The realization made my gut twist in a new direction. Was I an idiot to hold out for the man who’d stopped living when there was an amazing man in the flesh in front of me?
My stomach soured. I didn’t want to be making these decisions. Especially not today.
“I’m going to change real quick,” I mumbled to Chandler.
“Can I get you something?”
I peeked at him over my shoulder and saw him already in the kitchen.
“Lunch? Something to drink?”
Nothing. I wanted nothing but to go back to that day a year ago when JC and I had nothing between us but sweat, instead of murdered girlfriends and eager boy toys.
But I said, “Tea. Hot.” Maybe it would warm the insides of me that had gone cold earlier that morning.
In my en suite, I scrubbed my face and brushed my teeth then exchanged my skirt and blouse for sweats and an oversized T-shirt. I was planning to crash after Chandler left, but I also needed the few minutes to let things settle before trying to talk about any of it. Not that it helped.
When I returned to the living room, I found Chandler sitting on the couch. A steaming mug sat on the coffee table, along with a plate of shortbread cookies I’d forgotten I had.
I avoided the urge to put a large amount of space between us and sunk down next to him, pulling my legs under me. I brought the mug up to my lips and blew across the hot water before taking a sip. “Thanks for this.”
He smiled slightly and crossed an ankle over his knee, saying nothing yet. Watching me.
I let out a slow breath, knowing that I owed him more than explanations. I forced my eyes to his. “Chandler, I owe you an apology.”
His forehead crinkled, and he was his age again, a teenager on the verge of adulthood. “For what, exactly?”
“For a lot of things. For being a bitch last night. For not telling you about JC—about the man that I saw on TV last night.” I swallowed. “For letting us go on for as long as I did when there was never hope for more.”
The last was a concession—one I wasn’t sure was necessary since I’d been very specific about what our relationship was and wasn’t from the beginning. But it felt right to give because I’d been in that kind of arrangement with JC, and I knew how easy it was to fall in deeper than originally planned. It wasn’t fair to expect more from Chandler. The heart wants what the heart wants, after all.
He looked away, taking a swig from a craft beer that must have been left over from the last time my brother had been over for dinner. “If he wasn’t around, would things be different?”
“Well. That’s not jumping to the heart of the matter at all, is it?” I took another sip of my tea, letting it slip down my tongue, my throat, into the cold recesses of my chest before I set the mug back on the coffee table. “It’s a hard question to answer honestly, Chandler. And I want to be honest with you.”
“Then he’s the thing standing between us.”
I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, yes. He’s who I want. He’s who I’ve always wanted. But if I didn’t want him, then…possibly I’d want…someone else.” I didn’t want to say anything that made him think he had a shot, but it was only fair he had the truth. “So, yes, he’s the thing that stands between us.”
His knee started to bounce, and his mouth tightened into a straight line.
“But also, no, he’s not. Because I would never have been with you at all if it hadn’t have been for JC. It’s a catch-22. So while I know you want to make him the enemy here, it’s not appropriate. If there’s any enemy, it’s me.” I attempted a smile. “And I hope that’s not where we’re at now.”
He held the tension a few seconds longer before his shoulders visibly eased. “No. That’s not where we are. At all.” His tone betrayed all the emotion he felt, even if he didn’t name it. He was in love with me. Or he thought he was.
And I felt like a big old piece of shit.
Chandler knocked his knee against my thigh. “Get over yourself, Gwenny.” He waited for me to peer up at him before he continued. “I’m really into you, but I’m not going to fall apart.”
I raised a skeptical brow.
“I’m not going to lie—I’ll still try to weasel my way into your pants if you give me the opportunity.”
I groaned but with amusement.
“Will you tell me about…it?” He meant him. He wanted me to tell him about JC. And I knew that when he heard it, he’d feel the way I felt when I listened to JC tell a court full of people about Corinne. Perhaps it was cruel to put him through that, but if he were anything like me, I also knew that he needed to hear it. Because caring about another person like that means wanting to know everything about him or her—whether it’s painful to hear or not.