Текст книги "November 9"
Автор книги: Colleen Hoover
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Fallon
I make a new pile with the pages I’ve already read. I stare down at the manuscript in disbelief. I know I should be angry that he’s lied to me for so long, but being in his head is somehow justifying his behavior to me. And not only that, but it’s also justifying my father’s behavior.
Ben is right. Now that I look back on that day, I can see that my father wasn’t entirely to blame. He was expressing his opinion over my career, which every parent has the right to do. And even though I disagreed with him and the way he delivered it, he never was the best at communication. Besides, I obviously had it out for him as soon as he sat down at the booth. He went into defense mode, I was in attack mode, and things just went south from there.
I need to remember that there’s more than one way people show love. And even though his way and my way are completely opposite, it’s still love.
I go to flip to the next chapter, but a few pieces of notebook paper fall out of the section between chapters five and six. I set the pages of the manuscript down and pick up the letter. It’s another note written by Ben.
Fallon,
You know everything that happens after this point in the manuscript. It’s all here. Every day we spent together and even a few days we didn’t. Every thought I’ve ever had in your presence . . . or close to it.
As you can tell from the chapter you just finished, I wasn’t in a good place when we met. The two years of my life since the fire had been hell, and I was doing everything I could to drown out the guilt I felt. But that first day I spent with you was the first day in a very long time that I felt happy. And I could tell that I made you happy, and that’s something I never thought possible. And even though you were moving away, I knew that if there was a way we could each start looking forward to November 9th, it could make a huge difference in both of our lives. So I swore to myself that on the days I spent with you, I would allow myself to enjoy it. I wouldn’t think about the fire—I wouldn’t think about what I did to you. For one day each year, I wanted to be this guy who was falling for this girl, because everything about you captivated me. And I knew if I allowed my past to eat me up in your presence, that I would somehow slip. That you would find out what I’d done to you. I knew that if you ever found out the truth, there was no way you could forgive me for all I had taken.
Even though I should probably feel a world of guilt, I don’t regret a single minute I spent with you. Of course I wish I had handled things differently. Maybe if I had walked up to you and your father that day and explained the truth, I would have saved you a lot of heartache. But I can’t dwell on all the things I should have done differently, when to me this was our fate. We were drawn to each other. We made each other happy. And I know without a doubt there were several times during the past few years that we were madly in love with each other at the same time. Not everyone experiences that Fallon, and I’d be lying if I said I regretted it.
And that’s one of my biggest fears—that you’ve spent the past year assuming I’ve told you more than one lie, but I haven’t. The only lie I’ve ever told you is the one I omitted—the part where I was responsible for the fire. Every word that came out of my mouth in your presence beyond that was the absolute truth. When I said you were beautiful, I meant it.
If you take one thing from this manuscript, let it be this one simple paragraph. Absorb these words. I want them to stain your soul, because these words are the most important. I’m terrified that my lies have resulted in a loss of the confidence you gained during the times we were together. Because while I did withhold a huge truth from you, the one thing I couldn’t have been more honest about was your beauty. And yes, you have scars. But anyone who sees your scars before they see you doesn’t deserve you. I hope you remember that and believe that. A body is simply a package for the true gifts inside. And you are full of gifts. Selflessness, kindness, compassion. All the things that matter.
Youth and beauty fade. Human decency doesn’t.
I know I said in my previous letter that I didn’t write this for your forgiveness. While that’s the truth, I’m not going to pretend that I’m not praying on my knees for your forgiveness, hoping for a miracle. I’m not going to act like I won’t be sitting at the restaurant for hours upon end, hoping you walk through those doors. Because that’s exactly where I’ll be. And if you don’t show up today, I’ll be there next year. And the next. Every November 9th I’ll wait for you, hoping one day you’ll be able to find enough forgiveness to love me again. But if that doesn’t happen and you never show, I’ll still be grateful to you until the day that I die.
You saved me the day we met, Fallon. I know I was only eighteen, but my life would have turned out so different had we not spent that time together. The first night we had to say goodbye, I drove straight home and started writing this book. It became my new life goal. My new passion. I took college more seriously. I took life more seriously. And because of you and the impact you had on my life, the last two years I spent with Kyle were great ones. When he died, he was proud of me. And that means more to me than you will ever know.
So whether or not you can find it in your heart to love me again, I needed to thank you for saving me. And if there is any part of you capable of forgiving me, you know where I’ll be. Tonight, next year, the next, for eternity.
The choice is yours. You can continue reading this manuscript, and hopefully it will help you find closure. Or you can stop reading now and come forgive me.
Ben
Last November
9th
If lies were written, I would erase them
But they are spoken; etched within
With convalesced truth, I scream out my atonement
Let me repent against your skin.
–BENTON JAMES KESSLER
Ben
There were 83,456 words in the manuscript I dropped off at her front door last night. There are roughly 23,000 words in the first five chapters, before she would have gotten to the note. She could have easily read 23,000 words in three hours. If she started the manuscript right after I dropped it off, she would have finished the first section by 3 a.m.
But it’s almost midnight. It’s been almost twenty-four hours since I saw her pick up the manuscript and close her door. Which means she’s had twenty-one hours to spare and she’s still not here.
Which means, obviously, she isn’t coming.
Most of me believed she wouldn’t show up today, but a small part of me still held out hope. I can’t say that her choice has broken my heart, because that would mean my heart was still whole to be broken.
I’ve been heartbroken for a solid year, so her not showing up feels just as crippling as the last 365 days have felt.
I’m surprised the restaurant has let me wait it out here in this booth for so long. I’ve been here since the crack of dawn this morning in hopes that she stayed up and read the manuscript last night. Now that it’s almost midnight, that’s a good eighteen hours I’ve spent occupying this booth. That’s gonna be one big tip.
At 11:55 p.m., I leave the tip. I don’t want to be here when the clock strikes November 10th. I’d rather wait out the last five minutes in my car.
When I open the door to leave the restaurant, the waitress shoots me a pitiful look. I’m sure she’s never seen anyone wait so long after being stood up, but at least it’ll give her a good story to tell.
It’s 11:56 p.m. when I reach the parking lot.
It’s 11:56 p.m. when I see her open her door and step out of her car.
It’s still 11:56 p.m. when I clasp my hands behind my head and suck in a rush of cool November air just to see if my lungs are working.
She’s standing by her car, the wind blowing strands of hair across her face as she looks at me from across the parking lot. I feel like if I take a step toward her, the earth would crumble beneath my feet from the weight of my heart. We both stand still for several long seconds.
She glances down at the phone in her hands, and then she looks back up at me. “It’s 11:57, Ben. We only have three minutes to do this.”
I stare at her, wondering what she means by that. Is she leaving in three minutes? Is she only giving me three minutes to plead my case with her? Questions are bouncing around in my head when I see the corner of her mouth lift into a smile.
She’s smiling.
As soon as I realize she’s smiling, I’m running. I make it across the parking lot in a matter of seconds. I wrap my arms around her and pull her against me and when I feel her arms go around me, I do the most non-alpha thing I can possibly do.
I cry like a fucking baby.
My arms are squeezing her tight, my hands are wrapped around the back of her head, my face is pressed into her hair. And I hold her for so long, I have no idea if it’s still November 9th anymore or if it’s the 10th now. But the date doesn’t matter, because I’m going to love her through every single one of them.
She loosens her grip and pulls away from my shoulder to look up at me. We’re both smiling now, and I can’t believe this girl found it in her heart to forgive me. But she did, I can see it all over her face. I can see it in her eyes, in her smile, in the way she holds herself. And I can feel it in the way her thumbs brush over my cheeks, wiping my tears away.
“Do fictional boyfriends cry as much as I do?” I ask her.
She laughs. “Only the really great ones.”
I drop my forehead to hers and I squeeze my eyes shut. I want to soak this moment up for as long as I can. Just because she’s here and just because she has forgiven me doesn’t mean she’s here to love me forever. And I have to be prepared to accept that.
“Ben, I have something I want to say.”
I pull back and look down at her. Now there are tears in her eyes, so I don’t feel so pathetic. She reaches up and puts her hands on my face, gently stroking my cheek. “I didn’t come here to forgive you.”
I can feel the hardening of my jaw, but I try to relax. I knew this was a possibility. And I have to respect her decision, no matter how hard it will be for me.
“You were sixteen,” she says. “You had been through one of the worst things a child could ever experience. Your actions from that night weren’t because you were a bad person, Ben. It was because you were a scared teenage boy and sometimes people make mistakes. You’ve carried so much guilt for what you did, and for so long. You can’t ask for my forgiveness, because there’s nothing to forgive. If anything, I’m here for your forgiveness. Because I know your heart, Ben, and your heart is only capable of love. I should have recognized that last year when I doubted you. I should have given you the chance to explain it then. If I had just listened to you, then we could have avoided an entire year of heartache. So for that . . . I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. And I hope you can forgive me.”
She’s looking up at me with genuine hope—like she honestly believes she’s partly at fault for anything we’ve ever been through.
“You aren’t allowed to apologize to me, Fallon.”
She lets out a rush of air and nods. “Then you aren’t allowed to apologize to me.”
“Fine,” I say. “I forgive myself.”
She laughs. “And I forgive myself.”
She brings her hands up to my hair and runs her fingers through it, smiling up at me. My eyes fall to a bandage on her left wrist and she notices. “Oh. I almost forgot the most important part. It’s why I’m so late.” She begins to unwrap the bandage from around her wrist. “I got a tattoo.” She holds up her wrist, and there’s a small tattoo of an open book. On each of the two open pages lie a comedy and a tragedy mask. “Books and theater,” she says, explaining the tattoo. “My two favorite things. I just got it about two hours ago when I realized how selflessly in love with you I am.” She looks back up at me, her eyes glistening.
I blow out a quick breath, taking her wrist in my hand. I pick it up and I kiss it. “Fallon,” I say. “Come home with me. I want to make love to you and fall asleep with you. And then in the morning, I want to cook you the breakfast I promised you last year. Well-done bacon and over-easy eggs.”
She smiles, but doesn’t agree to the breakfast. “Actually, I’m having breakfast with my father tomorrow.”
Hearing her say that she’s having breakfast with her father makes me even happier than if she would have agreed to have breakfast with me. I know her father isn’t the ideal parent, but he’s still her father. And I’ve felt so much guilt over the fact that I’m responsible for a lot of the strain in their relationship.
“But I’ll still come home with you,” she says.
“Good,” I tell her. “Tonight you’re mine. I’ll just wait to cook you breakfast until the day after tomorrow. And every day after that, until next November 9th when I get down on one knee and give you the most book-worthy marriage proposal in history.”
She slaps me in the chest. “That was a huge spoiler, Ben! Did you not learn about spoiler alerts during your reading binge?”
I grin as I lower my mouth to hers. “Spoiler alert. They lived happily ever after.”
And then I kiss her.
And it’s a twelve.
• • •
Not the end.
Far from it.
Acknowledgments
First, I want to thank everyone who had a hand in this book. My beta-readers and best friends. In no particular order: Tarryn Fisher, Mollie Kay Harper (my sex-scene guru), Kay Miles, Vannoy Fite, Misha Robinson, Marion Archer, Kathryn Perez, Karen Lawson, Vilma Gonzalez, Kaci Blue-Buckley, Stephanie Cohen, Chelle Lagoski Northcutt, Jennifer Stiltner, Natasha Tomic, Aestas, and Kristin Delcambre.
To the women who help run my chaotic life, from making sure my bills are paid or helping out in my online reader groups: Stephanie Cohen, Brenda Perez, Murphy Hopkins, Chelle Lagoski Northcutt, Pamela Carrion, and Kristin Delcambre.
And even though The Bookworm Box isn’t related to this book, the volunteers have absolutely had a hand in making sure this book was finished. So to all who have helped pack boxes, print labels, and who have donated books, I thank you! But mostly Lin Reynolds, who has dang near single-handedly kept this charity up and running despite our many obstacles.
To my parents, my sisters, Heath and the boys. All of you. I know our lives have changed drastically over the last few years. It means the world to me that every single one of you has been open and receptive to these changes. You don’t argue when I forget to call you back, you don’t get mad when I travel too much and you don’t burn my clothes when I fail to unpack them from my suitcases for weeks at a time. Your patience and understanding is appreciated. You are my foundation, my backbone, my heart. All of you.
To Johanna Castillo, my wonderful, beautiful editor with the killer legs. My happiness comes first for you, and that’s all I could ever ask for.
TO MY PUBLICIST, ARIELE STEWART FREDMAN! I’M PUTTING THIS IN CAPS BECAUSE I’M STILL SO EXCITED I FINALLY GOT YOU! NOT ONLY AS MY PUBLICIST, BUT AS A GREAT, AWESOME FRIEND!
To my publisher, Judith Curr, and the rest of the team at Atria Books, I can’t thank you enough for the support you have given me. From nailing the cover on your first attempt, to inviting me to be a part of this crazy app idea. I can’t wait to see what my future holds with you.
To my agent, Jane Dystel, and the entire Dystel & Goderich Literary Team. I can’t thank you enough for being such a huge part of my career. My dream. My life goal. It wouldn’t be possible without your help.
To X Ambassadors, one of the greatest bands of our time. Thank you for inspiring so much of this book. Thank you for creating music that feeds our souls.
And last but not least, thank you to Cynthia Capshaw, for giving birth to my soul mate.
If I forgot anyone, it’s all Murphy’s fault. Even though she moved on to her own career in editing and is no longer my assistant, I’m still going to blame her for everything that goes wrong. Because she’ll always be my sister.
