Page 27 of My Best Years

Woooof!

Woof! Woof! Woof!

I’m distracted from my thoughts by Ollie’s frenzied barking. He’s frantically digging his paws in the sand, searching for the crab that just burrowed itself down in a hole. This is another reason I avoid night runs; Ollie wants to eat all of the sand crabs for dessert.

“Ollie, no,” I chuckle, gently tugging him back by his collar. “Come here, boy.”

He whimpers, staring down at the hole in the sand before spinning around and sitting beside me.

“Good boy, Ollie,” I praise, scratching the top of his head.

A smile curves my lips as I stare at my dog—my pride and joy—and think about how much Birdie would love him. She’s always had the biggest heart for animals.

I’ve often wondered if Birdie has any pets of her own. Selfishly, I would rather her have a dog or a cat than children. I know that makes me sound like a massive dick, but the thought of Birdie having a child with another man makes my gut burn with jealousy. She would be a phenomenal mother. And imagining another man getting to hold her hand through her most vulnerable moments, experiencing her nurturing side, fucking kills me.

I thought a lot about my exchange with Birdie tonight during my run. She’s furious with me, and she has every right to be. Bile threatened to spill from my stomach when she mentioned going through a deep depression.

I fucking loathe myself for leaving her like that. She was only eighteen…so young, impressionable, and in love. Birdie so selflessly gave me every last piece of herself. She never held anything back.

But I was just a kid, too.

The day I unwillingly left Birdie Wren, I was quite literally fighting for my life. I didn’t know if I would ever see her again, much less see another day.

After waking up beaten and bruised in the hospital and realizing that I was going to pull through, I had to make the most gut-wrenching decision of my life at just eighteen years old.

The decision to leave Birdie for good.

I was so fucking scared of putting her in the crosshairs of my father’s fury. He made it abundantly clear that he hated me and would ruin anything I loved. And I didn’t just love Birdie…I worshiped her.

She was, and still is, everything to me. So, I did what I had to do to keep her safe. I was young, immature, and didn’t see any other options. As an adult, I know I should have communicated with her. At the very least, I should have reached out to let her know that I was okay.

But I didn’t, and that’s a regret I’ll have to live with until the day I die.

There’s nothing I can do to change the past, but I refuse to live with future regrets if I can avoid them. Which is why I’m not going to give up on Birdie. Hell, I’ll keep trying until she puts a restraining order on me. And even then, I’ll let the police tear me away in handcuffs if that’s what it takes to get her attention.

I just need a chance to talk to her. To explain what happened and why I left.

I don’t expect Birdie to forgive me or even understand. But I need her to know that it had nothing to do with me not wanting her.

EverythingI did was for her. The one person on the planet that ever truly owned my heart.

Two daysafter showing up at Birdie’s work, I’m back again.

Well…I was also here yesterday, but Birdie must have been off because she never came outside after eight hours of waiting for her. I drove around the parking lot several times, hoping to find her car, but I never saw it. Even though I knew she wasn't there, I stayed put in case she parked in a different area to avoid me.

Thank God I can work remotely as a lawyer, or spending my days and nights chasing after Birdie wouldn't be possible. Recently, I’ve had a lot of paperwork to handle, and court dateshave slowed down a bit. I sat in my car all day yesterday, shifting between responding to emails and lifting my gaze to search the parking lot for Birdie every few minutes.

My breath hitched each time a woman with blonde hair would stroll out of the hospital. Then my heart would sink when I realized that they weren't Birdie.

So here I am again, hanging on to hope that I’ll see her tonight. I know she’s here because her car is here in the lot. I decided to arrive at the hospital later today since she seems to get off in the evenings. I’ve been here for nearly three hours, and I’ll stay until I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. The sun has already set, leaving me in my dimly lit car, looking like a damn creeper.

My phone pings with an email, and simultaneously, the hospital doors slide open. I drop my phone into the passenger seat, wrap my fingers around the steering wheel in anticipation, and wait to see who walks out.

This is a game I play with myself each time those glass doors open. I’m surprised someone hasn't reported me by now.

A wave of adrenaline floods my brain, and nausea coils in my stomach as Birdie Wren walks out into the dark parking lot.

Unknowingly walking straight to me.