores.”
“On vacation?”
She has a point. Gulf Shores is a popular tourist spot in the summertime.
“I don’t know,” I reply weakly. “It didn’t look like it. He was grocery shopping in casual clothes.”
“Wait, what?” she questions, sounding puzzled. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
I spend the next few minutes telling Winnie about running into Callum at the store. A long beat of silence passes before she responds.
“I can’t believe it,” she breathes. “After all these years…”
“You should have seen him, Winnie,” I return. “He looked…better than I could have ever imagined. Happy and healthy, as if he didn’t have a worry in the world. He said he wanted to talk to me like no time had passed.”
"Well, that makes sense,” she retorts. “I'm sure after seeing how gorgeous you've become, he just blacked out. It’s been over a decade since he’s laid eyes on you."
I furrow my brows.
“Are you trying to defend him?” I ask, my tone sharp. “Excuse me if I'm not exactly willing to slap on a smile and move past everything as if he didn't shatter my heart in two. You should know that better than anyone."
"Of course I know that, Birdie. I'm just trying to rationalize it. And besides, who says he's moved past anything? You can’t always judge a book by its cover. He may look great on the outside, but he might be fucking miserable on the inside. And I sure as hell am not defending him. I wish I could have been there to kick his ass for you.”
That makes me chuckle.
When the line goes silent, I finally whisper, “I hate him, Winnie.”
Translation:I love him. And I wish I could hate him, but that’s simply impossible.
“You have every right to be angry, B,” she agrees. “But it has to feel good to know that you’re the one who walked away this time. And hopefully, you’ll never have to see him again.”
“But what if I do?” I murmur. “What if he lives here?”