29. The Road To Broken Hearts

29

THE ROAD TO brOKEN HEARTS

brISTOL

N o one tells you that grief is a revolving door. Endless. Inescapable. A liminal space where you’re thrown between one stage and the next, pinballing between every human emotion under the sun except the acceptance that you keep missing by a millisecond. It’s just out of your reach, taunting you, fueling your desire to run faster when the effort is futile.

I still don’t know what just happened. One second, Lila was yelling at me for not telling her about the ring, and the next, I’m scrutinizing every single one of her insecurities, showing her the exact reason why she has them in the first place. Although an hour has passed since my self-banishment to the balcony, the anger and the fear and the guilt are still rippling through my belly. The air out here—no matter how crisp—doesn’t help me breathe easier, and the smell of pine isn’t a settling familiarity anymore.

Why does she think I’m not over my ex? I mean, haven’t I shown her that she’s the only girl I want? Haven’t I done enough to reassure her? Why can’t she believe me? It feels like we’re always having the same argument—like we’re playing a broken record with no intention of fixing it. I don’t even know how I’m still in one piece.

I’m not. My heart’s not.

Even though a breakup was never explicitly mentioned, I can’t help but feel a finality riding the tail end of her words—a sense that I just destroyed the only good thing still keeping me going. I lost her once and won her back, but to voluntarily risk losing her again? I’m a fucking idiot. I’m mad at myself. I’m mad at the situation.

Why didn’t you just tell her you still had the ring? You…you let her find it. You knew she would, didn’t you? You never put yourself in Lila’s shoes. How many times are you going to push this girl away before she realizes she’s better off without you?

I glance at the desolate tree line flanking the frozen lake outside our cabin, filaments of moonlight and flurries of snow washing the scenery in a tapestry of murky white. It’s freezing out here, and I cling to the wooden railing for some semblance of support, relying on the unlacquered grain to keep my pain receptors awake. This wasn’t how I wanted to enjoy the view. I wanted to enjoy it with Lila, cuddled up in a warm blanket, and sung into a post-dinner coma by the crackling symphony of the fireplace.

Big Bear is quiet, serene, idyllic. It was going to be an escape from the chaos of our lives. It was going to be our own little world of play pretend where shit like past trauma couldn’t reach us. But I let it in. I let it ruin what was supposed to be an amazing trip, all because I couldn’t get out of my own damn way. And now I’m no better than her deadbeat dad, or those trolls on the internet who feel entitled to comment on her body. My three strikes are up.

Lila was right when she said I walk away when things get tough. The first sign of discomfort, of accountability, and I throw the nearest person under the bus to save my own ass. You can’t outrun your mistakes. You can’t ignore your problems and hope that they just go away.

Lila’s muffled sobs billow from the guest room, and even the thrash of the unforgiving wind outside isn’t loud enough to drown out her palpable sorrow. Nebulous clouds gather overhead, stippled with thunderous shadows that unfold night over a lit-up cluster of shingled rooftops. The sky borrows its color from basalt, and the leftover tears dirtying my face have begun to freeze. My heart grovels for Lila’s forgiveness—for the peace she bestows on me with the softness of her lips and the solace of her arms.

Footfalls reverberate in my burning ears, and I don’t have to look behind me to know that they don’t belong to the one person I wish I could talk to. My mother—huddled in her pale sweater—breaches my peripheral vision, hesitant to engage in conversation for fear of scaring me off like some startled deer in a forested clearing. I keep my gaze straight ahead, trying my best to blink away the moisture that laves my bloodshot eyes, but my composure’s about as fragile as the crunch of tarnished snow underfoot.

It seems like a fortnight passes before she speaks. “How are you doing?”

A dry chuckle lurches up my throat, expelling into the air in one thin, continuous wisp. “I’m guessing you heard?”

“The whole house heard,” she says sympathetically.

“Great. That’s great.” My fingers clench around the railing—hard enough to crack my knuckles—and my stomach rolls with tar-like embarrassment. The last thing I need right now is my mother’s pity.

Seconds melt into minutes before I summon the courage to break the silence. “I don’t know how to fix this,” I whisper in an admission of defeat, wanting to purge the vile taste it leaves in my mouth. For the first time since my mother joined me, I spare a glance in her direction, no longer working to hide the tears that rain down my skin.

My mom reaches out to clean my face with her thumb, and the love from her touch begins to plaster over the hole in my heart. “Love isn’t easy, Bristol. It’s a combination of ups and downs. It’s not always about fixing what’s wrong. Sometimes it’s about just being there and listening to your partner.”

It’s getting harder and harder not to lose it completely, not to collapse into my mother’s arms and cry until all the water’s been drained from my body. The scent of ice and woodsmoke mutates into a miasma that I can’t shake, and the aftereffect of my agitation keeps me from falling into an easy succession of breaths.

“I did listen. All I hear is that she thinks I’m not over Summit.”

“Are you?” she asks, her eyes searching for the unspoken truth.

Why does everyone keep doubting me?

“Of course I am,” I insist, and while there’s a truthfulness to my words, there’s also a hint of betrayal. It’s like no matter who I choose, I’m hurting the other person in the process. I want to cherish Summit’s memory, but how can I do that at the expense of the one woman who I’ve wanted for a year—the only woman I want now?

My mom’s hand drops from my cheek, her mouth molded into a poignant frown. “Then why did you walk away and let that wonderful young woman think that she’s not worth sticking around for?”

Fuck. That’s exactly what I did. After promising not to leave her again. When love is real, you don’t walk away. Not when things get hard. And all I’ve done is walk away. I asked her to open up to me, then took advantage of her insecurities by making her relive her worst fears. What kind of monster does that? I don’t know the first thing about love, and here Lila is, wanting nothing more than to mean something to someone. She’s been patient with me. She’s been understanding. Lila never once gave me an ultimatum to choose between her or Summit.

I ruined the only chance I had of having a life with her. I don’t deserve her.

A brutalizing scream breaks in my throat, and I seek my mother’s arms, crumpling in her embrace like I used to when I was a child. I uncork every painful emotion and finally let myself mourn Lila—mourn the only person who’s been able to heal me.

Layers upon self-imposed layers of guilt spider from the center of my chest, whittling away at the tiny embers of anger still running in my veins. The sadness dispels the fire completely, crashing over me like a wave’s crest breaking onto tightly packed sand and fine granules of silt. My mom’s arms—no matter how comforting they are—don’t have the same feel as the arms that I want ; the arms that carry spritzes of fresh jasmine over delicate tendons, the arms that have held me when I least deserved them, the arms that playfully poke and prod at me whenever I’m being a complete idiot, even the arms that are currently keeping me at a heart-wrenching distance.

“What have I done?” My cries dissolve into animalistic sobs, and all the words that I’d weaponized against Lila circle in my head like an omen, bringing me to a fever pitch that’s too strong to fight off.

“I told her that I wouldn’t hurt her again, yet I kept this fucking secret from her knowing it would ruin her. I reaffirmed all her fears about never being enough. I was selfish, and instead of taking responsibility for my mistakes like I should have, I let her bear the pain. All because I can’t get over a woman who’s no longer in my life.”

My mother smooths a hand over my back, soothing me with whispers of reassurance and maintaining an air of calm for the both of us—an air that I’ve seemingly lost hold of during this past year.

“You loved Summit. She was a part of your past, and a part of what made you into the man you are today. It’s understandable that you still have the one thing that reminds you of her. And I don’t think it means you’re not over her—I think it means you’re scared of forgetting her, of moving on, because you’re so complacent with wading in this grief that it’s all you know. Emotions were running high for both you and Lila. I’m sure you both said things you didn’t truly mean.”

“God, I should’ve just told her the ring didn’t mean anything. I shouldn’t have let Summit’s memory get in the way of me being a decent fucking human to the girl I love.”

My mom gives a brusque chuckle, and I manage to question her through each ragged inhale. “What?”

She pulls back from me, running her hands down the length of my arms, a small smile pronouncing the creases tugging at love-filled eyes. “You just said you love her,” she tells me.

I said that? Just now? I didn’t even realize it. It felt so natural to say—so right . I break away for a second to collect my thoughts, and in that tender moment of absolution, the wingbeat of my pulse renews with liveliness. I love Lila Perkins. I don’t just love her smile, her eyes, her determination, her ambition, her kindness…I love her . And I think I’ve loved her this entire time, but I never knew how strong that love was until I saw my life without her in it. Oh my God. I need to tell her right now.

It's time I let Summit go. It’s okay to let her go. Doing so isn’t a betrayal, and neither is loving Lila. Summit would’ve wanted me to move on, right? She would’ve wanted me to be happy again. I can’t…I won’t …live the rest of my life punishing myself for her death .

The tears have thinned enough to restore part of my vision, and I can feel my heart break free from those harsh restraints, no longer incarcerated by long-lasting grief. I feel like I’ve been viewing the world through a mirage of chromosomic colors, and for the first time since Summit’s death, color has been brought back to the foreground. The beat of my heart’s conducting a never-before-heard rendition in the curvature of my ribs, and every cell in my body is fighting to go to Lila, to grovel, to tell her the truth that she’s deserved to hear this whole time— to keep her from leaving .

“I love her, Mom,” I say, letting the last of my tears flee down my cheeks.

Lila is my everything. My whole world. When I’m with her, I get this feeling I don’t get with anyone else—this feeling I can’t put into words because the mark it leaves on me is so profound and inexplicable. She’s a melting pot of stars, sunlight, and rain-drenched earth; she’s the beauty of an untraveled expanse of constellations winking overhead, lighting the way for lost souls; she’s the warmth of the sun as it peeks through crepuscular curtains of night; she’s the smell of cleansing petrichor that lingers after a storm. This girl is the embodiment of everything sacred, and I want nothing more than to devote myself to her for as long as I live.

My mother nods, and a light breeze winnows through the strands of her hair. “I already knew, honey.”

“How?”

“Because I’ve never seen you lose your mind like this before. I know you, Bristol. You’re a rational thinker. You’re methodical when it comes to your emotions. You love with your whole heart, but in increments. With Summit, you were always firm in your ways, assessing the situation and then acting accordingly. You rarely, if ever, lost it. And I’m not insinuating that you didn’t love her—because I know you did—but the love that you have for Lila is different. It’s more passionate, more unpredictable, more dangerous. It’s the kind of love that challenges you to be a better person. It’s the kind of love that has the power to tear down all your defenses. It’s not perfect—because things rarely are—but there’s beauty in that.”

My relationship with Lila hasn’t been perfect. We’ve had so many setbacks, but fate brought us together for a reason. If I hadn’t taken that modeling job with Kitty’s Catwalk, I never would have reconnected with her. And if I had never reconnected with her, I would’ve missed out on the greatest love of my life. It was worth all the pain and the tears to get to this very moment.

I don’t want to spend the holidays grieving my dead ex anymore—I want to spend the holidays celebrating Summit’s life instead. I want to celebrate with my teammates, my second family. I want to celebrate with Lila . I’ve held on to so much agony for so long, and I’m done having it dictate my life.

“I messed up. When I walked away from her today, I left her believing that she was competing with Summit. My job as her partner is to reassure her. And now…now I might’ve just lost her for the last time,” I admit under my breath.

Even though the tears have dried, my mother still instinctively reaches out to brush away any last dregs on my face. And although her touch is cold, it jumpstarts the roaring fight within me.

“In true love, you can never mess up. You just have to be brave enough to hold on to it.”