Текст книги "Butterfly Dreams"

Автор книги: A. Meredith Walters

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“What would you know about what’s eating away at me? It’s not like you have ever taken the time to know anything about me!”

“You’re right. I haven’t. When you were younger, it was because you annoyed the crap out of me. You were my irritating little sister, always underfoot and in my business. But after that, when first Mom then Dad got sick, I stayed away because it was easier. Because if I looked at you, I had to face what was happening to them. You made me remember how much it hurt to lose them.”

Wow. I hadn’t expected that.

At all.

It was the most honest Tamsin had ever been with me. I didn’t know what to make of it.

“Of all the selfish bull—”

“Yes, it was selfish. Yes, it was wrong. I can’t change it. But I’d like to do things differently in the future. Starting now.”

I looked at her as though she had grown another head. “Why in the hell are you saying all of this now? Is this just to butter me up so I’ll sell the house?”

Tamsin chuckled. “Not a bad idea, but no.”

She looked up at the house again and I followed her gaze. I wasn’t entirely sure what I felt when I looked at it. But I knew Tam was right. I was tired of holding onto a bad memory.

“Actually, I started seeing a therapist a couple of months ago.”

This time I laughed. “You seeing a therapist? Isn’t that a sign of the apocalypse?”

“Very funny, Corin. Your sense of humor is as delightful as always.” Tamsin pursed her lips. “Jared was the one who suggested it. We were having…trouble. So we started seeing a couple’s counselor, and she suggested that I see someone on my own. To address my unresolved issues about Mom and Dad.”

I was blown away.

Tamsin had rendered me speechless. Again.

“Has it helped?” I asked quietly. For my own reasons.

“It’s been good for me. I realized where I’ve been deficient in my communications with people. And it’s put some things in perspective. Including how I’ve treated you and our lack of relationship.”

“We have no relationship, Tamsin. We never have.”

Tamsin sighed again. “We’re the only family each other has. We should treat each other better.” I opened my mouth to argue some more but she stopped me. “I don’t expect us to be best friends, Cor, but I do hope we can be better than we have been.”

I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

When I was a little girl, I would have given anything to have my cool older sister to want to have a relationship with me.

But now?

There were a lot of grudges to get rid of first.

“Are you guys coming in?” Jared yelled from the front door. I could see Beckett behind him.

“Are you coming in?” Tamsin asked.

I looked at my sister who watched me expectantly and then at Beckett, his expression concerned.

I nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

Chapter 22

Corin

I agreed to sell the house.

It seemed like such a sudden change in attitude, but in truth it wasn’t. Even though I had been so adamantly against it, deep down it was something I knew needed to be done.

But it was a decision that wasn’t made lightly.

I realized after walking inside my childhood home for the first time in years, that too many things were holding me back.

My grief.

My fear.

My obstinate refusal to let go of my parents.

Tamsin and I walked into the house after our mind-opening chat and I thought I was going to be sick.

My stomach clenched and I broke out into a cold sweat. Jared was talking to Ellis the real estate agent, discussing the crown moldings and updated boiler.

Everything was different. Of course it was. Other people lived there now. It was filled with their furniture. Their memories.

But mine were still there. Tucked into corners. Bled into the walls.

Happy memories.

But so many bad ones too.

My mother had died here and my father had wasted away just upstairs.

I had lost my childhood here.

I was stuck in the bricks and mortar.

Tamsin put her hand on my back, a comforting gesture that shocked me.

“Look around, Cor. Do you see anything here you want to keep?”

I took a deep breath, trying to keep the butterflies at bay. They were there, fluttering wings and sharp feet, waiting to drag me down.

“If you can walk around and tell me that you really want to keep the house, then I won’t push to sell it. We’ll figure out a way to keep paying for it.”

My sister was full of surprises, apparently.

“What happened to needing to sell the house to get a down payment on your own place?” I questioned.

“Jared and I will figure out something. So if you really want to keep this house, we’ll keep it. Actually, I’ll sign it over to you. It’ll be yours.”

My heart started to pound in my chest. Hard and fast.

“Really?” I breathed.

Tamsin nodded. “Yes, really. But I want you to walk through every room. Take your time, sis. Think long and hard about what keeping this house would mean for you. And if you can tell me that it’s not just an excuse to stop yourself from moving on, I will sign over the deed today.”

I was overwhelmed. And sick.

I hadn’t felt ill in weeks.

But I felt sick then. Really sick. I was having trouble breathing. I was sweating like a pig.

Tamsin tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and gave me a sad smile. “I think you’re stuck, Corin. Stuck in these rooms. Still thinking like the eighteen-year-old girl who had to watch our dad die. And I think selling this place could cut a cord you don’t need anymore. But that’s just my opinion. Take it or leave it.”

“Don’t think because you’re being shrinked, you can psychoanalyze me. You’re not qualified to do that. I don’t want to hear your bullshit,” I seethed, suddenly angry. So, so angry. And defensive.

Because she had cut me deep. So deep that I felt it in the darkest recesses of my repressed heart.

Tamsin didn’t snap back at me. She didn’t offer a snide retort. She just looked at me sadly, with an understanding that made me extremely uncomfortable.

“I don’t want to psychoanalyze you. I just want you to hear me,” she said.

I rubbed my temples, willing the throbbing to stop.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” I conceded, feeling contrite.

Tamsin tentatively put her arm around my shoulders and gave me a brief hug. “It’s okay. I know I’ve earned a lot worse.”

I snorted. “I’m not going to argue with you there.”

Tamsin gave me a reassuring squeeze before she left my side, walking back to her husband and the agent.

I braced myself against the doorjamb, still not walking all the way inside.

Beckett was at my side in an instant. “What did she say?” he angrily whispered so that my sister wouldn’t overhear.

I shook my head. My eyes scanned the familiar room filled with an unfamiliar life.

“She said something. You look horrible, Corin.”

“Thanks,” I said, and chuckled without humor.

Beckett took my hand and held it to his chest. “What happened? Tell me, please,” he pleaded.

“I think I just made peace with my sister,” I told him.

He frowned, looking confused.

I kissed his chin. God, I loved him. Soon I’d tell him. He deserved to hear it.

I deserved to say it.

“Come on. Let’s have a look around. We’ll talk more later.” I took his hand and the small contact of skin on skin strengthened me enough to do what I needed to do.

Slowly I made my way through my old home. Memories assaulted me at every turn. Sometimes I smiled. Sometimes I bit my lip so I wouldn’t sob like a baby.

I wouldn’t go into my parents’ room. I just couldn’t. Tamsin went in but came back out quickly. She looked pale and visibly shaken.

I surprised both of us when I walked over and took her hand. Her eyes met mine and for the first time in our lives, there was a true understanding between us.

A connection.

When we were finished walking through the house, we went back outside and Jared locked the front door.

“How was that?” Beckett asked.

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” I admitted.

“It’s a nice place,” he commented, rubbing my arm. I leaned into him, taking strength from his comfort.

“It was.”

I let out a long breath. “It’s not my house anymore.”

Beckett stopped rubbing. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not my house anymore. There were good memories there. Lots of them. But all I could feel as I walked through was death. And misery.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks and I wiped them away. “I hate that I feel that way, but I do. And I don’t want to hold onto that. Not anymore.”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t change your mind later,” Beckett argued. “Don’t make a decision now that you’ll regret down the road, Corin.”

“I want to sell the house. Tam’s right, it’s a link to a time I can’t move on from. I need to move on. I have to find a way.”

Beckett wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. He kissed the top of my head over and over again.

“You will. I’ll help you. We’ll do it together,” he promised.

And I believed him.

Totally.

Completely.

Because Beckett would never lie to me.

Our futures were with each other.

And my life was beginning now.

–

I had been sitting at my kitchen table for over an hour staring down at the tiny business card in my hand.

The number on the bottom had become ingrained in my mind. I’d remember those numbers ten years from now.

“Just call already,” I muttered aloud. Great, now I was talking to myself. I definitely needed to call the number before I started a two-way conversation.

“If Tamsin can do this, I sure as hell can do this,” I goaded myself.

Okay, this was officially getting ridiculous.

I quickly dialed the number and put the phone to my ear.

“Good afternoon, Chris Riley’s office.”

And I hung up.

I had just prank called a therapist. And I thought that I didn’t have issues?

I had called Chris Riley’s office and hung up every day since I had seen my sister. I was almost there. Almost ready to take that step and do the very thing I had sworn I would never do.

But I was terrified.

I wasn’t sure I could go through with it.

Because deep down I didn’t want to admit that what Dr. Graham and Dr. Harrison had said was true.

That my illnesses, my chronic ailments, were all in my head.

I didn’t want confirmation that I was bat-shit insane.

“Corin?”

Beckett came into my kitchen and found me still at the table with that damn business card fixed to my palm.

“I’ve been knocking on your door for the past five minutes. What in the hell are you doing?” Beckett dropped a hand onto my shoulder and leaned down to give me a kiss.

“Sorry. I didn’t hear you,” I replied distractedly.

Beckett sat down across from me, his eyes skimming over the white card. He didn’t ask me if I had called.

He could tell by the look on my face that I hadn’t.

But I needed to.

I wanted to have a normal life. I wanted that normal life with Beckett. If I couldn’t deal with my issues, what future could we possibly have?

I had decided to sell my parents’ house, but it wasn’t enough.

I had to deal with all of me. All of the shit I had going on inside.

“Will you sit with me while I call?” I asked softly, looking up at the man who had slowly and surely become my everything.

Beckett reached across the table and took my hands in his. He lifted them to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. His eyes were gentle and full of so much love it made my chest tight.

I had to do this. For him. For me.

For us.

“I won’t ever leave, Corin. I’ll always be here.”

His promise was exactly what I needed.

–

Why did Chris Riley’s office have to be so cliché? It was incredibly disappointing.

The giant fish tank and Enya being piped through the speakers was enough to make me want to leave. And fast.

How could I possibly talk to a man that listened to Enya?

I was making excuses. I realized that. But at the moment, they made a hell of a lot of sense.

I was just getting to my feet when the office door opened and a middle-aged man wearing a sweater-vest came in.

Chris Riley, LPC, had messy blond hair and laugh lines around his eyes. He had a kind face and that made me almost forgive him for the sweater-vest and Enya.

“Hello. You must be Corin Thompson. I’m Chris Riley.” He had a firm handshake, which was also reassuring.

“Hi,” I responded, not sure if I was expected to say anything else. Was he shrinking me yet? Judging and analyzing?

I stood awkwardly in the middle of his office wondering if it was too late to make a run for it.

Stop it, Corin. Don’t sabotage something that could really help.

“Why don’t you have a seat? Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Water?”

“Do you have any green tea?” I asked.

Chris Riley smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do. I’ll get you a cup. Do you like it with honey?”

I smiled, thinking about Beckett. “Yes, please.”

Chris made my tea and handed me the hot mug. He had to work on his honey-to-tea ratio but it wasn’t bad.

He sat down, not behind his desk, but in the armchair beside me. He had a clipboard in his lap but he wasn’t looking at it. He was looking at me.

I took a nervous sip of my tea, not caring that it burned the roof of my mouth.

“How’s the tea?” he asked after a few minutes of agonizing silence.

“Fine,” I grudgingly admitted.

“Good. I take my tea preparation skills very seriously.” Chris grinned and his statement, so much like Beckett’s when we first met, helped me to relax marginally.

“So, tell me a little bit about yourself, Corin.”

“Don’t you want to know why I’m here first? Wouldn’t that make more sense?” I questioned, frowning.

Chris shrugged. “I figured we’d get there eventually. But I’d like to get to know you first.”

“Okay…” I dragged the word out, not sure what to think about Mr. Sweater-Vest and his noninvasive approach.

“Let’s start with the simple stuff. What do you do for a living?” Chris asked.

I scratched absentmindedly at my arm. “I own the Razzle Dazzle pottery studio in town.”

Chris smiled brightly. “My daughter loves your studio! I’ve been there a few times myself! It’s wonderful, Corin.”

I relaxed a bit further. “Thanks. I’m pretty proud of it.”

“That’s quite an accomplishment for someone so young. You’re only twenty-five, correct?”

I nodded. “I opened the store just out of high school.” I took another sip of tea and sat back into the couch cushions, crossing my legs. This was a lot easier than I expected it to be.

“Wow. That’s incredible. Did your parents help you start it up?” he asked innocently.

I instantly tensed.

Here we go…

“Uh, no they didn’t.”

I scratched at my arm again.

Chris, recognizing that he had stumbled onto a topic I wasn’t comfortable with, deftly moved on. He didn’t push for more information, which shocked me. Isn’t that what he was supposed to be doing? Getting the dirt?

“So tell me about the people in your life, Corin. Your friends. Significant other.”

I relaxed again. “My best friend Adam helps me run the store. He’s my partner, actually. We’ve been friends since high school. He’s a bit rough around the edges but he’s really been there for me.”

I thought about Adam and how he had supported me over the years, even when I didn’t realize that was what he was doing. He was a better friend than I ever gave him credit for.

“Adam sounds like a great guy,” Chris observed.

I nodded. “He is. He’s really the only friend I have. I’m not the easiest person to be around.” I laughed.

Chris looked at me searchingly. “Really. Why is that?”

“I can be high maintenance. It takes a special person to put up with all of my neuroses.”

“Okay, so you have Adam. And you say that there’s no one else in your life?”

I flushed and bit down on my lip to stop myself from grinning. “I have a boyfriend named Beckett. He’s why I’m here, actually,” I found myself saying.

Chris smiled. “Oh really?”

“I want to build a life with him. And if I want to do that, I have to deal with all of the crap I have going on up here.” I tapped my temple for emphasis.

“You have a very low opinion of yourself, Corin. Are you aware of that?” Chris asked gently.

“It’s not low self-esteem, it’s just fact.” I shrugged.

Chris made a note on his clipboard. “So you’re here because of Beckett. Can you explain that for me?”

I took a deep breath. “My parents died when I was a teenager. My mom and then my dad in pretty close succession.”

Chris’s face went soft and sympathetic. “That’s a lot of trauma for someone so young.”

“I’m afraid of dying. Like really afraid of dying. I think about it all the time. Every time I leave my apartment I wonder if I’ll get hit by a car. When I cough, I think I have lung cancer. Every headache is a potential aneurism.”

I felt the familiar threads of panic. “My doctors think I’m crazy,” I said quietly, strangled.

Chris leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Why in the world would you think that?”

Tears started slipping down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop them. And then the dam broke.

“Because I am.”

I started sobbing and couldn’t stop. Chris handed me a box of tissues but made no move to touch me or console me, which I appreciated. He simply waited until I had cried myself out and was able to compose myself.

It took me fifteen minutes and I was able to dry my eyes and breathe normally again.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said sheepishly, not quite able to look at my therapist, though I was pretty sure he had seen a lot worse in his line of work.

“Don’t ever apologize for feeling how you feel. I get the impression you don’t do that much.”

“Do what?” I asked.

“Cry.”

I shook my head. “Not really,” I admitted.

Chris regarded me steadily. “I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that you’re not crazy, Corin. Not in the least.”

“How can you say that? You’ve known me what? Twenty minutes?” I scoffed.

Chris sat back in his chair and tucked his pen into his breast pocket. “You’ve experienced a lot of trauma, Corin. You have established some destructive coping mechanisms. Your anxiety has become your crutch. But that doesn’t mean you’re crazy. Not by a long shot.”

His words loosened the knot in my gut that had been there since my dad had died.

“Dr. Harrison says I’m a hypochondriac.” I felt embarrassed to say it. But it needed to be put out there.

Chris smiled. “What you are is a smart, competent, accomplished young woman who has yet to learn how to work through her grief.” He paused. “I’d like to help you do that. I hope you’ll let me.”

I had been so averse to therapy for so long, convinced it would never help me. That I didn’t need it.

But things had changed.

I had changed.

And I needed to believe that I wasn’t crazy. That I could have a normal life.

That I wouldn’t drag Beckett down with my issues.

I could do this.

I would do this.

For me.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Chapter 23

Corin

“I really want to go to the spring carnival in the park,” I said one Sunday morning. Winter had finally caved to the might of spring. The air was clean and bright. The flowers were blooming. And I was embracing every moment of it.

Because of the man by my side.

Beckett had completely transformed my life.

It was still so unbelievable.

“You want to go to the carnival? Really?” Beckett scoffed.

“What’s so strange about that?”

“You are probably the last person I can imagine subjecting herself to a crowded overpriced fair with half-cooked hamburgers and cotton candy.”

“It’s called living, Beckett. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me I should be doing?” I tossed a napkin at him. He tried to catch it but failed. He let his hand drop into his lap.

He was looking a little pale this morning. His eyes were duller than normal.

“Are you all right?” I asked, feeling a niggling of worry.

“No. I’m not all right. I think aliens have done a body swap with my girlfriend,” he exclaimed, grinning.

I must be imagining things.

I did that a lot.

Created problems where there were none.

Chris Riley said that I constantly anticipated the worst possible scenario so as to not be caught off guard should it happen. He said that when I felt myself becoming negative, I had to counteract it with a positive thought.

He was teaching me a lot about how to handle everyday situations that normally had me retreating and going into my protective shell.

Therapy worked, people. I never thought I’d say that.

My eyes lingered on my boyfriend’s face.

Beck looks happy. He’s smiling. We’re in love.

Our life is just beginning.

So yeah, I was getting a lot out of therapy. More than I ever thought I would.

But I was by no means fixed.

I often wondered if I should just suck it up and admit I was always going to be fucked up.

Beckett wouldn’t let me think that way too long though.

The silly man seemed to think I was amazing.

Apparently he had his own delusions.

“I haven’t been to the carnival since I was eight. I think it could be fun.”

I should have taken note of the shadows beneath Beckett’s eyes.

I would never forgive myself for ignoring the voice in my head that said something wasn’t right.

But he insisted he was fine and I didn’t want to nag him. Because I was trying not to fixate on the could happen.

“Why don’t we call Zoe and see if she wants to tag along,” I suggested, picking up Beckett’s plate with his uneaten bagel. He said he wasn’t hungry. That should have bothered me. The man ate like a horse.

“Do we have to?” Beckett whined, pulling me down onto his lap and nuzzling my neck. I tingled all over from his touch. I didn’t think I’d ever get tired of it.

“Okay, you get a pass this time. But I told her we’d hang out sometime.”

“Hey, you agreed to that, not me. So that’s on you, Cor-Cor.”

I pinched his side and he jumped. “Ouch!”

“Call it negative reinforcement. Every time you use that god-awful nickname, you’re getting the pinch.” I pretended to pinch him again and he flinched.

“Okay, okay. I surrender!”

Beckett pressed his lips to mine, leaning me back over the arm of the chair. Just as he started to slide his hand up my shirt, he looked up.

“He’s doing it again, Corin,” he whispered.

Sure enough, Mr. Bingley was sitting on the other end of the kitchen table, licking his paw and watching us. Beckett had developed a major complex about my cat.

I laughed. Deep from the gut.

Life was good.

–

I should have known nothing great could ever last.

If I had known how that day would end, I would have done so many things differently.

I would have focused on the small things. The color of Beck’s hair. The way it curled around his ears.

The sound of his breathing while he slept.

The smile that he gave only to me.

The way he said my name just before he kissed me.

Important things.

Things that I’d never want to forget.

–

“Come on, let’s ride the Tilt-A-Whirl!” I cried, pulling Beckett by the hand.

He was such a good sport. I knew the carnival wasn’t his thing but he went anyway. For me.

“We just went on the Scrambler. Can’t we take a break?” he asked, smiling, but it looked a little pained.

He was moving slower. Sluggish even.

You’re being paranoid! I silently reprimanded myself.

I was looking for something to be wrong when there wasn’t.

Beckett would tell me if he didn’t feel right.

He wouldn’t jeopardize his health like that.

“Fine. But if I barf, I’m aiming it right at you,” he teased.

He kissed me as we waited in line and it was the best thing in the world.

“Hey, isn’t that Adam?” Beckett asked after we got off the ride, puke free. He pointed to a familiar dark head in the crowd.

It was Adam. He was waiting in line for caramel apples, a giant panda bear tucked under his arm.

“He hates stuff like this. What in the hell is he doing here?” I mused. Beckett and I headed in his direction.

I tapped my friend on the shoulder and he jerked his head up, an annoyed look on his face. It smoothed out when he saw that it was me.

“Fancy meeting you here,” I said.

“Uh, yeah. Fancy that.”

Had we died and been reborn British?

“Hey, Beckett,” Adam said, nodding at my boyfriend.

“Howdy, Adam. That’s an awfully pretty panda you’ve got there,” Beck drawled.

Adam fidgeted. What had him so nervous?

“Oh, yeah. That’s not mine. I don’t do pandas. I mean they’re cute, I guess. But not my thing.”

Beckett and I exchanged a look.

“I’m back,” a high-pitched giggle interjected.

I watched as Krista came up and wrapped her arms around Adam’s middle. “You’re still in line? Geez, it’s taking forever,” she complained.

I raised an eyebrow as Adam blushed. I had never seen him so red.

Like I didn’t know something was going on between them. It had become way too obvious.

Krista finally realized we were standing there. “Oh hey, Corin! I didn’t know you were here,” she chirped. Her hold on Adam was ironclad, and it amused me how uncomfortable he was.

“Yeah, we haven’t been here that long. Krista, this is my boyfriend, Beckett. Beckett, this is Krista. She works at the studio part time,” I said, raising my eyebrows.

Beckett’s eyes widened a fraction. “Oh. Well, it’s nice meeting you,” he said.

Adam looked ready to crawl out of his skin.

“Well, we’ll leave you to it. Have fun.” Adam nodded, not meeting my eyes. It was kind of cute.

“Let me know when you want to have that talk,” I whispered in his ear.

Adam cleared his throat. “Yeah, okay.”

Krista gave us a wave as we said our goodbyes.

“Did you know about that?” Beckett asked.

“I had a suspicion.”

“He looked like he wanted to jump off a very tall building.” Beckett chuckled.

“I know. It was awesome!” I agreed, grinning.

Beckett stumbled a bit and I pulled up short. “Are you okay?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Beckett waved me off. “It was a rock, Corin. No need to look like someone ran over Mr. Bingley.”

I smacked his arm. “Don’t ever joke about Mr. Bingley getting run over.”

“Well, you need to explain to your cat bad things happen to felines playing Peeping Tom every time I try to get in your pants.”

“Maybe you need to start keeping your hands to yourself,” I suggested, biting my lip.

Beckett pulled me up against him and gave me a kiss to beat all other kisses.

“Not going to happen,” he said thickly.

I was soaring so high, I was pretty sure I’d never touch the ground again.

So that made the crash completely devastating.

–

“Come on, Beck!” I pulled on his hand. I was on a massive sugar buzz and feeling slightly slaphappy.

We had ridden way too many rides and eaten way too much food.

It was the best time I could remember having in a long time.

But as the night wore on, Beckett stumbled a few more times. When I asked him about it, he only said he was getting a little tired.

Why didn’t I pester him?

Why didn’t I demand he tell me the truth?

Because I was enjoying my happiness. Finally.

I pulled him toward a carnie booth. A giant lit-up clown spun around in circles as people threw balls into its mouth. It was no doubt rigged but I wanted to give it a try.

Beckett was falling behind and I had to tug on him to get him to catch up.

“Let’s play!” I called over my shoulder.

I handed the carnie a dollar and he passed me three balls.

The first one went in.

The second one went in.

The third flew through the clown’s gaping mouth.

I jumped up and down, clapping my hands. I felt Beckett squeeze my arm.

“Corin—”

But I wasn’t listening.

I wasn’t listening!

The carnie guy handed me a horrible-looking stuffed brown bear and I whirled around, smiling high.

“Beck, look I won!”

He was so pale. His eyes were glassy and his hand was clutched in a fist over his chest.

Over his chest…

“Beckett, what’s wrong?” I demanded.

I felt fear then.

Potent, real fear.

“Nothing.” He waved me off.

And then he bent over and threw up in the dirt. I gasped, vomit splashing my shoes.

“Fucking drunk,” some asshole said from beside us.

“Oh my god, Beck!”

He collapsed onto the ground. His breaths were wheezy gasps. His eyes started to roll back into his head.

“I love you, Corin Thompson.”

“Call 911!” I screamed. I tried to pull out my phone to make the call but my fingers wouldn’t work.

“The ambulance is on its way, sweetheart,” an older woman said.

“Beckett!” I sobbed, the tears rolling down my face.

He was incredibly pale. His lips were tinged with blue.

I leaned down and pressed my ear to his chest.

It was quiet.

So, so quiet.

I listened for his breath but there was none.

Beckett’s heart had stopped.

“No,” I wailed.

Get it together, Corin! Snap out of it!

I had to help him!

I would be damned if he was going to die on my watch.

I rolled him flat on his back and put my lips around his. Administering five quick, successive breaths into his mouth.

Then I started pumping on his chest. Over and over again.

Then I breathed for him some more.

I continued like this for what felt like forever.

And every time I stopped to listen to his silent heart, I wanted to wail in anguish. I was pretty sure I was going to lose my mind.

But I couldn’t afford to.

Beck needed me.

So I breathed for him.

And I pumped his heart.

Until the paramedics came and took over.

“I love you, Corin Thompson.”

Why had I never said it back?

“I love you, Beckett,” I whispered as the EMTs put him on the stretcher, still administering CPR. Never stopping.

“I love you.”

But I hadn’t said it when it counted.

Only when it was too late.