There’s Wild, Then There’s You (The Wild Ones #3)(56)
Author: M. Leighton

“I’m glad I could help you,” I say quietly.

With his cerulean eyes searching mine, Jet sighs. “I know I’m too late, but I want you to know that I was a different person when I took that bet. I’m not proud of who I was. In fact, I’m pretty disgusted. And I didn’t know it at the time, but I changed from the moment I first laid eyes on you. Every day after, I became a better person. Just for knowing you. You told me that you help people, that it’s who you are. And you were right. You helped me in more ways than I could ever tell you.”

“I’m glad,” I repeat, holding on to the reins of my heart as tightly as I can.

“I know it was never your intention to get involved with me. Definitely not to make me fall in love with you. So I can’t blame you for any of this. Or for being mad and hurt when you found out what I’d done. I’d hate me, too. But it kills me to think of you walking away from us thinking that everything that happened was just a part of some stupid, sick, juvenile bet. Because it wasn’t. When I made love to you, I did it loving you with the heart that you changed. Not the one who sang in a band and went through women like water.

“I like to think that I won’t be drowning my problems in every convenient person and substance now. The last thing I hid from, which was the truth of what I’d done, is a regret I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life. I’ll go to my grave knowing that I lost the best thing that ever happened to me because I was so afraid of losing her that I lied to her.

“So don’t think I don’t blame you for not being able to forgive me. I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”

His last words ring between us like a death knell, one that echoes in the silence for several seconds after he stops talking. For a heartbeat, I wonder if he’s waiting for me to say I forgive him or to throw myself into his arms, which would seem incredibly manipulative on his part. But I can barely finish the thought before he’s leaning in to kiss my cheek, whispering, “Good-bye, Violet.” And then he turns to leave, the black night folding in around him, swallowing him up as he walks out of my life.

But the night isn’t the only thing folding in. As I stand watching the last place I saw Jet, my chest aches with a pain so deep, it feels as though my ribs might implode. But as much as I wanted a future with him, as much as I’d love to call him back, I can’t think of a way to forgive him. I can’t think of a way to go forward after everything that has happened.

It’s with an abyss forming in the empty place where my heart used to be that I close the door and lock it behind me before I fall to pieces on my entryway floor.

FORTY-FOUR: Jet

There’s a burn behind my eyes as I slide behind the wheel of my car. I knew there was a good chance she wouldn’t even talk to me, hear me out. And, although she did, I can see that she can’t forgive me. At least not now. Just the thought of her never forgiving me is what’s making my gut churn, my heart ache, and my eyes burn. It’s eating me up inside, not being with her, thinking that I’ll never be with her.

But what are my choices? I can’t really see that I have any. I’ve told her the facts, apologized to her, and asked for her forgiveness. Even told her that I loved her in a roundabout way. But none of it mattered. I didn’t know if it would. I had hoped, but I knew it was a long shot.

Now, I should just walk away. She’s made her choice, and I ought to respect it.

Only I can’t.

I can’t live with her choice. I can’t live with her unforgiveness. I can’t live without her.

So what the hell am I supposed to do?

That question rings through my head all the way back to my father’s place in Summerton where I have to go to pick up some stuff I’d left there.

It’s when I pull into the driveway, thinking of Violet when I see the place where she was dropping off her dad that day, that I realize there is something I can do. I can love her from a distance. I can do things for her, make her life better and happier, without her ever having to know. But I’ll know. I’ll know that, somewhere, she’s smiling and feeling a little happier, and that I might’ve had a small hand in it.

And as long as I can make her happy, make her life better (even without me in it), that’ll have to be enough.

FORTY-FIVE: Violet

It’s been three weeks since the night Jet came to my house to apologize. I haven’t heard a word from him since. No calls, no impromptu visits, nothing overt. But he’s been around—at least I think he has.

Odd things have happened for weeks. They could be coincidence, of course. But they could not be coincidence, too. Maybe I just want them to be Jet-related. Or maybe they really are.

One morning, a few days after he’d visited me, I was walking to my car before work and noticed that there was a single rose on the ground in the grass. Had it been on my windshield, I would’ve been more suspicious, but it was just lying there, as though it might’ve fallen or even been blown over by the wind. Anything is possible, of course. But something inside me wants to believe that Jet put it there. To say what, I don’t know. That he’s thinking of me? That he wishes me a good day? That he’s sorry? Again, it could be anything. If it’s even him.

Other things have been more blatant. One night, I got a knock at the door and my favorite pizza was being delivered to me. Anonymously, of course. That following Friday afternoon, a week from the night Jet visited me, I got a call confirming my appointment for a full spa treatment the next morning. It was scheduled and paid for anonymously, of course. One night, I even came home and found my yard mowed. It could’ve been Dad, but he wouldn’t give me a straight answer, so I can’t be sure.

Chocolates in the mail, flower petals in front of my door, to me it all points to Jet. But does it change anything?

No.

Every day I keep hoping for it to hurt a little less, but it doesn’t. I only seem to miss him more and more. I only seem to be getting lonelier and lonelier, no matter how many other people I fill my time with. But I’m not going to stop trying. I can’t give up. I just can’t. And I can’t dwell on it. I have to keep busy. I’m afraid what little piece of sanity I’ve managed to retain will disappear completely if I give myself too much time to think.

Even now, I find myself looking forward to SAA with Tia, just as an escape, despite the fact that it only brings up painful memories.

That is until she calls and jerks the rug out from under me.